Photographic Essay

Like this tree, I am always growing. I look up to the trees around me—those who carry wisdom I have yet to experience or understand—with a hunger to learn from them. We are the same, both trees to learn from and trees that will continue to learn and experience. I am constantly growing as a person, an educator, and a part of this world.

Over the past couple of years, I have reconnected with nature. Spending much of my childhood as an indoor person, I’ve come to find comfort in the discomfort of being away from home and immersed in the outdoors. Whether it’s through hiking or just taking the long way home, nature has become a space where I can reflect and learn. I do not typically consider myself to be a spiritual person, but when I encounter a very large, very old tree on a hike, I feel drawn to it. I have a profound desire to touch it and somehow connect with the vast wisdom it holds from having experienced this world for so many years. The experience of standing in front of a powerful, enduring presence, like these large old trees, reminds me of how much I can learn and how much I have yet to grow. 

In Cree culture, as well as many other Indigenous cultures, relationality extends to all living beings, both human and non-human. In Dwayne Donald’s part of the recorded lecture on Transdisciplinary approaches to integrating policy and science for sustainability, he talks about how in Cree, kinship refers to all beings, whether that be family, other humans, or the trees. Not only are we all connected to each other, but we are connected to nature by way of existing. In Indigenous Australian cultures, the idea of coming from the land is also quite prominent. The land produced us, the land produced all that is around us, and it is our job to look after the land. By looking after the land, we learn more about ourselves and looking after each other. The learning from the land comes through our experiences with it, with our treatment of the land also being reflected in how we treat others. As I learn from the trees, I also recognize my responsibility to care for the land and those around me. Just as the land has shaped me, it is my obligation to nurture that connection and give back to that that has taken care of me, the natural world and community. The tree does not just exist to teach; it is part of a larger kinship that we are responsible to nurture and reciprocate.

Like the tree in this image, I often push others to reflect on themselves and their experiences, as I am doing myself, right now. I encourage those around me to think deeply about their own growth, just as I do. With time and experience, I hope to widen my knowledge and be able to share that knowledge with those around me and anyone across the world who is willing to listen. As a teacher, my job does not start and end in the classroom—my job began the moment I was born, and will never end, even in death. I have been teaching, disrupting, and provoking since I first sprouted, and like a tree that continues to provide warmth and light after it has fallen, I will continue stoking the fires of reflection and knowledge. Even beyond my lifetime, my legacy, shared wisdom, and the sparks I ignite in others will burn on for years to come.

Even as a small tree, I have already begun supporting, inspiring, and guiding others. I have rooted myself in a place where I can look up and learn from others, growing day by day, but still with much more to experience. My journey is one of constant learning, reflection, and adaption, and I know that in time, as I grow, the influence I bring will reach further. Just like the tree that will one day stand tall in this prairie oasis, my influence will grow further, reaching and nurturing others on their own paths.

This image of the MacFarlane River I took during the summer is symbolic for me, especially in answering the question, “Where do I come from?” One morning, while running errands in an unfamiliar area, I found this river on a map. Since I was already nearby, I decided to check it out, and what I found was something that felt surprisingly personal, even though I have no direct connection to this river.

I felt a sense of belonging to this place standing by the water. Not just because of the name, but also what the river represents. To me, it reflects two important ideas: a reminder that I come from this beautiful earth and carry those experiences of nature and the world within me, and like the river, I am constantly moving and evolving. As the river moves, it carries bits of rock, branches, and other things it encounters along its path. It interacts with everything around it: the rocks, the riverbanks, the trees. In the same way, my interaction with the world is shaped by every experience and every person I meet. The river’s journey is marked by both its start and its end, but those points connect it to other bodies of water, reminding me that I, too, am part of a larger story.

This river begins as a small waterfall from a dam on a little lake, and as it travels, it becomes something larger—sometimes rushing through rapids, other times flowing slowly and steadily. It changes as it moves, just as I have changed and developed over time. This image represents not just where I come from, but also how I got to where I am today. Like the river, I am on a journey, moving through my own stream of creation. The water that flows through the river is never the same; it constantly shifts and changes, as do I. I am always evolving, shaped by my experiences and interactions with the world around me. Even if something seems familiar, I experience it in a new way because of what I’ve learned and experienced before.

