Showing posts with label play. Show all posts
Showing posts with label play. Show all posts

Monday, 1 August 2016

the seven (million) wonders of the world


A photo of one of the kids (my daughter or one of the cousins) from our week with family on Cook's Bay, the shallow southern end of Lake Simcoe quite near where I grew up. A mink family was nesting in the rocks just beside the dock, and we often found evidence of their feasts such as this discarded claw.

While my daughter was happy to hold and examine the claw (as seen in the top photo) she was happy to leave this large crayfish alone to rest, perhaps moulting, in the rocks beside the dock.

I saw this wonderful list today, posted by the National Trust in the UK. It was followed by links to apps to download, all to help families keep track of their activities as they completed the list. It occurred to me that this might have been in response to the now-ubiquitous Pokemon Go game that has kids and adults alike running about outside, trying to gather as many Pokemon as they can and earning points for mileage like a gaming fitbit.

I rather love the list, as I see many items on it I consider "must do" activities with students in class and with my own kids. I laughed to see items such as: No.25 make a grass trumpet which so delighted several students in our class this spring.

In April, after many attempts, one student managed to get a loud sound from her "grass trumpet". She was immensely proud of herself, and patiently taught her friends her strategy (which differed from mine). By the end of the week, we had a band of three. (click here to witness 3 students sharing their new-found noise-making skills).  

It reminded me of a conversation I had a few years ago, with outdoor education enthusiasts and friends Rob Ridley and Heather McKay. Rob is a treasured mentor of mine, an outdoor educator who gently prods us adults to go further, no matter where we start in our journeys outdoors with children. His visits to our class are a big hit - students who chorus "tweet the Ranger!" whenever we discover something surprising on our walks around the school, well those students greet Rob like a rockstar when he visits. Rob had shared a blog post back in August, 2014 about those priceless moments of childhood spent outside, which with the following invitation:
Go ahead, ask your kids – what do they feel every kid should experience outdoors by a certain age? Let me know! (see post here: Nature Time Before the Age of...)

 Heather did just that, and wrote her own love-letter to learning outdoors, "Where the Wild Things Are". She invited readers to ponder:
What have you been thinking about trying in your life?  Maybe it’s time to take that leap of faith….

Heather's post was particularly meaningful to me, because our families met up for an afternoon during the trip she wrote about. We had met once before, at the Hawkins-Inspired Conference in Ontario, but while it was a playful experience it was in the company of adults. This time, with our families away from home in full vacation mode, we were making discoveries about our children alongside them as we played in tidal pools and enjoyed the vastness of the ocean.


I wrote about my own aha's from that trip, mainly around self-regulation and the development of an environmental awareness that is possible when spending whole days on end outside. I hadn't responded to Rob's and Heather's queries, not in writing, but I had taken notes in my journal from the trip. Today, seeing the National Trust's #50things inspired me to go back, dig up what the kids had said when I asked them for their "must do by 12" submissions.



My daughter (then 7) suggested:
catch (and release) a crab
eat something you helped catch
climb a big tree
see a falling star
watch "shift change" (birds to bats: sundown, when the swifts swoop down into their chimney nests while moments later the bats come out for the night)

My son (then 13) suggested:
swim "au natural" under the stars
tent in a backyard
bike a "sneaky path" (his name for the deer trails and narrow footpaths where a kid can travel unseen even while standing)

My own (2 years ago):
swim in an ocean, a pond, a river, a lake
jump off of a cliff to swim
save a bird (window strike)
call a squirrel or bird out into the open
follow a wild creature for as long as possible without disturbing it (mink, beaver, muskrat, raccoon, rabbit, chipmunk, heron)
Today I add a new fascination of mine, one that has developed over the last few years as I've rediscovered my earlier love of geography:
follow a river or creek as far as possible - discover its headwaters, its mouth, and travel its winding curves through a forest or through urban landscape
 I realize my new submission is a difficult one for younger children, but a wonderful goal to set as a group, such as a family. A few weeks ago, when we spent our time near the southern tip of Lake Simcoe, we talked about what we saw as we watched the sun go down over the bay. The kids now know much more about the larger lake that spreads northwards, our spot being like the fingernail on a large hand, pointing down towards Holland Landing, and wrist meeting Lake Couchiching in Orillia. They felt the cold waves in Kempenfelt Bay when we spent a beach day in Barrie, and compared that to the warm shallows of Cook's Bay where we were staying. We heard a loon call at night, further south than we ever thought a loon would summer. On our way home, we crossed familiar waterways marked on the roads, and sighed when we crested the last hill before home, as Lake Ontario came into view, huge and blue before us.

Getting outdoors together, whether with a class or with family, allows for kids to see things they might not see if playing alone or with friends. Being in wild or near-wild spaces helps us all slow down, notice life of all kinds around us.

