My mom and dad decided to homeschool us - I'm one of eight -

In the heartfelt words of Jamie Anderson, a voice of both humility and strength, we find a truth that sings of freedom and wisdom: “My mom and dad decided to homeschool us—I’m one of eight—because they really wanted us to be outside and learn some other fundamentals instead of it being school all day in a classroom.” Within these words lies not merely a story of education, but a philosophy of life—a reminder that learning is not confined to walls, nor wisdom bound to books. True knowledge, as the ancients knew, is born from experience, from the living world itself.

The origin of this saying springs from the soil of love and simplicity. Jamie Anderson, a champion snowboarder and seeker of nature’s rhythm, was shaped by a childhood far from the ordinary. Her parents, guardians of the old ways, believed that the world itself was the greatest teacher. They saw that the forests could teach patience, the mountains endurance, and the open sky humility. In their wisdom, they chose homeschooling not to isolate their children, but to set them free—to let curiosity guide where rote memorization could not. Thus, their home became not a classroom, but a living temple of discovery.

The ancients, too, understood this. The Greeks spoke of paideia, the education of the whole being—mind, body, and spirit. To them, the child who could recite poetry but not climb a hill, or solve riddles but not face hardship, was half-formed. In the East, the sages of old sent their pupils into the wilderness to meditate and learn from the silence of trees and the flowing of rivers. For they knew that wisdom is not a collection of facts, but the harmony of understanding one’s place in the cosmos. So too did Jamie’s parents—without seeking to emulate philosophers—follow that sacred instinct of all wise parents: to raise not scholars only, but whole souls.

Consider the story of Maria Montessori, the great Italian educator who defied the rigid schooling of her time. She believed, as Jamie’s family did, that children learn best through freedom and contact with life. She filled her classrooms with gardens, music, and tools—so that each child could learn by doing, by touching, by wondering. When questioned why she allowed children to move, to play, to speak, she said, “The greatest sign of success is not that they know what you know, but that they have learned to think for themselves.” So too did Jamie’s parents trust that the world itself would teach their children to think, to feel, to grow.

The meaning of “being outside” extends far beyond the physical. To step outside the classroom is to step into awareness—to see that every bird, every storm, every struggle contains a lesson. The open air shapes resilience, and the rhythm of the seasons teaches patience. In nature, a child learns responsibility—not because a teacher demands it, but because the earth itself responds to care or neglect. Those who learn from the soil and sky become rooted and yet free, practical and yet poetic. It is this union of strength and wonder that forms the heart of true education.

And yet, this teaching reaches deeper still. Anderson’s words remind us that fundamentals—the simple, timeless virtues—are often neglected in the pursuit of modern success. Kindness, courage, gratitude, and the ability to listen to one’s inner voice—these are the foundations of a life well lived. To learn such things, one must step outside not only the classroom, but the noise of the world. The greatest teachers—love, patience, nature, struggle—wait for us there, in silence and in motion.

The lesson, then, is this: seek knowledge not only from books, but from life itself. Let the rising sun be your clock and the falling leaves your lesson in impermanence. Let work and play be one, and let curiosity lead you farther than fear. Teach your children—and yourself—to be both students and stewards of the world. Walk outside, and remember that learning is the breath of living; it is not something that begins in childhood and ends with youth, but a journey as vast as the horizon.

So, dear listener, carry this truth with you: the classroom may sharpen the mind, but the world awakens the soul. Step outside often—into the wind, into the unknown, into the presence of the living earth. There, amid the whispering trees and the wide sky, you will find what Jamie Anderson’s parents knew: that the greatest education is not given—it is lived. And in living it fully, you will remember what it means to be both student and teacher, both child and guardian of creation.