The reflective surface of the river adds another layer of meaning. The trees, rocks, and sky are mirrored in the water. In the same way, I reflect on my own experiences, and those experiences are reflected in who I am—every challenge, every connection, every moment of growth. I am a reflection of my environment and what I have been through, just as the water reflects the environment around it, and its clarity and quality are impacted by everything it has touched. Like the water, I always move forward, shaping and changing my path.

I took this picture of this little inukshuk on a hike this summer on a trail I often revisit. Throughout the trail, numerous inukshuks mark the path, guiding hikers and ensuring no one gets lost. These inukshuks point towards a secluded beach on a lake, untouched by human activity, without boats, cabins, or road connections.

To me, the inukshuk encapsulates my role as a teacher. I’m not here to provide all the answers, dictate what’s right or wrong, or mould my students into my vision of who they should be. Instead, my purpose is to guide them on their educational journey, supporting their self-discovery and exploration of the world around them. I strive to be there beside them rather than in front, fostering an environment of growth and exploration.

The inukshuk also holds historical meaning for the Inuit people, serving as a marker that guides travellers, warns of danger, assists hunters, and marks places of reverence (canada.ca). This connection to the land, the Indigenous peoples, and those who came before me holds special meaning. It reminds me of the wisdom passed down through generations, the importance of respect for nature, and the guidance we can learn from what is around us. To me, the inukshuk symbolizes how we can learn from those who walked the path before us, drawing on their knowledge to find our own way forward. The path is not defined, but the supports are there to point us in the right direction. For me, this is a powerful reminder that education is not a solo adventure. Thinking of the primordial learning environments of David D. Thornburg, learning takes self, collaboration, and sharing. We are part of a larger journey and learning community, shaped by the experiences and wisdom of those who came before us as well as our peers and our own experiences and knowledge. The inukshuk represents my growth through experience, learning from the land, and gaining wisdom from others. What once was a pile of rocks, scattered across the ground, has been given meaning and wisdom that it proceeds to bestow upon passersby, just as I am given meaning and wisdom to share with those who learn from/with me.

In a larger context, the inukshuk represents the value of the natural world, the lessons learned from the earth, using the earth, and the importance of learning from one another. It signifies the shared journey we are all on. Like the inukshuk, I stand beside my students and peers, guiding them while also travelling alongside them on their unique journeys.

Where am I going? I have no way of knowing what my future will look like. All I can do is take myself, with all my previous experiences and learning from where I am now, to set my sights and goals and move forward into the unknown. In these images, I am a silhouette against a foggy night, my silhouette on the left representing where I came from, the middle one as where I am now and setting my sights and goals, and the picture on the right of me entering into the foggy unknown in the distance. While my path is full of uncertainty, I enter it with wonder and excitement rather than fear.

In the left panel, I am standing close, looking upwards toward the light and tree, as though I am in the early stages of my journey, seeking direction and understanding from those around me. The moonlight illuminates me and my surroundings, showing my path forward and how my experiences have illuminated this path, both visually and in internal clarity. With each step forward, I become more aware of the journey itself, gaining perspective, but the further I go, the more the vastness of the unknown becomes clear.

The middle panel shows me where I am now, not at the beginning of my journey, but presented with a wide-open field to explore going forward. My path need not be linear, and I have the freedom to go where I choose and life takes me. I am looking at the bright moon in the sky, still illuminating my path forward and the options I have ahead of me. I have the luxury of time and choice. I am closer to my ambitions but still have a long way to go. I’m beginning to understand that the journey is not just about getting to a destination, but about growing and learning through the process. The light above acts as a guide, but the everpresent fog reminds me that not everything will be visible or clear as I move ahead.

In the last image on the right panel, I am but a distant silhouette; I’m still me but a different person as well. I look the same, but the journey has made me almost unrecognizable because of how far I have come. There is still adventure, learning, and growth ahead. The deeper into the fog I get, the harder it is to see my path, but I forge on, trusting myself and the process. My options for paths grow, with a wider range of directions to choose, and unrestricted by fences or houses. I bring with me all of my past experiences and learnings, confident that they will guide me even when I can’t see the way forward.

This collage isn’t just about uncertainty—It’s about embracing it. It speaks to my excitement and anticipation for what lies ahead. I know that the future will hold challenges, growth, and transformation, but that’s exactly what fills me with excitement. I may not know exactly where I’m going, but I’m ready to move forward into whatever comes, taking each step with curiosity and confidence.