At Bush Playgroup this week, something small and beautiful unfolded beside the Swan River. What began as a hesitant touch of clay slowly grew into curiosity, confidence, and pride. Moments like this remind us how children build sensory confidence through relationship, play, and gentle invitation.
Bush Playgroup by the river
Bush Playgroup at Guildford Grammar often begins quietly.
Families gather beneath the trees near the Derbal Yerrigan, the Swan River, and children slowly settle into the rhythms of the place. Some head straight for the mud and water, already eager to immerse themselves in the sensory richness of the riverbank. Others stay close to their parents, watching the world unfold before deciding how they might step into it.
On this particular morning, the invitation was simple.
We introduced clay.
Not Play-Doh or a structured craft activity, but real clay. Cool, smooth, sticky earth that responds to touch. After reading The Gruffalo, I offered a playful challenge to sculpt Gruffalo creatures from the clay. In truth, very few children were interested in making Gruffalos, and that was perfectly fine. The real invitation was the sensory experience itself.
At Educated by Nature, we often talk about sensory risk-taking. These are moments where children explore unfamiliar textures, sensations, and materials at their own pace, building confidence in their bodies and in the natural world around them.
Beginning with the unfamiliar
When the clay first appeared, there was a noticeable pause in the group. You could hear the hesitation in the language adults used around the children.
“Oh, they don’t really like getting dirty.”
“We’ll see how this goes.”
“They might not touch that.”
These comments are usually spoken with care and protection in mind. Parents know their children well and often anticipate how they might respond. Yet children are always listening, and they often borrow the language they hear to interpret their own experiences.
One child approached cautiously. Her parent had mentioned earlier that part of their hope for Bush Playgroup was that she might slowly become more comfortable with messy, sensory play.
That kind of confidence doesn’t grow from pushing a child into mud, it grows through relationship and trust.
So we began gently. I started with porcelain clay, a pale clay that looks very different from the dark clay found along the riverbank. Our cultural idea of “dirt” is often tied to colour, and pale clay can feel less confronting to touch.
Holding a small piece in my open palm, I simply offered it to her and she took it. That was enough for a beginning.
Discovering clay at the river
Later we wandered down to the river’s edge, where the banks of the Swan River hold layers of clay beneath the surface. Using a small spade, I uncovered a seam of rich, dark clay in the riverbank. As I did, I slowed my voice and allowed genuine wonder to come through.
“Oh my goodness… look at this clay.”
Tone matters in moments like this. Children read emotion through voice long before explanation. When adults express curiosity and awe, it invites children into that same sense of wonder.
I scooped a little into my hands. “Your hands are dirty,” she observed. It wasn’t a judgement, she was just noticing.
Around us, a few adults commented on the mess, and the child quickly repeated their words. Moments like this remind us how easily children absorb the language around them. Instead of correcting or explaining, I simply narrated what was happening.
“My hands are getting really muddy,” I walked to the water, “maybe I’ll wash them.”
Wash, wash, wash. Clean again, then back into the clay.
Without saying it directly, the message was clear. Getting messy is not permanent. There is always a way back. For many children, the uncertainty of how a sensory experience will end can be the real barrier.
Bridging the familiar and the unknown
To help build confidence, I mixed the two clays together. The pale porcelain clay she had already touched and trusted with the dark river clay she had not yet explored. I squished them together in my hands and showed her, “look… it’s still clay.”
The colour changed. The texture changed. But the material remained familiar. By blending the known with the unknown, the experience became less intimidating.
Then I broke off a tiny piece of the river clay and offered it again in my open palm. She took it.
And immediately threw it.
“Great throw!”
Throwing quickly became the game. Many of the children that morning were exploring what educators call trajectory schema – the repeated urge to throw, drop, and watch objects move through space.
So we leaned into that pattern. Each time I offered a slightly bigger piece of clay. A little bigger, then bigger again.
Eventually she was holding a piece about the size of a cricket ball. The wettest, squishiest piece yet. The kind guaranteed to leave dark clay on her hands.
She threw it.
Plop.
“That was the biggest throw yet!”
Each time she accepted a piece, she wiped her hands on her shirt afterwards. Not completely cleaning them, but reducing the sensation and the visible clay. She was regulating the experience herself.
At one point I encouraged her to show her mum the biggest piece she had thrown. The pride in that moment was unmistakable.
The moment of discovery
Later she looked down at her hands.
“Look,” I said gently.
“They’re like mine.”
Both of our hands were covered in clay, but instead of discomfort, there was curiosity.
We smelled the clay together. Her mum noticed it smelled very different from the Play-Doh they use at home. We dipped it in the river and watched it become shiny and slippery, then rolled it again and discovered how it slowly dried and firmed up.
Language began to emerge through the experience.
Rough, smooth, sticky, squishy, firm.
Science and vocabulary developing through the hands. Angela Hanscom often writes about how rich sensory experiences support children’s physical development and emotional regulation. Natural materials like clay offer exactly this kind of embodied learning (see Balanced and Barefoot).
Ending on her terms
Eventually she walked down to the river herself and washed her hands.
She returned proudly.
“Look! My hands are clean.”
A moment later she asked if she could eat the clay. We agreed it was probably better to stick with the snack she had brought.
But then she said something beautiful.
“I’m going to take this clay home to show Daddy!”
The same clay she had once avoided was now something she wanted to keep.
A small transformation had taken place.
The role of the adult
Moments like this remind us that sensory confidence rarely comes from instruction.
It grows through co-regulation, modelling, and patient invitation.
Attachment approaches like the Circle of Security remind us that children move outward into exploration when they feel emotionally supported, and return when they need reassurance.
The adult becomes the secure base.
Hands leading children out into exploration, and welcoming them back again.
Our language matters.
Our tone matters.
Our willingness to get muddy matters.
When adults kneel in the mud, laugh at the squish, and show curiosity themselves, the experience becomes safer for children to approach.
Different sensory appetites
Of course, not every child approached the clay this way.
Some children were already fully immersed in the sensory experience. Muddy feet, splashing water, clay-covered hands and knees. Their bodies were completely engaged in the textures of the riverbank.
Every child carries a different sensory profile and appetite for risk.
For some children, full-body mud play is joyful and immediate. For others, the journey begins with a fingertip.
Both pathways are valid.
Researcher Ellen Sandseter reminds us that children also learn through vicarious risk – simply watching others explore challenge and uncertainty can shape their own confidence and understanding of possibility.
Even observing helps build those neural pathways.
A small beginning
By the end of the session, that small lump of mixed clay travelled home in a little hand.
From hesitation to pride.
From observation to participation.
From “dirty” to “mine”.
Next week she may need to warm up again. Sensory confidence grows gradually, like any relationship.
But the doorway has been opened.
And sometimes that doorway begins with something as simple as a lump of clay at the river’s edge.
Want to know more about Educated by Nature Programs?
We offer nature-focused programs for families, schools, community groups, events and more. Get in contact to discuss what would best suit your needs.
Photos from Guildford Grammar Media Team