what a puddle taught us

 "When a curious child and a knowledgeable teacher explore the phenomena of the real world, genuine science begins." Frances Hawkins

Water leads to wondering... wondering leads to engagement... engagement leads to learning.

I love SS's story. It highlights her determination and growing self-regulation skills, the learning that happens when you look closely and observe changes in the local natural world, and most of all, the joy of playing in a puddle.

A photo I've shared in the past, when describing the "decisive moment" in capturing a mood in a photo. I couldn't help but notice how many of the photos I chose to illustrate moments of learning involved water.

I have long used the term "puddle jumper" to describe a certain type of person, a kindred spirit... someone who embodies playfulness and joy well into adulthood. Friends know I'm likely to go out when it rains, looking for snails or following rivulets that run down the street over leaves and stones. My penultimate post was an extended metaphor for documentation, seen through the lens of reflection on water. It was inspired by the idea that reflection is always changing, based on one's point of view. A few days later, I shared the incredible learning journey of a friend and colleague who embraced full-bodied exploration of a puddle with her students, and was changed by the experience.

Our class adopted a puddle last year - two, in fact. The year before, my AM and PM classes had each adopted a tree to visit weekly, but the idea just didn't catch on in our new FDK class. The water that gathered near the walkway to the buses, on the other hand, fascinated all. One puddle, near our neighbour's classroom gate, appears and disappears at the whim of the weather. It grows to a small pond after a hard rain, and dries up with nearly a trace after a day or so of sun. It is a wonderful thing - reflecting the school or the sky, depending on where you look. It grows large and deep at times, and later leaves only a darkened shadow of itself, a mere grey trace.

In September our returning SK students quickly taught the new JK friends what our class does after a good rain - here's a group of kids well dressed to enjoy the sometimes puddle with my teaching partner, Pooneh in the back (pink boots).

One day this fall several students were excited to discover how chalk reacts to getting wet, and conversely, how our puddle reacts to getting coloured on. The traces of this joyous play were beautiful for days afterward.

When I find a quote meaningful and wish to share it, I look for a photo from my own experience that illustrates the idea for me. It struck me this year that nearly half of the pictures I've used in the manner have involved discoveries or exploration of water. Noticing our environment means finding patterns, traces, and surprises in nature.

The other puddle, a little strip of water that forms beside the concrete bunker just outside our gate, is affectionately known by all in our class as the "muddy puddy". My teaching partner and I have joked that this puddle is the reason many students beg their parents to buy them rubber boots. Mud is magnificent stuff. We explore it near and far around the schoolyard.

The beloved "muddy puddy" is a perfect illustration of one of many quotes from Ann Pelo that speak to me of eolithism - learning in and from the immediate environment.

The picture above rather beautifully captures our learning one day  - a cold, muddy puddle can be utterly delightful, or utterly misery, depending on how well dressed you are, and how well you pay attention to the details: how deep the puddle, how high your boots, how thin the ice, how sloshy the mud, how splashy the other kids in the puddle with you. By encouraging self-regulation, we allow students to figure out for themselves whether or not the mud puddle is an appropriate place for them to play. These students on this day listened to their bodies and to the situation, and had a marvelous time. Many other students watched from a safe distance on the hard ground. We applauded both choices.

The muddy puddle exploration on this day left an indelible mark on my mind - and I believe it will be remembered by those students for a long time, too. We learned about bravery, made mistakes, and played on. It was a grand outing, even though we were only out on the yard.

Sometimes the rain winds up creating new puddles, like these deep craters in the post holes around our kindergarten playground. This girl tested the height of the water against the height of her boots, and was happy to find that her feet stayed dry. Math and science was all the talk around the puddle this day.

More math play happened when this student found a cup for scooping and tried to empty the deep crater that her friend had been standing in (see above). I didn't stay long enough to capture how many scoops she had to do to fill the wheelbarrow, but it was already 15 when I left to explore elsewhere.

It was the collage below that lead me to believe it was time to look back over our learning thus far this year, and try to get at the big ideas students were exploring in their fascination (and mine) with water. Several projects and inquiries are ongoing in our class at the moment, and the year is winding down towards the winter vacation, thus making new conversations harder to facilitate during our short knowledge-building-circle time. I knew there was a theme emerging, one I'd want to remember and be able to share with the children later in the year when it came up again (as naturally it does when snow melts and freezes anew).

A recent water wonder from our class. I can't help but wonder where the arrival of snow will lead us in our questioning.

This wonderful day at the park last year remains another favourite memory for several students, now SKs.

Puddles seem a perfect metaphor for emergent curriculum. Even more so in a difficult year, when the social curriculum seems the most important lessons being highlighted each day, the need to "get one's feet wet" remains. Through relationships forged over messy play outdoors, friendships and trust are born. If you see a problem to solve, learning is inevitable. I thank my friend Nadine for sharing her puddle story, and inspiring me to look back over my own. I will consider it a success if this inspires even one reader to invest in a good pair of winter rubber boots. If you've learned something from a puddle, please consider leaving a comment here. 


 

what learning doth a puddle offer?

 I met Nadine Osborne this summer at YRNC's week-long "The Rhythm of Learning in Nature" course. In my role as one of the facilitators for the week, I was able to learn and explore together with a wonderful group of educators and parents, and alongside my daughter who was attending the forest-school-inspired camp. The incredible professional learning session was a meeting of minds of Reggio-inspired educators with Forest-school inspired practices, grounded in the eolithism of Hawkins-inspired learning. It was a deeply engaging week that helped us all connect more deeply with place-based, emergent planning education. I was honoured to be a part of the team and feel a strong connection to those educators who walked along the paths and talked over worries, hopes and dreams together at Swan Lake.

Like daughter, like mother - we met up along the path and had to laugh when we saw each others' boots - I had been wading into the duckweed, and she had been playing in "the mud kingdom". 

Holding on tight as I inch along a log over the shallow water at the edge of Swan Lake. Photo by Anamaria.

One of so very many frogs and other pond creatures seen during our week at Swan Lake.