Our tent being dismantled on our last day at the lake - obscured from view, the dock and rocks where the mink scampered daily. Click here to see the mink on the move, or here for a friendly visit from various local creatures.
 
The "full buck moon" seen through binoculars. Photo by my daughter. We stayed out as late as we could each night (mosquitoes being quite good at chasing us indoors or beside the smoky fire) to watch the "shift change" when swallows went to roost and the fast-flapping bats came out.

Sunrise as seen from our tent. Worth waking at 5 AM.


Me replacing a poor little catfish we found on the lawn. I thought it was dead, as I found it some 3 meters from the shore on the grass, but when I picked it up to inspect it, it gave a powerful "flip!" and I nearly dropped it in surprise. We had been watching herons, osprey and terns fishing all week; it was likely one of these fishing birds that dropped its wiggling prey.

A damselfly nymph I caught (or did it catch me? It did follow me while I swam) that was very spooky while swimming, but upon closer inspection became obvious after a blue adult damselfly landed on my arm. The kids were fascinated to discover something completely new. Truth be told, I was too.



As I'm writing, my other open tab alerted me to the fact that someone had replied to my tweet, sharing the #50things list. Heather and Rob were chiming in with new ideas for how to grow and share our lists with others.


Here we are, at summer's half-way mark, and such a lovely long month ahead to try new things. Next week my daughter and I will once again spend a week at Swan Lake with the YRNC for this year's Rhythm of Learning in Nature, and I will compare notes with fellow eductors from Canada and around the world. Won't you add your own "must do" or "must see" ideas here?

Friday, 12 June 2015

worth a thousand words




I have been slow to commit my thoughts to print these days. It's not that I'm less reflective, if anything, I'm more so. I've several posts saved in draft form as they unfold slowly but resist fully opening, like an acorn needs a cold winter or a squirrel's help before it will release its seed to sprout. It's that from my first early posts when I managed to get out an idea in a few paragraphs, I've developed a habit of exploring the connections between my thoughts. One idea leads to a theme in my head or to a problem I've been pondering, and next thing I know I've lost 3 hours and I've written a chapter, not a page. It's that intriguing image of Loris Malgauzzi's I relate to, that "tangle of spaghetti" which represents learning so much better than a linear trajectory.

Happily though there are also flashes, moments that help focus or reframe the stream of consciousness, like a beam of light pierces through a cloudy sky. Those are the "aha" moments, ones in which mistakes are seen, gaps in thinking revealed, or sparks created that may ignite a fire. Tonight I saw one of those sparks in my Twitter stream, thanks to this tweet from Kristine Mraz:


I was immediately intrigued. I let Kristine know I wanted to share her idea, and that it made me curious about how I might find such an image for this year for me. How might I sum up a year of embracing outdoor pedagogy and risky play; a year in which adopted we a puddle, spent hours exploring the creek, expressed our creative and wondering selves through ice experiments, and looked closely at the intimate relationships between ourselves and our living environment? I thought of photos of the students rolling down our favourite hill, laughing as they bumped and wobbled down the grassy slope. I thought of one student leaping over the painted alphabet road, seeming to catch air. I thought of our fall exploration, altogether under the oak trees tossing handfuls of leaves in the air and burying each other under leaf piles. I thought of sledding and snow fort building days, seeing friendships blossom with newfound collaboration in the snow. I thought of my teaching partner Pooneh seeming like the Pied Piper, leading a merry band of boot-wearing kids out to the deepest mud puddle on the yard, including the picture she captured that became our latest class twitter banner picture. Some of the pictures I wanted to use were lost in translation - blurring or cropping the expressions on faces removed the drama or joy contained (as promised to families, no identifying features such as faces or names are shared outside of the classroom).

In a matter of minutes, I scrolled through the year's photos looking for "the one" to share with Kristine. Thinking of how many others in our PLN might welcome the challenge, I asked if I might share her tweet. She agreed, and we came up with a hashtag for the project.


These pictures (the ones I considered before finding it) below were all moments that were telling of themselves, but also brought with them the force of the inquiries that unfolded during or because of those moments. I could see the theories in action, and recall the words or sounds that went along with the images captured.








