What does it take to restore diversity to a profoundly altered landscape? And how do we accept and work within novel ecosystems when there is no intact reference point to guide us?

It was a real treat to sit down with one of the best restoration ecologists I know, Ian Higgins. On a cold winter’s day near Campbells Creek, Ian showed me what decades of patient, thoughtful restoration can achieve.

When Ian first came to the area, there were just five individual wattles along Campbells Creek between Castlemaine and Guildford. Today, following years of care by the Friends of Campbells Creek, there are thousands. But the restoration effort has extended far beyond trees and shrubs. In a grazing-exclusion plot about the size of a house block, Ian has established more than 100 indigenous plant species, including locally rare and threatened species. For Ian, however, establishing a plant is only the beginning. The true measure of success is whether it can reproduce, recruit new individuals and ultimately become part of a self-sustaining ecosystem.

Our conversation explores the enormous legacy of gold mining, clearing, grazing, weeds and fertiliser—and the difficulty of restoring landscapes where almost nothing remains to tell us exactly what was once there. We discuss soil fertility, phosphorus, grazing exclusion, direct seeding, climate change and the sometimes-blurry distinction between indigenous, introduced and locally invasive plants.

Above all, this is a conversation about experimentation, patience and hope. Ian’s work shows that restoration does not necessarily mean recreating an imagined past. It can mean working carefully with the landscape that remains, learning from successes and failures, and helping diversity return—one seedling at a time.

I have always believed that the way we raise children, and the opportunities we give them to deeply experience and connect with the natural world, can be a powerful way to create a better future. So much of the destruction we see around us stems from a disconnection from nature that often begins in childhood. There is also a growing body of evidence showing that time spent in nature can improve children’s happiness, wellbeing, attention and emotional regulation, with particularly strong benefits for some children experiencing symptoms associated with ADHD and other forms of neurodivergence.

It was therefore a great pleasure to sit down with my friend Nectar while we were attending a nature camp beside the beautiful Clyde River in southern New South Wales. Nectar is the founder of Punk Caterpillar: Wild Nature for Kids, a program she has been running for more than five years. Through child-led play, exploration, practical skills, shared meals, storytelling and time around the fire, Punk Caterpillar gives children and teenagers the freedom to express their wild nature, develop relationships with the living world and learn alongside older mentors.

In this conversation, we explore how Punk Caterpillar began, what happens during its gatherings and why children need opportunities to move, play, explore and simply be themselves. We discuss the strengths that can emerge when children who struggle in conventional classrooms are given space outdoors, the importance of mentors with different personalities and gifts and the deeper sense of belonging that comes from being held within a community. Ultimately, our conversation expands beyond nature education to ask how we might rebuild a village around children—and, in doing so, create healthier, more connected communities for everyone.

After more than 20 years working in ecology, I have come to realise that beekeepers, or apiarists, often possess a more detailed understanding of eucalypt flowering than anyone else. Their knowledge extends far beyond when particular trees flower, encompassing eucalypt ecology, geographic variation and the relationships between species, climate and soils.

Few people embody this knowledge more remarkably than Stuart Fraser. Now in his eighties, Stuart is a lifelong beekeeper who has spent much of his life travelling through forests with bees and closely observing the flowering cycles of eucalypts. He is part of a family beekeeping lineage stretching back more than a century, through which an extraordinary body of ecological knowledge has been observed, tested and passed from one generation to the next. As Stuart once said to me, when your livelihood depends on something, you tend to pay attention.

I wanted to introduce Stuart to Vicky Shukuroglou, author of Ace Guide to Eucalypts Melbourne, whom I interviewed for Episode 19, and this episode brings together a conversation between the three of us.

We explore the immense honey-producing landscapes known by earlier generations, including forests where nectar reportedly fell from the flowers and gathered on the ground. Stuart shares his remarkable knowledge of the flowering cycles and geographic variation of Ironbark, Grey Box, Yellow Box, River Red Gum and the mallees, and explains how beekeepers read budding patterns, rainfall, soils and even the overall appearance of a tree to anticipate whether it will yield nectar. We also reflect on land clearing, declining insects, climate change, fire, Varroa mite and the irreplaceable value of ecological knowledge built through generations of close observation.

Five key lessons from the interview:

• Eucalypt flowering follows complex cycles. Different species set buds and flower over periods ranging from months to several years, influenced by the timing of rainfall, heat and seasonal growth.
• Flowers do not necessarily mean nectar. A tree can be covered in blossom yet produce little nectar; experienced beekeepers learn to recognise whether a flowering event will actually yield.
• The same eucalypt species varies enormously across the landscape. Yellow Box, Grey Box and River Red Gum can differ in appearance, flowering time and nectar production according to location, soils and local conditions.
• Historic nectar flows were vastly greater than today. Stuart described forests where nectar reportedly dripped from flowers and collected on the ground, supporting immense numbers of insects, birds and commercial beehives.
• Generational observation creates exceptional ecological knowledge. Stuart’s understanding was built through decades of experience and knowledge passed down by earlier beekeepers whose livelihoods depended on closely reading trees, weather and landscapes.