We don't live near enough to bump into each other during the school year, but I often see Nadine on social media along with many other in the #ReggioPLC who participated in our magical week at Swan Lake last summer. One wonderful conversation took place about 6 weeks ago, when Nadine posted an inspiring story about her day at school. In it she referred to students jumping into the puddles with such force, it caused the water to go "so high it hit our faces". I burst out laughing, remembering similarly "messy" moments from the YRNC summer course, where boots got stuck in muddy ponds, or stagnant puddle water splashed our clothes, or a particularly messy moment when, while following a damselfly, I slipped down a bare-dirt stretch of hill and wound up knee-deep in the mud.

Reading her post, I was most touched by the following: "I learned that when I supervise my own students in risky play they show they can manage risk." Yes! That was so much the message of "Rhythm 2015" - that by embracing outdoor learning and trusting children to be curious and capable learners full of potential, we would discover a wealth of knowledge, passion and skill among our young learners, and ourselves. Together we could discover our limits, and push them outwards.  I couldn't help but ask if she'd be willing to share her story here on my blog.

Later, in a direct message conversation, we talked about what this post could mean, in terms of the larger documentation story I have been working on through guest posts and my own reflections.
We spoke about documentation and how different we all are in our outlook and approach. We talked about the possibility for one child (or a few children) to stand in for the learning story involving many students. By taking a magnifier look at a student's growth (as she did beautifully in her story), one can illustrate both how the larger class learns from direct experience, and also illustrate an event that many found surprising and rewarding. We discussed how the documentation can be a metaphor for learning - that some students direct the inquiry, while others partake or even just observe, but all will have a memory of that moment, and most will have made meaning from it.

At the time I said: "...there are kids for whom true exploration is just beginning... Handling loose parts and sharing space is about what they can manage. Later, they begin to ask questions, or attempt to answer those posed by provocations... Those are the meat of my shared documentation. My partner captures different things, and I like that. She captures snippets of events that I miss, lovely moments of art or sensory or language play that may not connect to big ideas we're playing with but which show a lot about the experience or the children. In fact, I think I should tell her this." (note: I did, in fact, tell Pooneh how much I appreciate her documentation, and what she captures from her perspective - often across the room from me). 

I read my quick words to her now, and realize I overstated the case somewhat - I try to listen to all voices in the classroom, no matter how they are "spoken" and no matter their interests and strengths. However I do appreciate the opportunity to think about the importance of one child's learning on any given day - that our job as teachers in a large early years classroom is to forge relationships with all students, and between all students, and to help all see themselves as learners. I think Nadine did this wonderfully, and I am grateful that she allowed me to share this here. Her words follow.



What learning doth a puddle offer? 

by Nadine Osborne
 
Yesterday we had 2 indoor recesses, one was announced before it started and the second one it was decided to call them back in due to rain after the first ten minutes. The children were challenged to contain their physical energy within 4 walls and a ceiling. I had to divide and conquer together with my teaching partner. Today after getting all ready it was announced that it would be an indoor recess before they even got out the door. Faces were long.  

I was in the room to witness it even though it was really my lunch. I was hosting a school club meeting so I couldn't just throw on my stuff and go out with them. But I promised to take them out after recess was officially over. So since we had six students away today we only had a total of 21. Seventeen of them had rubber boots & raincoats, 3 did not and were happy to stay inside. The remaining child had "outdoor shoes" but dissolved in tears at the thought of staying in. He didn't fit the spare boots that were available so I made the decision that he needed to be outside more than the shoes needed to stay dry. I really need to build a relationship with this student.  Last year he was in a different class with a different teaching team.  I know from the way he looks at me and from his body language and tone of voice in communication that he doesn’t trust me yet.  He doesn’t yet sense that I am on his side.  I have been trying. Today that meant understanding how very deeply he needed to be outside. So I took 18 children outside in the rain and into the puddles and the mud. They burst from the door like popcorn from a hot air popper overflows into the bowl.

When they understood boots meant it was okay to stomp in the puddles they did a little more than stomp. After observing their obvious delight and assessing that they couldn't get much wetter anyway I suggested we have a contest. YES. I suggested we have a contest to see if we jumped in the puddle with all our might, who could make the water go the highest. That was me. Me, the teacher, with the provocation. Never would I have imagined it. After about 25 minutes of sheer joy the children were starting to get a little cold. I let the first group that wanted to go in with my teaching partner go ahead to start the process of changing into dry clothes. Another group remained outside with me to collect wet leaves. Then after five minutes we went in as well. We learned that most of the children could make the muddy water go as high as their bodies. Indeed they could splash their whole face with muddy water if they jumped hard enough in the puddle. We learned that we won't melt in the rain. We learned that school is not just a place with rules where we line up all day long and get prompted to sit criss-cross applesauce. We learned that we are strong, powerful and mighty. We learned that we can change our clothes, and dirty clothes can be washed. We learned that the world is a joyous place when we can explore it in ways that feel right. I learned that dirty clothes are better than notes home about behaviour. I learned that when I supervise my own students in risky play they show they can manage risk. I did not have any students who needed ice. If I made a rule they followed it because I didn't make any that weren't essential. I learned that today one child "had the most fun I ever had in my whole life".

He was the child who didn't have boots. He was the child who needed the messy outdoors more than all the rest. I am not sure if I can express the learning in terms of the curriculum. It might be possible. But I am sure that RELATIONSHIPS underpin all the success I will have with these children. Today was a day of building relationships. If it happens that they grow up and forget the day we jumped in the puddles until our faces were caked in mud and our hearts were ready to burst with joy, I know I never will.

EPILOGUE – Several weeks later the weather situation was the same, if perhaps colder.  My new teaching partner was not dressed for mud, and a little hesitant.  A few of the girls were also a little hesitant.  This time I gave them a mission.  We were not to just splash with wild abandon, but instead We would see if we could find things that would float in the puddles.  I didn’t figure this out the last week of August when I was doing my long-range plans.  It came to me in the moment.  It just fit.  While I was thinking we would just look for natural objects in the yard, an industrious child managed to grab a few lunch containers from the lost and found box on our way out the door.  It was a very engaging lesson and I just had to listen, observe, and occasionally pose an open-ended question:  “Can you find anything else that might float?”  “Why do you think your leaf floats?”  