 I found the photo, the one that grabs my eye and tells so many things about our class, about the girls in the picture and how they approach learning. Here is #theonepic for me:



In order to share the photo I had to blur the face, which sadly removed the most delightful expression of anticipation. Nonetheless I see this image and I can't help but smile at all I see: the joyful embrace of full-body experiential learning, the kinetic energy in the jump, the planning that went into the test (the girl with the umbrella had raced inside to retrieve it after discovering the displaced water could reach all the way up to her face), the excited anticipation of the other girl awaiting the impact, the theories at work, the pleasure of sharing. It was for me a "the decisive moment" as outlined by the photographer Henri Cartier-Bresson. Looking at how learning unfolds in our classroom, I see the winding river and many branching steams that have resulted from our following the curriculum that emerges from our collective and individual interests, knowledge, and discoveries. It isn't surprising to me that so many of the photos I picked, therefore, contain movement. We are an early years classroom full of wonder and observation. Discoveries are celebrated. Mistaken ideas are shared, talked over, wondered about. We relish the noisy, boisterous, silly, surprising, messy play that results in and from engaged learning. My partner and I do plan experiences and bring materials to share, but most importantly, what we do is seize the moment, and share it.





I see that my early preamble (at the top of the post) didn't mean I wouldn't, once I began writing, experience the customary unraveling of the "tangle of spaghetti". Indeed, the idea of searching though 1000's of images from the year to find one, THE one, to say "this was my year" - daunting and yet illuminating. I've been thinking deeply about documentation this year - as a partner now when I had only ever been sole teacher in a class, as a learner who's looked hard at pedagogical documentation in readings, at conferences, in #reggioPLC chats and during my own reflections at the end of a day. So I am indeed grateful to Kristine for this unexpected spark. Now I want to hear from you... What do you think? Do you have that "one pic" that you will always think of when you think about this year? Is it a magic moment, a painful time, a breakthrough, a whole-group or single student event? What beliefs do you see reflected in your photos when you go back to find "the one"? Please share, and use the hashtag "#theonepic".

Saturday, 12 July 2014

art that promotes inquiry


"Art does not reproduce the visible, rather it makes visible". Paul Klee
This week I had the pleasure of meeting an amazing group of educators. Joanne Babalis, whom I've had the pleasure of presenting "near" but never with, had invited me to share my "balance, pattern, rhythm and awe" loose parts arts workshop with her summer AQ group. I was thrilled to share what I love while working with someone for whom I have such respect. I knew it would be a big job to bring the large amount of materials I use to design the same sort of explorations students undertake in my classroom. I also knew it would be wonderful, because every opportunity I have to share my passion, I get back more in energy and fresh perspective than I bring. Being present when adults allow themselves to be free to play is one of the most rewarding experiences of my professional life. It is why I proudly say I am "Hawkins-inspired" (though that needs its own post someday).

I have been sharing a version of this session for a few years (sometimes with other wondrous materials including ice and water), and it has allowed me to work with some of the very people I've long admired. I credit Serge Pascucci for helping me to discover my love of presenting, for although I've been fortunate to collaborate on wonderful workshops for our Peel (once called Kindergarten, now Early Years) Conferences, my guest visit to his Kindergarten AQ last summer was my first solo session. I was able to curate all of my favourite inspirations and materials and that day left me walking on air after seeing such a joyous and enthusiastic response by Serge's participants. That bundle (see photo below for QR code and link) has since been updated with more artists and supporting materials. Last fall, presenting with my friend Julie Metcalfe at the opening of the Hawkins Exhibit was another highlight. The whole weekend was dedicated to "messing about" with big ideas and wonder, and all participants were abuzz with the constructivist power of learning from and with materials. The only difficult part about presenting was that there were so many wonderful invitations but no time for busy presenters to truly explore them. Joanne was presenting in another section of the school (the beautiful Richland Academy) and every time I ran by and peeked in the door to say hello, there were entirely new balance creations underway. I regretted not having more time to stay and play. Naturally then, when Joanne asked if I would bring my session to her summer class, I was thrilled. And so it was, my trunk packed to overflowing, I arrived at the school anticipating a big job of lugging my goods in to set up.

All images in the poster above are from classroom explorations, except for the image on the bottom left, from a video of artist Mikhail Sadovnikov at work. The QR code leads to this collection of supporting resource links.

I walked into the learning space where class was in session, with some 45 or so participants seated at the front half of the cafetorium. The back half was filled with tables in long rows, each table covered with colourful invitations. I was immediately struck by the wealth of experiences being promoted by these materials: explorations of music and sound, colour, texture, number, and more. I had a job to do but I was tempted to wander, and play. When I was spotted, I dropped my bundle and prepared to go back to my car for several trips in with my bricks and frames, books and photos, bowls and loose parts. Instead I was greeted warmly and several participants offered to help. Many hands make light work - one trip with a dolly (thanks due to the kind custodians who loaned me the dolly and opened the ramp door) and I had everything I needed. This generosity and helpfulness continued all morning, and I was struck by how beautifully the class worked together and shared their learning. It reminded my of my beloved AQ cycle which came to a close last spring when I completed my Kindergarten Specialist. I felt proud to have finished, but also heartbroken to leave the group of colleagues who had become friends. I could see that happening here, in spite of the size of the group. It is a testament to all in the class that the collaborative spirit is so strong.

