April 23, 2025

4/23/25

Happy Wednesday Friends

First, I want to address the fires currently burning through the Pine Barrens. My father, Sun-Bear, and Ralph Little Turtle brought this to my attention just last week. Having spent most of my life in New Jersey, I can tell you—this early fire season isn’t normal. Something is off. And deep down, I think most of us feel it. Things are unraveling, and they will likely get worse before they get better.

From the day I was old enough to understand the concept, I have sought to make my father proud. I hope my father would be proud that I’m fighting for my health, my safety, and the ability to continue the work he entrusted to me so many years ago.  I feel that he is because that is what is keeping my business alive right now, giving me the drive to push through one more day. I’ve always carried a sense of being an imposition, especially when leaning on the kindness of others. I’m deeply grateful to my friend—my first official apprentice—who’s opened his home to me. We clash sometimes, sure, but he embodies the spirit of a true caretaker. He’s given me space, food, and the stability I need to rebuild this vision into something real again.

My heart has been in the same place for the last sixteen years. Living by the principles my father taught me brought eleven of the happiest years of my life—years that softened me just enough to be blindsided by a three-and-a-half-year trial I’ve come to call my “universe exam.”

Now, I’ve emerged from that crucible. I’m ready to share again. Ready to give. Dressed for the dance, you could say—but still without a ride or a partner. So I keep walking, one step at a time, pouring my life into this work, hoping to make the world a little better by teaching a way of living that doesn’t involve masks, ego, or chasing hollow idols.

If I can ask one thing—besides spreading the word that my classes are open to all, regardless of what they can afford—it’s this: help me keep this vision alive by supporting the latest auctions. I’m changing things up this time—sharing themed sets of drawings and, for the first time, offering my original one-of-a-kind photographs. These are prints I will never use again—the full rights will become yours.

And if you’re ever searching for that perfect image—a landscape, a wild creature, a hidden corner of the Earth—I’ve likely captured it. Let’s set up a Zoom call, and we’ll find the piece that speaks to you from my archive of hundreds of thousands of images, spanning from Alaska to Texas, and everywhere in between.

In the meantime, I’m recording new material for upcoming classes, working to breathe life into both my own dream and the legacy my father left behind. 

Remember this: people might see your actions, but all of creation sees your motives.  

May you find peace, purpose, and just enough light to keep going.

—T3

Peace, love, joy, and purpose to you all,

T3

I greet you not just as T3, the teacher, the storyteller, the son—but as a man who has come to the edge of something I can neither name nor outrun. After more than two weeks rebuilding my website, reimagining what outdoor education could be through a revolutionary “pay what you will” model, I hoped this would be a turning point. Sixty hours of heartfelt, world-class instruction—offered freely to anyone with a will to learn—was meant to break down the walls between knowledge and those who need it most.

I believed in this. My father believed in this.

But belief alone has not been enough.

What I feel is more akin to being cornered animal—like a wild animal who’s given everything to stay gentle, to serve a purpose, and is now left with claws as its only remaining tool.

I’ve tried to do is fulfill the sacred charge my father passed on to me: to teach, to preserve, to walk in honor of this path. And now, when I look around, I see people with more resources, more reach, more influence erasing that legacy—not through skill or soul, but by playing a different game. A dirtier one. And I won’t play that way.

But the truth is, I’m running out of time. Bills are stacking. The website you’re reading this on may vanish in a week. My car—my shelter, my classroom, my lifeline—hangs by a thread. My last option would be to part with the final birthday gift my father gave me: my camera. The one he praised. The one he said helped merge art and education into something beautiful. Letting go of it would be a kind of death. I don’t know if I’d recover.

I didn’t think it would come to this. That four years of tireless work—with only a small circle of steadfast souls at my side—would bring me here, to this precipice.

But here I am. Still standing. Still trying.

So, I ask again, from the depths: if you know marketing, strategy, or how to get the word out—please help me give this “pay what you will” dream the reach it deserves. Social media has clipped my wings since my account was hacked years ago. I can’t fly like I used to. Not without help.

And for those of you attending T3 Reads TBJR on Friday nights or my monthly T3Live! events, please re-register. I finally cracked the code behind the system. If I could do it for each of you manually, I would. Click the bubble for each event—it’s all I can offer right now. Every participant matters more than ever.

All I want is the chance to do what I was born to do: travel, teach, document, and honor my father. I’m not asking for pity—I’m asking for a fair shot.

Until the fire is gone,

—T3