When I think back to all the planning and gathering of materials for my sink or float lessons from previous years, I realize how far I have come.  The road ahead might still be long, but I am well on my way.  I trust the children and I recognize the value of a puddle.

(end of Nadine's post.)

I love her reflection at the end - indeed, once you have harnessed the power of learning in the moment, it can be strange to look back at how we once were taught to plan for learning without taking the students' actual knowledge into consideration (for those of us who began in theme-based programs). When I think of the moments that change us most as adults - I mean change our outlook about what is possible and appropriate learning for children, I think of this powerful statement by David Hawkins.

"We who have been involved in the study of science and children have ourselves been changed in the process. In some ways not easy to express, we have been liberated. Those of us who knew children before science (are) now seeing the former, children, and ourselves as well in a new light: as inventors, as analysts, as synthesizers, as home lovers, as lover of the world of nature. Those of us who knew science first, and children after, have an altered and more child-like view of science, more humane, more playful, and even at its most elementary, full of the most unexpected delights".
David Hawkins as quoted by Karen Worth

A puddle reflected the world of possibility for Nadine, for her students, and for those of us who delighted in first reading her story. It was her story that brought me back to my (neglected for many months now) blog, only to discover the draft of a story about water as a metaphor for learning, and for reflecting on our learning. I thank you, Nadine, for sharing the joy.

walking in place: footsteps in the forest

An ecological identity is driven by a sense of wonder, the sheer delight in being alive in a mysterious, beautiful world. David Orr, Ecological Literacy

A group of students crouch to inspect the large family of mushrooms that emerged since our last walk to the big stump, only days before. This tree has been a stump for years now, but the children know it as a living thing, where plant and insect life is always found tucked in around its edges.

My son's friend holds a very patient toad that we found in a dry creek bed section of nearby Etobicoke Creek.

My daughter and I splash our feet in the water beneath the waterfall on the creek, upstream from where we found the toad. A week later, after heavy rains, we can't access this spot due to the high, rushing water. Our relationship with the creek means we come to expect the changes, and also anticipate what creatures we might see: a glossy mink, a stalky night-heron, dabbling ducks.

   There are many ways to go to explore the beautiful Kortright Centre grounds, but it is this path that slopes steeply into the treed valley that always calls me first. Inviting in every season.

On May 23rd I attended an event, a day so touching and magical it seems wrong to call it by its proper title, "conference". This was a gathering of educators inspired by forest school teaching, outdoor education, Reggio-inspired pedagogy, and by the incredible author, Ann Pelo. It was in the middle of a very busy week, chalk-filled with exciting events that took me far and wide around Southern Ontario. There'd been a small dinner gathering of friends of the York Region Nature Collaborative (YRNC) on the evening before the conference, a fantastic trip with my teacher partner to visit the "Artists at the Centre" exhibit, and a delightful gathering of educators at Sunflower School's "Mystery of Materials" conference in Orangeville on the following weekend. As such it only remained a fond memory, a collection of images, tweets and videos shared once home (where the wifi is), until I was finally able to review the penciled notes I'd take that evening. My few notes brought back the sights and smells even stronger than the photos had - it was a full-bodied sensory experience of wonder, connection, and joy. Those notes begin the story as it unfolds, below.

Today was a timeless sort of day. It arrived after much anticipation, as I'd long been looking forward to this opportunity to hear Ann Pelo speak again. Last year I'd been so moved by her keynote address at the #BECS2014 "Unhurried Conference" at Charles Sturt University where she showed slides and read snippets of her beautiful book "The Goodness of Rain". Her book sold out that day, and as I was unable to obtain a copy, I decided to wait until her next visit so that I could purchase and have the book signed. Wanting to connect with her words, recently I delved back into her earlier book "The Language of Art" which is one of those transformational reads that seems to get deeper and more meaningful with every reading. I felt so connected to her message at last year's conference: teach with open heart, open ears, and open mind. Then to re-read the description of the atelier, a place to be mindful of every action and every material, to celebrate beauty and expression, it was almost too much to bear waiting.

As I arrived this morning, I drove up the long winding driveway to the Kortright Centre with the windows rolled down in spite of the chill in the air. I wanted to smell the air, feel the moisture, and hear the sounds in the hills around me. The Kortright Cente is a special place for me, a place I've been going for many years though it's not close to home, a place I love even more these last 14 years that I've had kids to share it with. Last year's event, “A Family Adventure Walk in the Forest” in October 2014, also hosted by the YRNC (which I am proud to support in any way I can) was one of the most magical days I've ever spent with children, and that's taking into account my baker's dozen years of teaching Kindergarten. I had the privilege of hosting one of the stations that day, a place to celebrate my passion for "looking closely". Mine was the pile of dirt with sticks for digging... wisely assigned because truth be told if I had been given another centre I'd had dropped what I was doing every time an interesting bird or insect came into my awareness. Allowing me to spend the afternoon looking closely around our little "mountain" of dirt was a gift. Being a supporting member of the YRNC (long distance and thus only when possible) has been a professional highlight, helping to further my own teaching practice as I collaborate with inspirational educators and ecological stewards.

Kortright splendour during the first "Family Adventure Walk in the Forest".

A moment that brought me to tears: my daughter spent much of the afternoon with a group of friends including some she'd met at the last YRNC family gathering, the "Forest School Taster" held in the summer at Lake St. George. When the group found this beautiful tree frog, they carefully captured it, created a safe transport (a leaf-lined paper bag), and ran through the woods and up the hill to my "look closely" station. Though the park was full of hundreds of people who were there for "Family Adventures", the girls decided that I was the one that would most appreciate their find. It made me very happy.

Some of the delightful creatures and people who appeared at my station during the "Family Adventure Walk". I was intrigued by the responses to this station: some adults stood back while the children climbed the hill and dug into the soft dirt, while other adults joined in with great relish, holding up worms or centipedes to the delight or fright of their children. Initial squeamishness at seeing the contents of our "mini-museum" (pictured above in the bottle sections on lids) usually gave way to fascination and even exploration.