In spite of some minor challenges (the dropbox folder I'd created to share my students' works wouldn't open as a slideshow, then the book I'd chosen to read aloud went missing for several minutes after I'd carried it around and somehow dropped it), I was happy to hear a buzz as participants explored the visuals on display. I set out posters, books I use to invite aesthetic explorations (children's picture books and photographs of works by various artists), quotes that speak to the ideas I hope to spark, and collections of class work in documentation booklets such as our months-long inquiry my students called "all kinds of lines". As an introduction, I shared images by favourite artists whose works involve using natural materials (stone, wood, water, flowers, leaves, clay) in startling and beautiful ways. I call the workshop "balance, pattern, rhythm and awe" (in reference to an earlier blog post) because these big ideas are found in the artists' works, and also in the way people respond and play with materials when inspired by such artwork.

A collection of images by artists whose works provoke a powerful response (clockwise from top left): Andy Goldsworthy, Kathy Klein, Peter Reidel (my photo of his work), "Ursi's Eso Garden"

It is difficult to express the impact these artworks have on me. Happily, they seem to have the same impact on most people. During my introduction I listened and watched as images like the balanced stones and "danmala" flower mandala lit the screen. I heard "Ahhhh, "Wow", and even gasps. This mirrors the reaction when kindergarten students first encounter these works. These images inspire such wonder, so many observations and questions, and a desire to play with the elements of design in such a tactile way. I was hopeful that the participants would see the possibilities for exploring big ideas from all across the curriculum. After my read-aloud I invited everyone to look over the display for a few minutes while I set up the invitations in the sunny courtyard beside us. Within moments I had a gathering of helpful hands again: pouring out gems and acorns into bowl, spreading out fabric and frames, pouring sand and arranging mirrors to capture different views. And then... we played.




I opened my flower press to find treasures inside for loose parts exploration. Photo courtesy of session attendee.

It wasn't until later, when I was getting ready to wrap up for the day, that I saw this tweet from one of the participants. It stopped me in my tracks as I read the phrase "... art that promotes inquiry". It was the premise of my session, but I hadn't realized it was that simple. I told her I'd quote her, and indeed it became the impetus to write this post.



While the ideas that wind up being explored in the classroom touch on science (balance, decay of natural materials), math (pattern, symmetry, shape, number), personal and social (self-regulation through trying again and again, persisting through failure, collaborating and sharing with different peers), physical education (body awareness of balance and control, stamina) and every aspect of the visual arts, I hadn't stopped to think about how many inquiries had spun off from these invitations. Indeed, almost every long-running inquiry in our class this year was sparked by noticings and ahas in response to provocative art, or were furthered along by including artworks that shared ideas such as the way we looked at Group of Seven landscapes over the year during our adopted-tree inquiry. We've danced to art, we've painted our feelings, and we've found line and form everywhere inside and outdoors. Writing report cards confirmed for me the tremendous learning that had gone on this year, as I pored over documentation to pull quotes for the arts section in each student's summary of progress. The rich language, clearly indicating an understanding of the elements of visual arts and music, and the deep emotional connection to certain pieces or artists all shone through in their words or creations.




 One question that came up several times over the course of the afternoon was a variation of "Are you an art major?" I laughed, because I was far from it. I grew up loving art (visual, music, dance) but as I got older I became aware of the "real artists" in my circle of friends. Those friends who always doodled on the margins of their papers and developed fancy ways to print their names began to intimidate me, to the point when I was in high school when I stopped drawing altogether. I continued to love art, to visit galleries in every city I visit and to enjoy all manner of works from installations to performances, gallery shows to graffiti. It wasn't until I was in teacher's college in 2002-3 that I was introduced to the works of Andy Goldsworthy that my attitude towards creating changed. I didn't have the words for it then, but suddenly I was powerfully connected to the idea of creating, not just consuming art. I felt excited about playing with art elements in nature in a way that freed me from the perfectionism that stopped me drawing and painting so many years ago. I felt free, and driven.



Years later I've been inspired by great thinkers like Loris Malaguzzi and David and Frances Hawkins, who emphasize the human ingenuity that we learn through play. Thanks in large part to meeting Louise Jupp and Diane Kashin and attending the wonderful Reggio-inspired practice summer intensive, I have come to understand my practice as "Hawkins-Inspired", joyous learning.  I've come to understand my love of the arts and how connecting in many of the 100 languages makes for powerful learning.


A favourite quote of Suzuki Roshi which I shared at the session. Original source.

Later that afternoon when I had time to catch up, I read through the tweets from many participants. It was a real gift to see through photos so many things I hadn't managed to see as I wandered around answering questions and prompting next steps. The ephemeral nature of loose parts art play means that in a moment it can all be gone. With more time to share I'd have added clipboards and pencils for participants to capture their works before tearing them down, but this tour of their photos was lovely, too. I thank these and all the participants for making their learning visible.















