July 29-31st 2025

Picking Myself Up, Brushing Myself Off

Hey Family,

Just a quick update before I share a more in-depth blog post I’ve been working hard to finish—between catching up on hours of recorded content, prepping new classes, and weathering my first real tornado scare out here in the high desert of Western Montana!

Funny enough, just last week during a podcast interview, I was asked a question I’ve received many times over the years: “Is there anything in the natural world you’re afraid of?” My answer has always been the same—very little. I’ve faced down an Alaskan Brown Bear charging me on the Russian River while photographing her, and even in that moment, I was at peace. She wasn’t posturing to harm, just to protect. I told her gently, “There’s no need to fear me, mama—I just want to show the world how beautiful you are.” Moments later, her clumsy cubs joined her in the river. She went back to fishing, and I went back to watching in awe—with tears in my eyes and gratitude in my heart for the life I’ve been blessed to live.

That encounter reminded me of how much I owe to my father, my mother, and the many mentors who shaped me. I felt a deep sense of belonging and purpose then—on the path I was born into, and the one I still walk today.

But if there’s one force of nature that does unnerve me, it’s lightning. After nearly a decade in Oregon with barely a handful of storms, I now find myself in a place where thunderstorms roll through almost daily. And when they’re not, the heat is so intense my laptop won’t even turn on. I sleep in a metal box on top of my car. It’s raw, it’s real, and it’s been forcing me to grow in unexpected ways. I can't wait to get the freedom to explore more than the immediate area surrounding my car in the horse barn, it is parked next to.

Yesterday, while editing class content, preparing for tomorrow’s “Class of Fire” online session, rewriting my upcoming blog for the fifth time, and answering emails, I found myself in the middle of a weather alert. Sirens wailed, and my radar app showed a tornado heading my way. In under five minutes, I packed my essentials into two bags, hopped in the spare car on the property, and headed into town. As I was scrambling, I almost dropped everything, and thought of pulling a “Lieutenant Dan” by climbing the Knowl adjacent to my car, climbing to the top of the tallest pine tree, and raising my arms to the creator, not from a place of anger like the character in the movie, but from a place of facing one of my greatest fears, the sense of being truly alive that comes when you are not safe, secure, or comfortable, and the overwhelming gratitude for my father who instilled in me the resilience to continue pushing through obstacles that would have destroyed the average person's hopes and dreams.

Despite it all, the storms, the heat, the overwhelming workload, I feel hope rising again. This place, wild and unpredictable as it is, was my first intentional stop on what I hope will be a multi-year journey to continue doing what I love: teaching the sacred ways of nature, honoring ancestral wisdom, and fulfilling the promises I made to carry on my father’s vision with integrity.

More than anything, I’m here because of one extraordinary friend, Jim, who’s shown up for me every single day, even from the far corners of Antarctica. He’s given me space to land, to heal, to rebuild. When he leaves soon for Alaska, I’ll watch over his land and help his parents, and hopefully establish a solid foundation for the fifth time since I made a decision years ago that cost me, not just a very healthy financial future, but led me away from the best years of my life and cast me into the most challenging years of the 46 I have been alive.

And now, another friend, a true “Country Gentlemen” from Texas, has stepped in to support me with editing, tech fixes, and encouragement. Together, their belief in me has reignited a light that’s been dim for far too long. I may be stretched to the breaking point in every direction imaginable, to the point where I am mentally, physically, and financially broken. But I no longer feel alone. I no longer feel lost.

With only five hours of sleep a night for the past two months, I’m still creating, still building, and now, with the addition of “Gizmo,” my new drone, I’m able to bring students even closer to the wilderness in real-time. My online courses are becoming more immersive, more dynamic, and more accessible than ever before.

And yes, I’m still committed to my “Pay-What-You-Will” business model. Because this work is not about fame or fortune. It’s about service. It’s about creating a world with more caretakers, more stewards, and more humans who walk with reverence for the Earth. All I seek is enough to pay my bills, erase a modest debt, and continue offering the full T3 experience that is built built on 40+ years of living this path and 25 years of sharing it with others.

Stay tuned, my next blog post will go deeper into where I’m heading next, the work I’m creating, and the legacy I continue to carry.

Much love, deep gratitude, and unshakable hope,

T3