As I got out of the car this morning for the conference, I was immediately drawn off the path and into the woods by the familiar spring sound of a bird I like to call "the monotonous robin". It returns every year and somehow every year I remember the song (like a faster, endlessly repeating robin song) but I forget the singer. I ran into the woods in pursuit of the song, hoping to catch a glimpse and thus identify the singer. No luck, it was evasive as always, but I found myself through the trees onto the great lawn, walking in warm sunshine up to the crowd gathering at the entrance. I saw so many familiar faces, both friends I've made in recent years and those faces I knew only from our twitter PLN. I likened it to being a bride: all the beloved people in one place but really wanting to dote on the groom. It was almost too much for me, as I wanted to chat with everyone but I was also in a special place that demands my full attention... a forest vibrating with life in every corner. I needed to be quiet, to listen, to slow down to be in forest time.

My nature self won over my social self before I became exhausted. I tuned my senses to the life everywhere around me.

Before the keynote I was able to ask Ann to sign my beloved copy of "the Language of Art". I thought it proper to offer a gift in exchange, and as I'd connected deeply with her idea of the belonging to a place, a pedagogy of place, since her keynote last year, I gave her the best gift I could think of: a small jar of beach glass and a fossil-filled stone from the shore of Lake Ontario. I find these treasures the nearby beaches along the western edge of Etobicoke, the shore where time seems to lose its grip on me. To my relief and delight, she was as curious about these objects as I am.

Sharing the story of my beach while Ann signs my book. Photo by Stef.

The full name for today's event was "Walking in Place: Cultivating Ecological Identity in Young Children - And in Ourselves". The title long but reflective of the connected elements at play: by sharing a point of view, a mindful awareness of our surroundings, together with children we develop a relationship with the natural world. Ann began her keynote by describing how she was "energized and curious" by the invitation to share her story in such a unique way, "walking in place" with the conference participants. She shared observations, personal stories, and quotes. In fact, the quotes used in this post are from Ann's handout, kindly shared with participants so we might enjoy her presentation in the moment without the need to scribe.

Once the keynote began, I took some notes but was grateful that Ann had thought to include her most touching quotes in a handout so that we the audience could simply be present without needing to capture words as they flowed by. I did, nonetheless, jot down ideas and my impressions as they came to me. Ann set the tone by having us join her in reciting a traditional Haudenosaunee Thanksgiving Address (adapted by Karen Kerney). Greeting each other, the earth, all beings alive, all materials that sustain life (water, sun, air we breathe) we came together to see ourselves as part of an enormous, organic whole. From there she began with the first step of our journey, figuratively - she asked us to consider the origins of the word "foot" which connect to planting - planting one's foot in place. The quote below struck me as true, as both obvious and deeply meaningful. At that moment I realized why I had fallen in love with my neighbourhood, and why I'm torn by the idea of leaving it just because our family has outgrown our home.

We do this walk several times a week. It's a way for us to load ourselves up with the feel of the landscape. The only difference between a place to live and holy land is the number of footsteps you've put into the ground. Marc Parent, Believing it All

When Ann Pelo suggested we make @KortrightCentre a holy place, I thought... It is already. @YRnature #WIP2015

— kids connect (@KinderFynes) May 23, 2015

As she continued, Ann made reference to some of the stories in her latest book, The Goodness of Rain, which is an intimate story of her year with Dylan. Dylan was a toddler, speaking few words when they first began to spend each day together. I remember being mesmerized with these stories when I'd seen Ann at Charles Sturt University last year, and was eager to hear more about that magical time they'd spend walking. As Dylan grew and developed words for what was around her, Ann captured the story of their daily walks and noticings. A particularly poignant image is that of Dylan and the apples - fruit of the tree they visit daily and thus become to know in its every state, from abundant to bare. I didn't capture her exact words, but loved her description of Dylan's joy at smelling, plucking, and eventually eating the apples. Ann alluded to the biblical tale of how apples came to be a symbol for the downfall of humanity, how we were banished from paradise after one taste. She described Dylan's astonishment and delight at finding this gift (paraphrase): "not a fall from grace, but a fall into grace... knowledge of connection to earth, to our growing... attuned to call of wild earth, we know the earth, taste it, feel it." She quoted David Orr, alluding to all that naturally grows out of being happily astonished by nature.

An ecological identity is driven by a sense of wonder, the sheer delight in being alive in a mysterious, beautiful world.

An ecological identity encompasses these qualities of knowing and living in a place:

• learning how to read a landscape;
• coming to know a place and its local ecology;
• strengthening and being strengthened by a feeling of kinship with the living world;
• developing an aesthetic appreciation influenced by the patterns, textures, colors, lines, forms of the natural world. David Orr, Ecological Literacy 

Ann spoke of the importance of our role as teachers, what it means for us and what we are trying to do (paraphrase from keynote): "We teach children the languages of art, writing, reading, maths - we actively cultivate knowledge. (We) also need to cultivate ecological identity - sense of self belonging in place." She went on: "Our culture celebrates knowledge, not experience, of ecology, of nature. (It is a) commodification, an intellectualization of nature, of knowing versus being. For the urban teachers, nature isn't a forest, but spiders in the playground, puddles in the parking lot, ants in the crack of a sidewalk."

She proposed principles for pedagogy of place, those outlined in her book but offered not as commandments, instead as an invitation for beginning our own personal journeys. Ann urged us to develop "a pedagogy of play... present, in unfolding time".

@km50robinson @KimClark23 @KinderFynes @YRnature Ann's Principles: return visits/pay attention/new perspectives/silence/learn vs teach names

— Sibbald Point OEC (@SibbaldPointOEC) May 24, 2015

It was a powerful moment, one which caused a number of us in the room to choke back tears (or brush at those that escaped our eyes). Looking at the tweets later I found examples of this.

#WIP2015 We must cultivate an ecological identity driven by wonder. Ann Pelo pic.twitter.com/JMbKUm5cVD

— Diana Fedora Tucci (@tinderforest) May 25, 2015

#WIP2015 Ann Pelo: experience holds the seeds of love. That's why experience matters. It hold us accountable and we can love with hearts.

