"Heron!", chirps my toddler, Jesse, with great excitement, chubby hand pointing towards a gap in the tall, woody reeds.

‘Is there?’ I reply with slight suspicion.

I wrote my book, Wild City, before Jesse was born with the intention of encouraging people to look at urban nature with fresh eyes and from different vantage points, but I don’t always take my own advice. Eventually, I drop to his level and spot the heron on the far side of the pond, stalking through the water on long, improbably skinny legs, knees bent backwards. Jesse clearly has far better eyesight than I do – so often when I think he’s just parroting words he’s learnt, he proves me wrong.

He has been able to distinguish between a coot and a moorhen since he was 20 months old (‘coot’s got white beak, moorhen’s got a red beak!’). Toddlers are like sponges, and while they can have notoriously short attention spans, I’ve found that outdoors, immersed in nature, Jesse shows impressive levels of concentration. I watch him, brow furrowed, examining an acorn, stroking a feather, or running his fingers along the veins of a leaf. I pick up a leaf myself – the patterns on its underside are far more intricate than I’d have imagined.

We’re lucky enough to have the London Wildlife Trust’s Camley Street Natural Park on our doorstep – a tiny-but-perfectly-formed reserve, flanked by the Regent’s Canal on one side, and Camley Street, the road that runs between King’s Cross and St Pancras International station, on the other. Nowhere else can you hear a willow warbler’s cascading notes in duet with the dulcet tones of the Eurostar tannoy.

I’ve been taking Jesse ever since he was a couple of months old. Even then, when his eyes could only focus a few inches beyond his own nose, he would gaze up from his pram, entranced by anything green. 

These days, I let him roam freely for the most part; it’s the perfect environment for a wandering toddler to explore. He climbs over tree stumps, bats at branches and meanders along the wood-chip path until we reach the boardwalk surrounding the pond, at which point I hastily grab his hand to stop him from leaning over enthusiastically into the water.

Past the boardwalk is a shady slither of woodland, the branches forming a canopy above our heads through which the sunlight dapples and pools. Jesse crouches down low, carefully raking his fingers through dried leaves and earth, before leaning against a low fence to scour the water for ducks.

Along with the birds, I teach him the names of any plants that I happen to know. This isn’t many, but fortunately there’s a brilliant app called Picture This, which allows you to upload plant photos and, as if by magic, identifies them for you. I’ve learnt that nature can be found no matter where you are – even in the most gritty, urban environments. On our walk to and from nursery, we look for dandelions, bursting like sunbeams from gaps in the pavement, or soft green moss clinging to the damp, graffiti-covered walls of railway arches.

We listen out for birds too – the blackbird’s tuneful song, accompanied by the jingle of an ice cream van, the shrieks of car alarms and ring-necked parakeets, the rattle of a dodgy engine and the magpies that nest in the huge sycamore tree opposite our house. 

We’ve come to know our local flock of pigeons as we have our other neighbours – ‘white pigeon called a dove!’, Jesse interjects, before excitedly reeling off the other types of plumage; ‘that one’s a brown one – brown and grey!’ To most adults, pigeons are undeserving of our time or notice – they blend into the brickwork, only gaining attention when they’re in the way of feet or wheels. But to a curious toddler they are a source of constant entertainment. Recently, Jesse was perturbed to find the flock absent from their usual perch on the bridge over the canal. ‘Pigeons all gone!’

It reminded me of just how many ways there are in which we can engage with urban nature. Through Jesse, I’m seeing with fresh eyes again – a child’s eyes – giving me a whole new perspective on the city and the wildlife we encounter within it.

Connecting with nature, at any age, boosts our physical and mental well-being. If you’re looking to take a leaf out of Jesse’s book, The Wildlife Trusts’ 30 Days Wild challenge is designed to help you spend more time admiring the nature on your doorstep. The goal is to do something “wild” everyday in June, whether that’s watching birds out the window, or going butterfly spotting! You’ll receive a free pack full of wild goodies, and daily emails full of activity inspiration.

Sign up here