 It was a magical day, and I continue to reflect on the questions, comments, and aha's from the participants and from Joanne.

Sunday, 23 February 2014

why we play

Puddle stomping friends! A muddy adventure with Helen and our girls.
I have been thinking about writing this post for a long time. In the last year, some very important people have come into my life. It used to be that I would automatically know whether or not someone was in my personal or professional life, but this has seemed to be a blurry line in the last few years. The reason this post has been brewing, I think, is because I've taken the time to examine the changes in my life since I last read an article about friendship, an article that upon first reading made me very, very sad. Looking back on the delightful friends I've made since taking my Kindergarten AQ parts 2 and 3, and then the "Reggio Inspired Intensive Course" over the summer, I can't help but see the article in a new light. And the difference in my life, that made this new outlook possible? In a word: Play.

Image source: "Fun at Home with Kids' blog via Pinterest
My girl and Deb's building a balance structure at the beach.

The article in question: "The Challenge of Making Friends as an Adult" was making the rounds on social media, gathering comments as it went. It outlines how we adults simply don't make "BFF's" like we did as kids, no matter how many times we meet someone who "clicks". True, as a parent it is much more difficult to drop everything and go out for fun. True, it is difficult to make time for a social life when beginning a career, trying to establish one's self. But there's more to friendship than simply time spent together. We may spend hours each day with our colleagues, depending on our work. Teachers spend time working together (on team school, board, or ministry mandated projects) but these projects have the possibility of being fraught, when so often the results are made public and tied to school goals. As in most work, teachers are usually concerned with maintaining a professional image: competent, skilled, reliable. These are desirable attributes, but they are at odds with the risk-taking which is at the heart of learning. I believe it is this reason that school PD for years was at best: not applicable to my teaching, at worst: actually caused rifts between colleagues and caused us to doubt our efforts and hard work. I remember hearing about staff meetings that dissolved into an angry blame game because of poor EQAO results. In my first school where I spent 8 lucky years in the same big Kindergarten classroom, I realized how lucky I was to have a principal who supported my desire to learn everything I could about developmentally-appropriate, play-based curriculum. Over time I came to understand that I was a constructivist teacher at heart, but before I had a name for it, I knew I was ready for a change. Before leaving the school I'd taught at in Brampton for eight years, I was fortunate to work with the always-enthusiastic Tina Zita, our ITRT. It was Tina who showed me that my love of tech could be brought to my classroom. She encouraged me to play with the programs (all web-based then, before I had access to an iPad) and incorporate my love of photography into class projects like my first digital books. Over my years in Kindergarten at my school, I had the opportunity to work with many experts or support teachers. When students with learning needs that exceeded my classroom offerings (whether they needed cognitive, physical, or social supports) I worked with resource teachers and outside agents to learn how to make my classroom a safe place for learning. Tina stood out, though, because she would come to my class and play. Not only that, but she engaged me in the play. She always encouraged risk-taking and celebrated my efforts. Not for nothing I sought her out when I joined twitter, and continue to admire that amazing "You can do anything" attitude that has so often led me to try things outside of my comfort zone.

My treasured "ask me about" button from Tina for the #TLDW Conference social media cafe.

These ideas have begun to meld for me: how to make friends, how to take risks (both socially and professionally), how to forge collaborative relationships. These have all been a great part of my growth in the last few years, and all seem possible because of a shift I've made, indeed, many I know have made, from "knowing" to "wondering". I work with many talented and skilled people, but there is something more in the relationships forged through play, or through sharing joy.


A message from a fellow joyful learner before we met. 
Note: click on the speaker icon, upper left, to hear this vine. Click again to turn off.

I have moments that come to mind of meeting educators who passionately embrace playful learning, not only for their students in the classroom, but as a general way of life. Indeed, it seems to me that embracing emergent curriculum has lead me to be a more joyful person overall. Does that seem strange? It seems odd to see it in print but I know it's true - I'm much more tolerant of my own mistakes and misgivings, and I'm more present in my day-to-day activities, finding the mystery in life at every curve in the road. More than that, I am comfortable with being who I am: a silly, often-too-loud, sensory-seeking geek whose love of science and nature is not something to be shy about.

It isn't summer until I've held my first grasshopper or firefly.

There are several people in my life who seem to help this spark stay alight, people whose wonder matches that of their students. One is Julie Metcalfe, who I met when I moved to her school and very nearly became her partner (alas she, like me, found a school that didn't require her to commute a dreadful distance and thus left her classroom to me). We became PD buddies, taking our Kindergarten Specialist together and spending a wonderful week at Richland Academy and Acorn School last summer at the Reggio-Inspired Intensive. I'll never forget how, when Julie and I discovered the outdoor musical wall, rather than miss a moment of play in that yard to go ask for the key to the gate, we hopped the fence and set about making much noise. It wasn't hard to imagine how our own students would delight as we did, or how we could use this idea to provoke music-making with found materials in our own classrooms.