— Christy Johnston (@ChristyGarrity) May 23, 2015

Waiting for it to soak in. words right now can't express how thankful I am to have listened to Ann Pelo and found this community #WIP2015

— Margarita Hernandez (@smari1120) May 24, 2015

AP: To love is to protect. Let children experience the joy. See the extraordinary in the ordinary. pic.twitter.com/Hvz0Q8vkLP

— Sibbald Point OEC (@SibbaldPointOEC) May 24, 2015

One principle that I found deeply meaningful was that of "learning the names" of the flora and fauna all around us. In my last post, "a time to learn the names",  I related it to my own experience growing up with a strong ecological identity, though I didn't have a word for it, or recognize it as I grew up. It was simply something that separated me from most of my peers, and as such something I kept quiet about when I was young. No-one (outside of family) seemed to want to hear that the peeper frogs had begun singing that week, or that the milkweed seeds were still green, just right for eating (before turning brown and sprouting white fluff), or that the young puffball mushrooms were delicious sauteed in butter, or that the bird they thought was an owl singing in daylight was actually a dove - a lovely bird and my middle name.

Giving a name to something is a way of knowing it... People are unlikely to value what they cannot name. Elaine Brooks, in Richard Louv, Last Child in the Woods

Ann spoke about the people who "learn the names" because they fall in love with some aspect of the whole living, breathing ecosystem (birds, mushrooms, flowers, insects). She said, "I bought my first field guide and poured over it like a love letter". I identified strongly with those words. While listening to the keynote, I jotted down a note about my favourite non-translatable word, "komorebi". I wanted to share it with Ann after the keynote, though I missed the opportunity to do so. It is a word that I needed as a child, when I first fell in love with the Arctic as seen in images (National Geographic, at the McMicheal Gallery) and later on television (The Nature of Things). One day I imagined visiting the "land of the midnight sun" and talking those who lived there. I wondered what it would be like to grow up without trees. It actually pained me to think about it, life without trees: no dappled shade on a sunny day, no dazzling red fall, no sounds of leaves in a stiff breeze, no smells of pine after a rain, no boughs to climb in and hide. I wondered how on earth I could portray all this beauty and wonder with words. When, as an adult, I learned this wonderful word, it fit like a well-worn shoe.

Japanese: Komorebi This is the word the Japanese have for when sunlight filters through the trees - the interplay between the light and the leaves. Def. EF Sanders

Ann spoke of names, of the importance of knowing the names, not in a studious way in which we check off boxes and call it "done", but to discover new things and acknowledge them. She quoted Robert MacFarlane as a powerful call to action:

It’s a lexicon we need to cherish in an age when a junior dictionary finds room for ‘broadband’ but has no place for ‘bluebell’.

A place literacy is leaving us. A language in common, a language of the commons, is declining. The terrain beyond the city fringe is chiefly understood in terms of large generic units ("field," "hill," "valley," "wood").

Why should this loss matter? It matters because language deficit leads to attention deficit. As we deplete our ability to denote and figure particular aspects of our places, so our competence for understanding and imagining possible relationships with non-human nature is correspondingly depleted. Robert MacFarlane, "the word-hoard"

#WIP2015 Learn The Names: expression of relationship= connection of imagined intimate relationships. pic.twitter.com/Ehu99ErdV7

— Christy Johnston (@ChristyGarrity) May 23, 2015

A place literacy is leaving us. We must keep the language of nature for our children #WIP2015 pic.twitter.com/0fqiJFUMpq

— York Region Nature (@YRnature) May 23, 2015

"What is the extinction of the condor to a child who has never known a wren?" Robert Michael Pyle @YRnature #WIP2015

— Heather Ryan (@HeatherRyanTDSB) May 23, 2015

There was more to the story, not simply the loss of names but the loss of life - that knowing the inhabitants of our precious world would make an enormous difference in how humans treat the flora and fauna of the earth. Ann spoke of the pang of knowing the world and also knowing about the terrible impact of our human actions upon it.

Attention: the remarkable focused convergence of our senses, our intellect, and our feeling.

Paying attention to the more-than-human world doesn't only lead to amazement; it leads also to acknowledgement of pain. Open and attentive, we see and feel equally the beauty and the wounds, the old growth and the clear-cut, the mountain and the mine. Paying attention to suffering sharpens our ability to respond. To be responsible. Robin Kimmerer, "Returning the Gift" Minding Nature, May 2014

Ann invited us to "explore new perspectives. Name help us know but also grieve the losses. Marvel and despair". With that we were ushered out into the gloriously sunny day to enjoy time in the woods before lunch. Heads full, hearts open, we scattered into the outdoors.

After the keynote we were free to wander the sun-dappled paths and flowery meadows to visit the wonderful invitations set up all around the site. Our wandering was motivated by our own fascination with the spring flora and fauna all around us, and as such we didn't get to even half of the green-signed stations.

My joyful and curious companions for the day: (me), Karen, Tanya and Kim. The company of like-minded friends sharing a walk in the magnificent rolling hills and shady forests of the Kortright Centre made this an unforgettable event.

Hard 2 find a more beautiful place to #lookclosely than the @KortrightCentre #walkinginplace #WIP2015 #phenology pic.twitter.com/PPvTMPc8mr

— kids connect (@KinderFynes) May 24, 2015

The beauty of the foliage and the delicate flowers blooming around the forest floor gave us all a sense of overwhelming beauty. It was as exciting to make new discoveries (such as this specimin above) as it was to uncover "old friends" underfoot such as herb robert, trilliums, and blood root.

Underfoot and overhead were many reasons to go slowly and look closely: blooming jack-in-the-pulpit lily, a swallowtail butterfly landing above us amid maple leaves, a tent caterpillar along the path, delicate flowers on as-yet unknown plants. We were hungry to learn the names.

