At the edge of Sweetwater Lake, a child stood quietly beside a gentle mare, brushing her with the care of someone entrusted with a secret. It was only Monday, the first day of camp, but something unspoken had already passed between them. A stillness. A knowing. A connection that didn’t need language.
In the winter term for my program design class, I began writing a summer camp curriculum in collaboration with Exploremos. When I started Exploremos: Curiosidad por Los Caballos, a bilingual summer camp for first through third graders, I hoped to introduce ideas of empathy, ecology, and cultural meaning-making through horses. What I didn’t anticipate was how deeply the children would remember something our society often forgets: that we are not alone on this earth, and never have been.
Campers are enjoying their snack on Monday when they meet Camilia for the first time.
The Ute people, whose ancestral homelands include Sweetwater Lake and the surrounding Colorado landscapes, have long held relationships with horses that transcend utility. In a video shared with our campers by the Ute Mountain Ute Tribe, we learned how horses transformed not only travel and survival, but spiritual practice and kinship. Horses are not tools or symbols—they are relatives.
Robin Wall Kimmerer, Potawatomi botanist and author of Braiding Sweetgrass, reminds us that "all flourishing is mutual." Her work teaches that true relationship with the natural world begins with reciprocity—with asking not what we can take, but what we can give. The children, without prompting, gave care, presence, and attention. One camper whispered to our puppet horse, Camila, each morning. Another built a tiny sock puppet stable “so she feels safe.” These were not just sweet moments. They were signs of remembering.
Scholar Glenn Albrecht coined the term species loneliness to describe the ache we feel in a world increasingly disconnected from animal kin. But these campers, many bilingual and navigating multiple worlds, showed me what species connection looks like. It looks like brushing a horse for the first time, or sitting in the grass gently untangling burrs from its tail, whispering, “You okay?”
On Friday, the campers performed a puppet show for their families. I had given them full freedom—just one rule: everyone had to be involved in some way. For an hour, I watched them write, rehearse, build props, and solve problems, without my help. Their story, entirely self-created, wove together horses, plants, people, and the land. It reflected everything we had explored that week: care, reciprocity, and community. It felt like a gift.
It reminded me of a lesson echoed in many Indigenous teachings and Kimmerer’s writing: that relationship comes before responsibility. That before we can be caretakers, we must be kin. The horse was not a lesson plan. She was a teacher. A mirror. A companion in the journey of remembering what it means to belong.
As Joy Harjo (Muscogee) writes, “The land knows you, even when you are lost”. When children connect with more-than-human relatives—with horses, birds, even beetles—they begin to reweave those threads of knowing. And from knowing comes love. From love, empathy. From empathy, stewardship.
Riding and connecting with our horses at Sweetwater Lake
If we are to teach environmentalism in any meaningful way, we must allow space for connections formed through empathy. Anyone hoping to teach others to be in relationship to the natural world need to go beyond identifying species or listing threats to the environment, but should provide the chance for learners to fall in love with a horse, a lake, a single cottonwood tree.
Maybe then, species loneliness could transform into something more like species connectedness. Maybe—a child brushing a horse becomes a prayer for a more connected world.
Exploremos is a community group managed by Walking Mountains in collaboration with many local partner organizations. We enjoy various outdoor activities to connect more with nature, our world, and our people. All activities are in Spanish and low-cost or free.
Written by Sara Lynch. Sara is a Walking Mountains Foley Graduate fellow and is passionate about deepening relationships to others and reconnecting with our more-than-human relatives. When she is not teaching or working on coursework, you can find her cooking wholesome meals, reading novels, watching reality TV, or hiking.