 
Julie and I play with the musical wall in Richland Academy's wonderous Kindergarten outdoor space. 
   
At that Reggio-Inspired course we also met Helen Chapman who quickly became a friend, someone whose awe for all things wonderous matched my own, a friend who was equally geeky and joyful and mischievous. She immediately seemed very familiar to me, as we'd met at Peel's Kindergarten Conference a few months before, but also familiar in the way she abandoned worries about how things are supposed to be... I knew I'd met another puddle jumper. I convinced her to join twitter and see the number of teachers (like those in our course) who were embracing a playful yet rigorous approach to teaching. Helen's intuitive way with technology exceeded my own, and in no time she figured out what I hadn't yet in my year on twitter: how to create lists or groups. I was excited to have met someone who, like Tina, would inspire me to keep trying new things and pushing the boundaries of how I learn and teach.


Materials gathered to create window blocks: an afternoon of creative play at Helen's while the kids enjoyed the outdoors.
A tower of hand-made blocks - beautiful!
A particularly inviting tree for climbing: a Redwood at the Arboretum. *I was next up the tree.

Acorn School's vine post captures many of us at play, testing our marble runs at Richland Academy.

It was Tina who had asked me earlier that summer if I'd consider presenting at Peel's "Teaching and Learning in a Digital World" conference in August, sharing my learning journey using the iPad as an integral part of my program, both for documentation and for professional development through developing my PLN using social media. I balked at first, thinking she should go with an FDK teacher, a better-trained teacher, anyone but me! I continued to balk, until I learned that George Couros would be the keynote speaker. Still nervous but motivated, I went to twitter to solicit a partner. I was delighted when answered by Emily Krahn, a teacher at a nearby school I'd never met but enjoyed in our online conversations. We met for coffee and the hours slipped away as we chatted about ongoing inquiries in our classes, the amazing power of following emerging interests and skills to develop our projects, and how we wanted to better use our technology to support our program. We talked big subjects and fine details, and agreed to play with various apps on our own before meeting again. Using bitly to bundle the multitude of links we curated to share, we finally settled on three main themes that we thought our participants might wish to explore. Inspired as we both were by the Project Zero critical thinking prompts that were my part of my early foray into inquiry-based learning, we called them all a variation of "Making our Learning Visible". By the end of the Reggio-Inspired summer course, I realized that Emily and I needed a third person to fill out the three themes that we'd identified. I asked Emily who happily agreed to add Helen to our group, and we three played with apps all through August to find which best suited us. It meant that our Edcamp-style workshop had a lot to offer, though none of us were confidently 'expert' in the technology, we were all experienced in playing with it. In speaking to participants, we discovered we knew more than we had given ourselves credit for, and that came from agreeing to do the workshop and doing the research. I can't imagine working this hard to learn something new if I had to; it was summer after all. We'd been our own teachers, our own PD, by making this our inquiry, asking our PLN how they approached documentation and going from there.

Our pre-presentation smiles: me, Helen, Emily.

There are more, friends I'm grateful to see every day because they're on my K team at work, like Deb Croft whose room is abuzz with experimentation every day. Deb and I became friends over our love of nature, outdoor play, messy provocations, and lots of coffee. It was Deb who encouraged me to join the Thornwood PS "Marafun" relay marathon team last spring (an event started by Julie when she was still at Thornwood) and who ran with me through Mississauga Valley dodging puddles, melting ice traps, rain and closer to race day, heat! As an adult I'd ridden my bike for years but never run, so I know I'd never have signed up without her. During our training period, we ran in our neighbourhoods too. There's nothing quite like seeing two inquiry-based teachers running: we'd slow our stride to grab feathers, driftwood or even a nest (that was me) and continue to run, holding our treasures. Anything too big, a trip back in the car always in order. Our own children know a trip to the beach with us means buckets for stones, wood, glass, shells, and anything else we find to bring back to our classrooms. This year when the temperature dipped well below zero and I became frozen-bubble obsessed, we began to tweet each other our recipes and results from #bubblefreeze experiments and made the most of two minutes outside before loading students to the buses. So often I find some amazing, awe-inspiring experiment online, and my first impulse is to share with Deb so we can try it with our kids.

Playing with bubbles on a summer day at Deb's house.
Deb finds treasure while we're beach combing with the kids.