As we walked down the long, steep incline into the forest, our senses grew attuned to the life all around us. Though there were inviting activities set up for us to enjoy, we found our own rhythm following butterflies, stopping to admire caterpillars, listening to songs in the trees. Partway down to the valley floor I was stopped in my tracks by a familiar (but long unheard) sound: an ethereal, reedy song like a wooden flute. I halted our group and opened up my trustworthy iBird app, hunting the right bird. I tried veery, but no. The other forest-dwelling thrush with such a haunting voice, then: a hermit thrush. My companions were amused, and then amazed, when the song in the iPod was identical to that we were hearing overhead. I'm cautious about using the app in this way, knowing it's possible to upset nesting pairs or simply annoy the very creatures I wish to observe. Once identified, we walked on, meandering from one side of the path to the other as some new sighting caught the eye of one of us. May in southern Ontario is a spectacular time for a phenology fan; everywhere leaves are fully grown on most deciduous trees, meadow and shade flowers everywhere are in bloom, frogs and birds are singing their mating songs. No words can capture the smell of the woods at this time.

Green in so many lovely shades. Mid-spring is a time of rapid change in nature. At the campfire station, we marveled at the textures, patterns, and variety of sizes amongst the leaves on the forest floor. At the top, bloodroot and trilliums. In the bottom-middle panels, the wondrous mayapple in bloom.

Down in the valley where the campfire was burning (and where every year my family goes to enjoy the maple syrup demonstration), we paused to rest a while. I spotted a flycatcher of some sort. Excited, I ran to get a better look. I couldn't get close enough, but underfoot was an amazing variety of plants that one can only see in mature, deciduous forest. I recognized some but many more were unknown to me. I thought of Ann's comment, falling in love with a field guide that gives her names, a literacy or a language with which to speak in the natural world. Nearby at the campfire was a fellow YRNC member and Kortright's Program Manager, Adrian O'Driscoll. I knew him to be a keen observer of the nature, so I invited him to help us identify some of the mystery foliage we were seeing. He pointed out several, but the one that I remember most vividly was the utterly enchanting "mayapple" (above). This intriguing plant had an umbrella-like circle of leaves nodding atop a long stem. From above, it was interesting, but from below, it was captivating: a single white flower presented like a face, peering out at us. We all knelt down for a better look. Then I remembered the song that had me mystified. I described to Adrian the "monotonous robin" that we had been hearing. "A vireo, perhaps?" Just like that - without hearing the bird, merely from a description, he solved my mystery. I shall never again forget the name of the red-eyed vireo, the singer that often makes himself heard but rarely seen.

This plant captivated us when we were out on our walk. Kim had shown me a picture of it earlier on, asking if I recognized it. I didn't, but spotted it on our walk. Such a delicate and complicated flower head, unbeknownst to us, ready to bloom. It was a new find, and we had to uncover its story.

As the stations closed and the call went out to go for lunch, we made our way back up the hill. Out in the meadow I was stopped again, this time by a bird I knew well and could call into view. I whistled a response to the singer, and sure enough, the brilliant orange oriole appeared from within a leafy hiding spot (click here for snippets: mayapple, leaves in the breeze, the song of the oriole). We felt so much in forest time, so connected.

After lunch we re-convened for Ann's summation. It was a different mood in the room, now, a place buzzing with conversations about the morning amongst friends. It was uplifting, even before she spoke. She invited us to bring the feeling we had to our daily lives, to step out with awareness and kinship with life.

#WIP2015 Ann's final words: always step forward, life is in motion, beauty of renewal again and again. Amazing Day!! pic.twitter.com/CpuMItbzYc

— Christy Johnston (@ChristyGarrity) May 23, 2015

It wasn't easy to leave. Many participants dawdled on their way out to the parking lot, and more still walked right back out to the paths. My companions and I took our time, stopping to chat with some chickadees and enjoy our final moments in the forest. We talked about our own teaching and learning in nature, and what we hoped to do from this day forward. We thought about how we could share this feeling. Leaving Kortright was hard that day. I was still feeling very much attuned to my outdoor surroundings when I arrived home, so I took my daughter to a nearby for an evening walk along the shore. As she ran over rocked and danced along the edge of the waves, I felt hopeful that she would grow up knowing the landscape as her natural place.

The next day, stories and images from the conference continued to be shared on twitter. I had worried, during our play amongst the trees, that my companions might regret having missed all the stations set up around the centre. As I saw the beautiful pictures later on twitter, I experienced a twinge of regret that we hadn't made it to the mandala station, for example.

Reflecting on an awe inspiring day in nature. My heart is full! #WIP2015 @YRnature #ReggioPLC pic.twitter.com/yAQnVt51XC

— CV_Kinders (@Bolton_Luba) May 24, 2015

The responses from friends changed my mind. The way it came together so perfectly for us, traveling together through that sacred space, made it magical. I am grateful to my companions on that day.

Beautiful day learning about bird songs thanks 2 a very dear/inspiring friend. She truly walks in place @KinderFynes pic.twitter.com/oxyShuPLHJ

— Kim Clark (@KimClark23) May 24, 2015

Here's one of the beautiful plants found at #WIP2015 with @KinderFynes @SibbaldPointOEC @km50robinson http://t.co/XALCBqe0Fq

— Kim Clark (@KimClark23) May 24, 2015

Got iBird app today thanks to @KinderFynes ... She enriched an already incredible day #WIP2015 #InspireLearningOutside

— Karen Robinson (@km50robinson) May 24, 2015

 Ripples were carried outward as our sheer delight left traces throughout our PLN. Many messages such as the one below made me hopeful for continuing the conversation.

Just ordered Ann Pelo the Goodness of Rain. Thank you all for sharing #inspiration @KinderFynes @DianeKashin1 @YRnature #WIP2015 so excited

— Barnert fantastics (@Btfantastics) May 23, 2015

So much gratitude for a day of professional learning spent in a magical place Kortright Centre for Conservation #WIP2015

— York Region Nature (@YRnature) May 24, 2015

"I bought my first field guide and poured over it like a love letter". I remembered those words the next day as I began to read her book, and found myself fighting back tears. Her year with Dylan was told as a story full of emotion, raw and tender and utterly reverent. I thought about it throughout the day. I thought of how the children in my class responded to scenes of injustice to their environment: litter found in the beloved "no-mow zone", plastic bags and fabric strewn along the creek's banks, park furniture broken or defaced with graffiti, trees with branches snapped in half and left dangling. I knew that they were becoming aware of the many lives with which we share the school grounds. I thought perhaps the best message I could take with me from the conference, Ann's book, and all of the wonderful experiences with children outdoors was this:

