Sometimes, You Really Do Reach That One
“If we can reach just one, it’ll all have been worth it.”
I think most educators, traditional and alternative, have whispered this to themselves a time or twelve. We say it because most of the time, we never really know what happens after someone walks out of our program or classroom. Maybe they remember the subject matter—in our case, the birds. Maybe some fun bit of trivia sticks with them. Maybe we’ve even helped shape how they see the world just a little bit.
Usually, we just don’t know.
But every once in a while, we get lucky enough to catch a glimpse.
Back in 2015, my partners and I were doing a bird of prey program at a local library. A young mom brought her newborn and preschooler, Jack, to see the birds.
And Jack loved them.
Mom snapped a picture of her boy and me with our little Eastern Screech-Owl. It was just one of those sweet little moments you have at a good program. A kid meets a bird, gets excited about it, you let him get a good look… and then you move on to the next kid waiting their turn.
I had no idea I’d still be part of this story eleven years later.
Fast forward to early last year.
We were invited to bring the birds to Bear Creek Nature Center to present a springtime program. Afterward, Amberlyn, the naturalist at the Center, came up with one of their volunteers and showed me a photograph.
“Is this you?”
It was. I was ten years younger, but that was me with our owl on my glove next to an adorable little boy.
The volunteer’s name was Stacy. She said, “We saw you years ago at a library program. The little boy next to you in the photo is my kid!”
And then she told me that little boy in the picture was now fifteen and volunteering at the very nature center where we were standing—where we had just finished presenting a bird program with the same little owl that was in the photo with him!
Small world!
It turns out, as Jack was growing up, his love for nature and wildlife kept growing, too. Stacy kept finding ways to nurture that passion for both Jack and his little brother, Wyatt.
When Jack was ten years old, he decided he wanted to volunteer at the Nature Center. And he meant that’s what he wanted to do with his whole self. The problem was that he was too young to volunteer on his own. So Stacy signed herself up so she could let her boys come with her, and they have all been there ever since.
I loved seeing that old picture of me with that cute little boy and learning that he had kept the wonder of nature alive in his heart. And I also loved how his good Mama had found ways to make sure he had avenues to pursue those interests.
And just like that, somehow, a program that was hundreds of programs ago, thousands of people ago, had found its way back around.
And the story kept going.
Now here we are in 2026, and Stacy has gone from the mom who brought her boys to a bird program, to a nature center volunteer, to an environmental educator—and a friend and colleague.
And yes, the vest she wears to work birds is the same one I was wearing in that picture with her boy so long ago!
Wonderfully normal serendipitous stuff!
And just the other day, Stacy took another picture of Jack and me.
My feathers are a little more gray than they used to be! Jack is taller than me now, and for this photo, he held Willy, our Red-shouldered Hawk, on his own fist.
I look at the old picture next to the new one and think about the decade of miles between a library program and a nature center.
A five-year-old discovers the magic of nature and a love for the wild things.
His mom keeps encouraging that passion—and ultimately finds her place as a nature educator in the process.
His little brother follows along and becomes a very official animal lover and an unofficial “possum training extraordinaire.”
Oh, and Dad got roped in, too. Mike shows up to help whenever he can and even stands near snakes from time to time!
And that little boy? Jack is a young man now who splits his volunteer time between Bear Creek and Zoo Atlanta. He is well on his way toward a future working in the conservation space.
We don’t get to see this part of the story very often.
We don’t know which moments will stay with people. We don’t know what they’ll carry with them when they leave.
But every once in a while, we get a glimpse.
And sometimes, that glimpse comes a decade later, in a picture of a little boy who has grown to become part of the work himself.
And sometimes the story continues, with new friends and colleagues writing a new chapter together.
And those are the moments and the connections that remind me why I keep doing this work.
Because sometimes you really do reach just one.
And sometimes, that one brings the whole family along.
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