Another teacher I'm delighted to work with is Lada Duric, whose room is attached to mine, with one pod between us (yes, an enormous 3-class pod) and who leads our Kindergarten team. Lada delights in the same things so many of us do: the play of light, movement, the way children see possibilities in materials, outdoor learning. The story that best illustrates my connection is from the fall, when I was helping her to find materials to use as provocations for an upcoming staff meeting. We had both curated workshops at the opening of the "Hawkins Exhibit" hosted by Diane Kashin and Louse Jupp, held at Richland Academy and Acorn School in Richmond Hill. (Those "messing about" sessions were a highlight of my year and require a post of their own). Our very inquiry-supportive principal Rob Di Prospero had asked us to share the main messages of D. and F. Hawkins as it relates to incorporating inquiry into all grades. Lada worked with grade five teachers to find appropriate references and to make the learning relevant. While we did bring buckets and tubs of our own loose parts materials (tubes and boxes and assorted materials for marble runs, bricks and stones for balance structures, leaves and other beautiful stuff for mandalas and mark-making) we also had to be sure to include materials already found in junior classrooms. We found them all right. It was like two kids in a toy store when we got at their math manipulatives. Our grade five colleague M Geddes might have thought we were crazy, because we both treated all the materials like loose parts: rolling weights, stacking boards, clinking materials together to hear the sounds they made. We burst out laughing at the way we both attacked the manipulatives with glee, and imagined what wonderful ideas our K students would come up with for using these materials.

Lada's tweet well-demonstrates the curious nature of a lifelong learner.


Vine by V. Silva (another delightful friend at Thornwood) on a very, very cold day!
Note: no stories about Vanessa today, as I'm hoping to feature her here someday as a guest.

I am still mulling over the weekend that was the Hawkins Learning Exhibit inaugural Canadian opening, as it was easily one of the most meaningful events of my teaching career. I will say, however, that the best part of all was meeting a like-minded joyful friends who came from Calgary to attend. Heather McKay was the person of my PLN I most wanted to meet. Her every tweet or post showed her to be a truly joyous learner. We had collaborated across the distance and shared treasures. Her playful explorations inspired me from afar, including the day Julie and I discovered the musical wall when we had gone outside to "play with the sky" to quote Heather. Her passion for #enviroEd, emergent curriculum, and creativity made her visit a highly anticipated event among many of us presenters and attendees. When we had time to explore before the afternoon sessions, I laughed to see Heather approach everything at Acorn School as I do: like a kid. She touched the textures, held objects up to the light to see the shine, peeked in jars, struck anything that might make music. These aspects of my personality that have made me seem a quirky oddball as an adult were perfectly at home in this Reggio-Inspired environment and with such a playful person. Again, I knew I'd met a fellow puddle-jumper in Heather the moment she crawled in Acorn's famous mirror house.




Sometimes the friends I've made are people I've long admired for their leadership in emergent curriculum. Those people who inspired me to try new ways of learning, and teaching, and who I thought of as mentors. Funny thing about play: those mentor/mentee or teacher/student roles disappear when you're uncovering something new and wonderful together. Learning by transmission of wisdom (learner must listen to the teacher) has within it an inherent status structure. Like I mentioned in my accounts of the Reggio-Inspired Summer Intensive course, I expected that meeting Diane and Louise would be a bit daunting, but instead we participants were made to be welcome and made to feel like equal participants to the construction of the knowledge growing in the course. Likewise, when Serge Pascucci invited me to present a loose parts arts workshop at his Kindergarten AQ early last summer, I was in truth quite nervous. (This is another rich experience I have brewing up to write about one day). That nervousness faded immediately when I was welcomed by his class and we got down to serious play. His students were so engaged with the materials our session went well over the time expected.

             So many beautiful provocations @KinderFynes pic.twitter.com/LO0r5I5Fdh


Quote on a favourite photo from last year. This light table play involved several students and the talk revolved around colour, balance, symmetry: "make it the same!", shadows, shapes, and beauty.

It is through engaging in deep play that I learned how hard people will work when the materials are inviting and the questions are thought-provoking. It is for this reason I spend so much time in September playing with my students, getting to know them and their abilities and interests. Before great projects may emerge, the students need to create collaborative friendships like those that sustain me. I continue to be inspired by these people and many more in our fantastic twitter PLN. If you have someone in your professional life that inspires your joyful learning journey, drop me a comment here, or even better, tell them how much they matter to you.


Saturday, 8 June 2013

loosely told stories

Invitation to play. What would you like to make today?

Today I take a break from reflecting upon individual students for reporting to revisit the story I began in the last post: loose parts exploration in my classroom. While loose parts play is difficult to categorize because it allows players to imagine endless scenarios and enjoy a tactile experience, there are rather different directions that this play can take. In part one, I looked at the play that evolved when I brought buckets of water-softened beach stones, driftwood, and bricks, and also shared a beautiful provocation in the form of photos of stone balance structures created by Peter Reidel. Those stone and wood stacks still grow, tumble, and grow anew in the class. The same materials also spill onto the carpet and onto nearby tables, with jumbles of fancy fabric samples and empty frames, and bowls of stones, glass gems, seeds, acorn caps and other purchased and found treasures.