We do this walk several times a week. It's a way for us to load ourselves up with the feel of the landscape. The only difference between a place to live and holy land is the number of footsteps you've put into the ground. Marc Parent, Believing it All

A spring walk: we're peering into the gently moving water of Cooksville Creek.

the fourth teacher ... is time

The big aha, again & again: the environment is key to #self-regulation #risk #challenge #reggioplc goslow pic.twitter.com/2OCQd8tZTN
— kids connect (@KinderFynes) August 2, 2014

I recently returned from nearly two weeks in spectacularly beautiful BC. It was our first whole family trip out of the province in a few years, and we were able to pack a lot of visiting with family (our generous hosts, my in-laws, and many extended family) and friends. We were last altogether in BC in 2006, when our family had only three (our daughter was born the next year), though my kids and I visited two summers ago on our own. Every time I've been on the west coast, either for business or for a visit, I've found it terribly hard to leave. The beauty of the environment, whether downtown Vancouver, deep in the old-growth forest in Cathedral Grove, on the green trails or sandy beaches in Stanley Park or the rocky shore in Departure Bay, all leave an impact on us. This time, however, I had the added lenses of #lookclosely, #ReggioPLC and #hawkinsinspired learning as a part of my worldview. It was natural, then, that everywhere I looked I saw evidence of the importance of the environment as third teacher.

Many in my twitter PLN take risks both in their own learning (throwing out the tried-and-true, trying new ways of seeing and teaching) and in their teaching (sharing the planning with their students, straying from the widely-used methods to adopting a research-backed inquiry stance). The two early years educators quoted below touch on this idea again and again in their writing about learning and teaching. Meeting both of them last year, although briefly, had a great impact on the way I see myself and my students as learners.

Suzanne Axelsson's post about the environment as integral to the learning asks an important question:

"Are you allowing the children to experience sensory activities - to use all their body - all their senses? Are you including smell, sound, touch, sight and taste into the design of your setting?"

Petra Eperjesi's goodbye post to her lovely K-pals, reflects upon their growth through adventure:

"As the minutes ticked by without incident, as I watched the kids slowly pick their way down the side of the gully like mountain goats, help each other get unstuck from the mud, fall in the creek and get back up again, I started to relax. And then I noticed that, without any input from me, each little group of students had chosen an activity in the gully with a level of risk that was totally appropriate to them. Those who chose to stay at the top and not even venture down the steep hill were those K-pals who I would have wanted to nervously micromanage had they come down, and there are many K-pals who I would not have permitted to rappel down the side of the gully, but those kids were not even interested in that activity. Most interestingly,... risk seemed to be the dominant factor in their choice of activity..."

Louise's tweet today was timely as the article outlined the need for more challenge in play. I particularly appreciated the inclusion of the six categories of "risky play" which are integral to children developing an awareness of their limitations and capabilities.

Playing outdoors #EAD610 http://t.co/slZtMjBb4E
— Louise Jupp (@LouiseJupp) August 7, 2014

"When I look out the window, I see little kids swarming the equipment. But the older kids stand in bored-looking groups, huddling against the fence, shuffling with impatience as they wait for the bell to ring. A few kick around a soccer ball, but mostly there’s nothing for them to do.
We have become a society completely paranoid about possible dangers during play. Most kids are not allowed to engage in risky play, which Norwegian early childhood education professor Ellen Sandseter defines as the following: (1) exploring heights; (2) handling dangerous tools; (3) being near dangerous elements, such as fire and water; (4) rough-and-tumble play; (5) experiencing speed; (6) exploring on one’s own. Parents who do allow their children the freedom to play “dangerously” are considered negligent." Katherine Martinko

 I am already consciously making an effort to say "Yes" to students when years ago I would have said "No"; "No" to climbing a fence, building structures above my head, using scissors for materials thicker than cardboard, pouring water away from the safe confines of the water table, using loose parts or play dough away from their original centre. I'm not saying I always say yes, but I use my knowledge of the context (the student, the material, the situation) as my guide, and try to remember that there is always a lesson to be learned from taking a negotiated risk. Sometimes I don't say yes or no, but turn the question back to the students.
Still, this beautiful setting and freedom from our usual schedule offered something more. I kept seeing how being away from home where everything is different and new was like my kindergarten classroom for the new students who join in September. Travel can be overwhelming or delightful or possibly both. Having "fresh eyes" can be exciting or exhausting. So what exactly is it about a vacation that makes it so much more memorable than daily life? In a word: time.

I found heaven, it's a tidal pool on a sunny afternoon. Wee crabs, snails, tide coming in. https://t.co/OfHXpahin9
— kids connect (@KinderFynes) July 27, 2014

 Over the week, when I had quiet moments on the beach before the family awoke, I began to formulate the idea that would become this post. One afternoon I used the voice memo app to record my thoughts while I walked along the tide pools and rocks, listening to the sounds of children laughing, gulls keeling, and waves lapping the shore. What follows, interspersed with tweets from our time in Yellow Point and on the mainland, is my memo more-or-less verbatim (names removed).

Morning: kingfisher spat, chickadees & crows, flickers in fir, nuthatches in arbutus. Saw spout far off, seal, snake pic.twitter.com/y8UCwTMgdk
— kids connect (@KinderFynes) July 28, 2014

Why is a vacation a time when the most learning happens?
Self-regulation has a chance to develop through self-discovery (your boundaries, comfort, natural consequences).
You can follow your nose spend all day in the pool, walk alone on the beach or spend time with friends.

The first shell I picked up yesterday was inhabited. This place is awesome. http://t.co/ufWblAODBT
— kids connect (@KinderFynes) July 27, 2014

 No expectations of have to do, when to get up, when to go to bed.
All the usual rules are out the window. You can be some one different from the image you hold in your head day to day, you can be more free.
I learned that I can cross the pool the whole way from one side to another, on one breath. This is something I've never tried before. Generally when in the pool (at home) it's rushed, I'm worried about other things, I'm watching the kids or the clock (because swimming time will run out).
Being on vacation free frees up a lot of time to follow your nose... your interests.
I spend early hours on the beach when everyone else wants to sleep in.

