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There’s a quiet epidemic unfolding in our homes, classrooms, and playgrounds. You’ll find its symptoms in the hunched shoulders of a child bent over a glowing tablet, the vacant stare of a teenager lost in endless TikTok reels, or the mounting anxiety of a preteen who’s measuring her worth against Instagram filters.

Endless hours in front of devices are quietly rewriting the blueprint of childhood, reshaping the way that young people think, interact, develop, and experience the world.

Young people today, aged between 8 and 18, spend betweenstaring at screens, but less than a day enjoying time playing in nature. The result? Rising rates of anxiety, body image dissatisfaction, reduced attention spans, waning creativity, and sleepless nights. even show kids glued to screens experience premature thinning in the prefrontal cortex—the brain’s control centre for impulse control, attention, emotional regulation, and decision-making.

The benefits of technology are undeniable—it’s a tool for education, connection, and innovation. Yet, the pervasive presence of devices comes at a cost.

The very essence of childhood—curiosity, exploration, connection—is being fragmented by algorithms and devices designed to steal their attention, preventing them from experiencing the messy and wild world around them.
 

But there is a solution to this, and it may not necessarily come just from stricter screen-time rules or the next “mindful tech” app. The antidote is far simpler, far older. It’s the original technology: nature.

The unfiltered beauty of the natural world offers something no device can replicate. consistently show that time spent in nature improves mental health, reduces stress, and boosts focus, resilience, and empathy. 

Nature, quite literally, recalibrates the brain, offering a much-needed antidote to the relentless buzz of the digital age. Children who climb trees, explore parks, and get their hands dirty rediscover their ability to think creatively, solve problems, and embrace challenges. More profoundly, nature helps children reconnect—with themselves, with others, and with the living world.

One movement helping to lead this reconnection is the forest school. Forest schools are built on a simple but radical idea: the best classroom doesn’t have walls. Here, nature is a teacher.

Perhaps nowhere is the forest school more essential than in urban environments, where young people are often surrounded by concrete, noise, and the hum of modern life. 

But in one suburb of Perth, Australia, children are stepping back into the nature—not just to play, but to learn. 

At primary schools in Padbury, Perth, students are turning their schools into forests. Guided by ecologist Grey Couplan, these students are becoming citizen scientists, planting forests on their school grounds using the Miyawaki method to help nature thrive in urban environments. Developed in the 1970s by Japanese botanist Akira Miyawaki, the Miyawaki method is a technique that carefully selects native plants to create dense, fast-growing pockets of biodiversity in urban spaces which mimic natural forest ecosystems.

The Miyawaki concept traces back to the 1970s, when Japanese Botanist Akira Miyawaki witnessed the decline of forests across Japan. Yet amidst this ecological distress, he noticed resilient pockets of primary forest surrounding temples and shrines. Inspired by these natural wonders, he crafted the Miyawaki method, planting mini forests across Japan and Southeast Asia. It was this concept that ignited Grey Coupland's imagination.

Today, Coupland works with children across Perth to build forest schools. Together, they develop compost from food waste and scraps, creating a circular waste system where yesterday’s scraps nurture tomorrow’s trees. Then they plant. Native plants take root, carefully chosen to thrive in their local environment, and soon, a forest begins to emerge—one that provides shade, cools the air, and attracts wildlife.

But the process doesn’t end with planting. Each month, the children measure plant growth, monitor soil health and air temperature, and collect data on species diversity within their forest. They’re not just observing the changes—they’re creating them. And in doing so, they’re learning skills that extend far beyond the schoolyard: collaboration, problem-solving, and a deep respect for the natural world.

Coupland, who was inspired to launch this project after learning about the Miyawaki method and its potential for urban areas, pitched the idea to a local school principal, and the UNESCO Green Citizens Project. Soon, her idea had come to life.

And this movement is gathering pace. Miyawaki forests have sprouted across fifteen schools in Perth, with children, teachers, and local communities working together to transform urban spaces into thriving ecosystems.

The blueprint of childhood hasn’t been lost to screens—it’s there; waiting, quietly, in nature. We just need to help children find their way back.


This article was written by . Natalie is a UNESCO Green Citizens Pathfinder. She is a Board Director at the Foundation for National Parks and Wildlife, a Board Director at CARE Australia, the Founder and Chair of My Green World, a member of the XPrize Brain Trust for Biodiversity and Conservation, and an Australian Delegate and Climate Justice Lead at the W20 (the official engagement group of the G20).