              


This week I looked over my hundreds of photos and video clips and felt such delight. Hundreds of images, because once students know you have a capture device, you are always on call: "Come, take a picture of my pattern!" or "Can I make a video to share?", "Can we show this to Ms. Croft's class?".
All around me, students using the language of design: "I used light ones and dark ones in my spiral", "These lines are bumpy, but these ones are straight", "We made a mandala out of stones and jewels", "I made a pattern. These are bricks, these are stones, acorns, and the shells of the snails".

Creations made in the classroom and in our nearby park.


Loose parts are a natural part of the classroom from the beginning of the year, involving much more than artistic or aesthetic exploration. Building structures for small world play, forts to play in, and ramps and mazes, all take place with loose materials such as large wooden blocks and slabs, tree slices, cardboard tubes, and found objects. Adding the little items such as glass gems and shells came slowly over the year, such as when I made my own little light box in the fall. Students enjoyed the light and shadow play, but it wasn't until I began to share images made by "land artists" that I saw the change happen, like it did last year in response to the same provocation. Sharing a selection of Andy Goldsworthy's other-worldy ephemeral art resulted in silence, and then applause. I recommend trying it with your students - many artists experiment and even excel at land art, but there are none in the world like Goldsworthy for sheer wonder. An excerpt (click to play) from "Rivers and Tides, or a slideshow (click to play) of images of his works from over the years would be a nice start. Another inspiring artist to share with beautiful examples of both stacks and mandalas can be found here.
 



 

One way to provoke an interesting conversation about what makes art, and what students think about a  style of art, is to use the images in a daily sign-in question. For one week, I had students choose between styles of art they might like to try ("Would you like to try to balance stones or make a design?") or which materials they would like to try ("Would you rather use stones/glass gems/pine cones?") or respond to an artist's work ("Which one of these pictures inspires you to try your own?").

Students mixing materials, and also mixing up their choice of playmates. New voices heard in creative area.
I've come to notice how loose parts art have changed the social dynamics in the room in several subtle ways. My "creative area" (the only name I could come up with for the spot in my room with sinks, paint racks, craft and writing supplies, play dough, and natural light from the windows) was often visited by students who enjoyed creating works of art: paintings, little books, clay sculptures, leaf rubbings. Yes, clipboards were taken elsewhere for drawing or writing, but unless I set out new provocations such as vegetables for stamping with or made ice-pop paints with students, many children opted out of visiting this area. Sharing land art images and providing many natural  or open-ended materials lead to artistic exploration taking over the room: light table spirals, stacks on one carpet, structures on the other, flowers and people and other representational art made in frames on tables.

  
Another change in dynamic is the change from individual focus on product (making a painting to take home or hang up in class gallery) to process, often involving several students. There is something almost magical about walking around the room, no longer hearing: "He got brown paint on my painting!" or "I need that colour, hurry up!". No more worrying about the direction to take or fretting over the finished product. The students have no "finished" product to take home, but what they have gained in awareness about art and about themselves is immeasurable.

Loose parts art invites collaboration and problem-solving. Sometimes it looks like several students working on their own little pieces in frames but sharing bowls of materials, chatting about their designs, offering each other new parts to add or asking for someone to pass them another item. Perhaps it is because I have been collecting so many materials to use, or perhaps it is the sheer pleasure gleaned from playing with beautiful, tactile materials, but I rarely see arguing over materials even in such close quarters as the table below.

A group of morning friends share materials and space, chatting about their choices and designs.
Sometimes it looks like one child beginning a small pattern and then, slowly or all at once, being joined by several more students bringing more materials. Time after time I have watched students enter into a process already begun, adding their ideas, sometimes knocking things over, sometimes changing the story or design quite radically. What amazes me is how this happens quite organically, with no arguing when a balance stack is accidentally knocked over, and such rich talk amongst the collaborators. The other aspect of this collaboration that delights me is the stamina the children display. I am not entirely certain if this is possible simply because students have developed self-regulation by this time of year, but to see a child or a group work hard and maintain focus for close to an hour, in a busy, noisy room? It is truly a marvel to behold.


Here are some examples of that magic at work.




















Here are some of the students' creations as captured, by request, in 6-second vine clips.
Note: links will open in a new window, on desktop computer. On mobile device it may open in browser or in vine app if you have it installed. Sound will be off, click on the speaker icon to listen.

The bridge over the dangerous river

"This is our mandala for our birthday friend" made by the AM class for M on her day.

 The big reveal!

T's beautiful frame design

Another collaborative project begins