 Again, self-regulation: if your body says sleep, sleep. If you want to get up and explore, that's absolutely fine. There are no rules when you're on vacation (like my kids have at school: recess is short, bathroom breaks, get up early, eat before dark) except have a good time.

This morning's catch on the dock: ling cod. We got 2 watch the filleting, feed a gull, crabs #experiential learning pic.twitter.com/74wapMkcZW
— kids connect (@KinderFynes) July 29, 2014

 Watching my kids pushing themselves, not because we're telling they have to but because it's fun, because they want a challenge, because they have hours and hours to develop their idea.
Watching my girl jump in the pool and spend hours and progressively push herself further down into the pool, deeper and deeper, testing herself to hold her breath, pushing herself to do new tricks and flips, but also watching her do this with her friends: "Oh yeah, let's see if you can hold your breath for 2 minutes", "Let's see how far we can go down", "Can you touch the bottom?"

And everything becomes a game - it's impossible to get bored when you're in a pool with lots of other kids and lots of tools, because all of those toys become a game: whether it's a ball or a pool noodle, or jumping in or splashing... the rules are made on the fly and the challenges become part of the game (friends made on the fly, too).
Watching how some kids choose to spend time in the pool and others go right to the ocean, stick their hands in, pick up crabs. It's all about your comfort level and your interests. Self-regulation needs time.

But you should see the one that got away... (Yes, it's kelp. No, I'm not coming home) #beautifulbc #beachcombing pic.twitter.com/THHRGHVepL
— kids connect (@KinderFynes) July 30, 2014

 Watching my girl grow, change from very squeamish and nervous to touching a snake, hauling up traps and sticking her hand in a crab trap, watching a fish get killed and filleted in front of her eyes (and later eating both for dinner), I see you learn more on vacation then you ever could in school, when everyone has to do it at the same time, and when everybody's watching to see your reaction, and there's a right way and a wrong way.

I don't know what became of my squeamish daughter. I love it. #experientiallearning #beautifulbc #hawkinsinspired pic.twitter.com/i1e8Zzfi8E
— kids connect (@KinderFynes) July 31, 2014

My memo ended there, with me answering my kids who had come down to join me on the rocks. My big aha, that environment is key but that time is needed to truly explore the environment and one's self in it... continues to grow.  I see the importance of inquiry, of emergent curriculum: there is something to be said for being on vacation and being able to develop your interests and challenge new skills at your own pace. It's also valuable to share those insights and challenges with others who help you process and reflect on all that you're experiencing. How fortunate that I was able to meet up with twitter friends, both "old" (well, I did manage to meet Heather once before) and new.

A beautiful day 4 a meet-up! Thx 4 a much-too-short but lovely afternoon @MauiMickey @namesescapeme Must meet again! pic.twitter.com/1jFWdBcujR
— kids connect (@KinderFynes) July 25, 2014

My week just got this awesome today @HeatherMMcKay #beautifulbc pic.twitter.com/FDUWd5AVmY
— kids connect (@KinderFynes) July 29, 2014

@KinderFynes @RangerRidley @Kindree3A I think it speaks to the importance when it becomes part of who we are & ultimately our families :) ❤️
— Heather McKay (@HeatherMMcKay) August 7, 2014

 While on the plane heading back home, I opened up my now dog-eared copy of Natural Curiosity, a document that deeply resonates with me and my practice. I had read several chapters on the way west, and now I was further along and finding so much that aligned with my experiences on vacation. I flipped to the back cover to retrieve my bookmark and was happily surprised to recognize the location of the photo (which I had admired before but never could place): it was the lily-covered pond  in Stanley Park where we had just stopped at a few days before to watch a great blue heron stalking frogs. I have no doubt the authors felt a connection to the place, a park so wonderful my daughter had talked about it for two years since our last visit.

If you've a copy of the @NaturlCuriosity book you've seen these lilies (back cover photo, Stanley Park Beaver Pond) http://t.co/oQ4LbCMxLy
— kids connect (@KinderFynes) August 7, 2014

Stanley Park remains one of my favourite places in the world, a place so full of wonder: mountains, ocean beaches, deep forest trails, marvelous gardens, streams and lakes, birds and creatures of all sizes. The huge scale of the place invites you to climb, jump, crawl in a hollow tree, splash in a stream. When I picture the elements of an engaging learning environment, the shore on Vancouver Island and all the delightful areas of Stanley Park come to mind.

How to save the memory of beloved tree: wind storm casualty becomes fave climber. "This is better than a playground!" pic.twitter.com/o95Y7AZ9qD
— kids connect (@KinderFynes) August 4, 2014

  One aspect of engaging learners in outdoor exploration is the deeper engagement in caring for the environment, or stewardship:

"In an environmental context, stewardship refers to human actions that contribute to a sustainable future for humans, animals, and plant species alike. 
Acts of stewardship grow from a deep respect for, and desire to protect, the balance of nature within the Earth’s biosphere." page 54, Natural Curiosity

A crow on White Rock beach. Plenty of crows, gulls, and herons, but the plentiful starfish from last trip two years ago were reduced to one seen below the water line. Scientists have reported their disappeance all along the coast.

Last walk on White Rock pier. Sad to see where the starfish once flourished was only one. #beautifulbc https://t.co/zibCpnwrpV
— kids connect (@KinderFynes) August 5, 2014

A place you love is a place you will care about. I fell in love with BC but likewise I fell in love with the flora and fauna at my school when my class spent hours outside to #lookclosely at our natural surroundings. I wonder what stewards my students might become with their deep knowledge of their adopted trees, favourite bug hunting spots, hideaways in the no-mow zone, and more. I think back to that tweet above, about how self-regulation develops through the exploration and testing of one's limits. Over time, too, knowledge and affection develops. 

“The only instruction for how to be in a place with a child, it seems to me, is to be wholeheartedly attentive, genuinely present.  Which means, sometimes, conversation, and sometimes, quiet.  Sometimes, naming, sometimes, marveling.  Being present, together all the time, in generous and interested relationship with each other and with a place.” Ann Pelo

We must discover our place in the natural world. Together. (review of Ann Pelo's "The Goodness of Rain")