The Fruit We Grow
“...the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.” — Galatians 5:22–23 (NIV)
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The Recipe
Over the past few years, I have noticed that some ideas are simply too big for a single blog.
I originally tried writing multi-part series, but many readers of The Everyday Mavericks told me they prefer each article to stand on its own. So I would like to try something different.
Welcome to The Fruit We Grow Collection.
There will be no numbered parts and no fixed order. Each reflection stands on its own, yet each one belongs to the same way of seeing.
The idea is simple.
We often move through life quickly, noticing only what immediately demands our attention. What if there is another way of moving through the world? What if we try a slower, more attentive and more deliberate approach, kind of like an interpretative trail?
What is that, you ask? Well, an interpretative trail is a nature walk different from a guided trail. This guided experience helps you notice what has always been present, but not always seen. The guide will stop to show you a pattern in the soil, a shift in behaviour, or a sound that carries meaning if you are willing to pause long enough to hear it properly.
In this collection, we use a similar approach, but I would like us to explore an ancient biblical idea through a modern, practical lens.
We will observe nature, observe ourselves and observe others, and in doing so, we begin to notice things that were always there, but we did not recognise.
Everything has an origin story.
Today, bushwalks are one of my favourite activities to facilitate. Where did it start?
When I first started working in nature conservation in 1998, I was still a student conservationist.
I was based at New Germany Nature Reserve under what was then the Inner West City Council, later incorporated into the eThekwini Metropolitan Municipality.
At that stage, I had completed my theoretical training in nature conservation. I understood ecosystems on paper. I understood terminology, classification and structure.
Then I began working with people.
We hosted school groups regularly. At times there were multiple buses arriving from a single school, sometimes one or two groups per day depending on the programme. It was a busy environment, with back-to-back educational sessions running through the reserve.
Each visit followed a simple structure. We would begin in the Interpretive Centre, where displays and live snake exhibits introduced basic concepts. From there, groups moved into a large aviary, home to around ninety bird species. After that, we would take them on what was then called an interpretative trail through the reserve. Today, in many of my programmes, this is more often called a bushwalk, though the essence remains the same. The experience would conclude with a snake demonstration.
It was in this environment that I began to learn something that my classroom theory had not fully prepared me for.
When Knowledge Is Not Enough
At first, I believed my knowledge would be enough. I thought I was smart and that I was going to teach these kids a thing or two.
I explained concepts using the language I had learned in my studies. I used technical terms, detailed explanations and structured descriptions. I knew all the fancy words, but most Grade 5 learners switch off the moment you describe an orange as a hesperidium.
At the end of my first interpretative trail, I realised something uncomfortable.
It had not worked.
The learners had not understood what I was trying to communicate. Not because they were unable to understand, but because I had not met them where they were. My words were too complex, my explanations too dense, and my pace too fast.
Looking back, I can see that moment clearly. It was not a moment of success. It was a moment of adjustment.
The Shift That Changed Everything
Because we were running multiple groups in succession, I had an immediate opportunity to try again.
When the next group arrived, I changed my approach.
I simplified my language. I slowed down. I watched their responses more closely. I adjusted when I saw confusion and expanded when I saw curiosity.
Something important began to change.
There was more connection, more understanding and more engagement.
And unexpectedly, something else began to appear in the experience itself.
A sense of joy emerged.
The walks did not always go well. Some were disasters. Even today I still have the occasional presentation that falls flat. Yet the joy remains.
I realised joy was not the result of perfection. It came from continuing to grow.
As time went on, I enrolled in a formal course to learn the craft of environmental education, and I invested in books and material from people doing well in the field.
My joy came from the quiet satisfaction of being part of understanding forming in real time.
Learning While Guiding
Over time, I began to realise that my work was more than information.
It was about translation. Interpretation. Packaging.
Helping people appreciate what had been right in front of them all along.
Nature had not changed.
Their ability to see it had.
Different groups required different approaches. Some needed stories, some needed simplicity, some needed space to think, some needed a joke, some needed a clever trick that makes them say, “Wow, how did you do that?” Others needed movement, energy, a funny song. Some needed to touch and talk while they think.
Each group was different, and each moment required adjustment.
This meant I had to develop something more than knowledge.
I had to develop flexibility. I had to be flexible in the moment, adjusting my delivery as the audience responded.
At times, I also became aware of something more difficult in myself: the tendency to over-explain, the instinct to fill silence, the assumption that more detail would always create more clarity. This was tough, but I am now much more comfortable and have learned to strategically use quiet space in a presentation.
Learning to step back from that required self-control. I learned that saying less often teaches more. Embracing the process with patience became part of the work as well.
The Lesson Within the Lesson
Only later did I understand what was actually being developed in me.
Years later, I discovered psychologists already had a name for what I had been learning in the bush.
Cognitive flexibility.
It is the ability to adjust your thinking when new information appears, instead of remaining locked into the first interpretation.
My bushwalks were teaching me cognitive flexibility long before I had a name for it.
In simple terms, we are not trapped by our first assumption.
The Human Pattern Beneath It All
We all interpret life constantly. We interpret conversations, behaviour, tone and silence. We build meaning quickly, often before we have gathered enough context.
Sometimes those interpretations are accurate. Sometimes they are not. The difficulty is not that we interpret. The danger is how quickly we become convinced that our interpretation is complete.
Once that happens, we stop observing.
We stop adjusting.
We stop seeing.
A Recipe for a Human Fruit Salad
Throughout this collection, I will occasionally use a set of words the ancients used to describe human character, known as the Fruit of the Spirit.
Words like love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.
For now, let us become comfortable with them. Over the coming months you will keep bumping into these words. Do not worry about memorising them. Simply notice them. Try using one in a sentence. See where you notice it in yourself. See where you notice it in someone else.
For example, in the early days of learning to guide, I experienced joy in the process of improving. I noticed self-control in the moments where I resisted the urge to over-explain. I learned patience in the repetition of multiple groups. And I began to understand that connection itself often carries something we recognise as love, even when it is unspoken.
They are lived experiences that point to something deeper about being human.
Behind The Practice
Each reflection in this collection will require from us three simple movements:
Observe nature.
Observe ourselves.
Observe others.
And beneath all three is a quieter discipline: to notice how quickly you decide what something means, and whether that meaning has fully formed or simply arrived first.
A Maverick Reflection
We are The Everyday Mavericks, and much of life is not about discovering new information. It is about learning to see familiar things more clearly.
When I look back at that first interpretative trail, I do not see a failure in knowledge. I see the beginning of learning how to meet people in their understanding, rather than expecting them to meet me in mine.
That shift changed how I see everything, especially people. Because once we learn to adjust our thinking in one place, we begin to notice where else we may be holding onto assumptions that no longer serve us.
And perhaps that is where this collection truly begins.
Moving forward.
Live curiously.
Lead courageously.
Life is worth living.
The Everyday Mavericks keep moving forward with intention.
Shalom.
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