Closing the Circle part 2:Love em all’
I Have Arrived
“If you need something to worship, then worship life - all life, every last crawling bit of it! We’re all in this beauty together!”
Before I share one of the most difficult pieces I’ve ever written, a quick update.
Due to urgent need, I’m opening private auctions, not just for the remaining illustrations, but also the First ever copy of “The Tracker”, several handwritten passages by my father from the late 1970s, and other rare items, and while they’ve been well cared for, I truly believe they now belong with those who can truly honor them. Honestly, I need to part with them because the pain I carry over the loss of my father’s work to those who seek to profit, not educate, and having physical representations of something that was once so bright, yet is now swaddled in a blanket of shadow. The proceeds will go towards fulfilling my ongoing promise to protect the Pure Vision my parents brought to life.
Feel free to contact me directly with questions or interest.
One of the best classes EVER Trackolytes and Les Primitif’s Winter survival quest!
August 2nd, 2025
I’ve seen a lot of beautiful places in my life. I’ve slept under the stars in the tundra of Northern Alaska, bathed in glacier-fed streams, and followed ancient animal trails across endless prairies. But nothing, quite prepared me for what I felt the moment I crossed out of Oregon, into Washington, and 2 days later … Montana.
It wasn’t just a shift in geography. It was a shift in me.
For years, I’d been clawing my way forward. Oregon had become a place of too many shadows and too little light. I left that state with more weight than gas in the tank. Grief, exhaustion, betrayal, and a gnawing question that followed me every mile: Would I ever find a place where I was not just tolerated for what I do or respected for where I come from, but truly seen for who I am, just me, as I am now?
By the time I hit the Montana border, the last of Oregon in my rearview, something inside cracked open. The sky stretched so wide it felt like it was swallowing every ounce of pain I’d carried across state lines. The land here doesn’t just welcome you; it humbles you. It reminds you of how small your problems are in the face of ancient stone and endless sky.
The part that really caught me off guard: for the first time in a long, long time, I feel like I’m appreciated, not just for my skills or my story, but for me, as a human being. As T3. Not “Tom Brown’s son”, but a humbled, far wiser man following his Vision. A man rebuilding, remembering, re-rooting.
The years-in-the-making journey from Oregon, was brutal. I had to navigate the collapse of relationships, the theft of vital gear, and the kind of internal storms you don’t talk about unless someone really asks. There were nights I questioned everything, my mission, my message, my own worth. But the moment I hit Montana, my faith was restored.
So here I am, standing. Breathing in air that smells of pine and freedom. Sleeping under skies that feel like ancient eyes watching over me. And slowly, surely, becoming the man I was always meant to be.
Montana isn’t just a place on a map. For me, it’s a promise kept.
And I’m just getting started.
My father, Tom Brown Jr., ignited a global movement with his teachings and writings on Earth-based skills, survival, and philosophy. His work has directly impacted hundreds of thousands—perhaps millions—and has indirectly touched the entire planet. I was raised by two remarkable parents who built the world’s largest school of its kind. People traveled from every corner of the globe to learn from what they created together.
On Inside one of my father’s Field Guide to Nature Observation and Awareness, One of the only pieces of my past I will not part with, written in his flawless script, he penned this dedication to my mother: “To Judy, another book, so far from the unemployed woodcutter you once married. No one but you cared to hear my words, wisdom, or philosophy. It was you and only you that created this dream come true in my heart. You are more powerful than Stalking Wolf and have been the greatest influence in my life. All I can give you in return is my love, forever and always.”
My parents and I when things were so simple
If you ever questioned what I mean by the “Pure Vision” and the place all of my work stems from. There it is. These were the days I remember most vividly, helping my dad gather roadkill for class demonstrations or our dinner table, watching my parent’s debate whether to allow more students in to meet the years-long waiting list, and witnessing firsthand the birth and growth of a revolutionary movement.
But even great stories have shadows.
When my parents divorced, it changed everything. Four days before seventh grade, my mother told me we were leaving. That move was the beginning of what would become a long, painful journey through trauma, separation from the land I loved, and a life increasingly unmoored.
After years away, I returned to work alongside my father for a decade. He then gave me a mission: to carry the spark that began when he met my mother, to spread the message, and to become the keeper of the flame. I did so with all I had. Since then, I've started two of my own businesses, helped founded a nonprofit, then on to Oregon, where I worked educating adults for 5 1/2 years. But after 25 years of nonstop teaching, without vacations, starting my own business and struggling for years, wondering why, only to find out my father took his final walk, my world shifted again.
My guard was down, and after three years of literally being alone, except for when a student would come for a class, or I would go shopping, I was desperately trying to find friends, a community that helped to uplift each other, so that I could seek balance, love, and the space to create anew.
My father was explicit when he said, “I am the Tracker School. Wherever I go, the school goes with me.” When he left this world, so too did that original incarnation. What he truly wanted was for people to reconnect with nature, not just philosophically, but with their hands in the dirt, their spirits attuned to the land, and the skills that first brought our early ancestors close to the Earth. That’s what I’ve tried to do every day since I was a child.
What I’ve endured over the past four years, the character attacks, the betrayal, the constant instability, and as of yesterday finding out that the vast majority of my social media posts starting almost two years ago have been flagged in a seemingly coordinated effort to silence me, keeping me from the work I was born to do and the 40+ years I have put into honing my craft, is more than I care to detail here. But I will say this: I am still here. I still carry the fire, and I will not let the spark that my parents lit go out on my watch. The first time I stepped up on that stage as an adult, I offered my life to protect the vision. Something I am more than willing to do up until this moment and beyond.
For those who have stood by me, supported me, offered land to stay on, or simply checked in, I see you, and I thank you. For those watching from the sidelines, wondering what happened or where I went, I invite you to listen more closely. I’m still walking this path. It just looks different now.
The mission continues, through me, through all of us who still believe in the healing power of Earth Mother, the way of the Caretaker, and the lessons of the Tracker’s path.
Keeper of the Flame,
T3
The Digi-Natural Nomad
On Wednesday August 6th, join my monthly free event for some updates about my current and future “Pay-What-You-Will” classes, and other plans for my nationwide tour. For the most up-to-date news on my many works view the Daily news page, which I try an update every few days with what I am experiencing and where I am.. Or join the TRACKOLYTES COMMUNITY PAGE on Facebook. Now that I have a team of two handling the things that keep me from creating awesome classes and content, I am more confident than ever that I will fullfill my fathers wishes, and bring Nature education to the masses when it is needed most.
Much Love, Thanks, and Praises,
—T3
