In an effort to not over share on Facebook and fill everyone's feeds with pictures of gardens and birds, I'm writing another "update" post here. So here are the projects I have going on right now....
Monday, June 20, 2016
Saturday, June 11, 2016
Unschooling Insect Study
One of my 6-year-old's money-earning tasks is to weed the gardens. When he's really excited about saving up to buy a particular Lego set, he'll ask to go outside right after breakfast and get to work. I love giving him this job, because he learns so much about the garden ecosystem by getting his hands dirty. He's right down there with the dirt and roots, the leaves and flowers, bugs and worms. He knows the first two inches under the soil and the first two inches above as well as I do. He may be earning money doing a simple chore, but he's also learning through his observation and experience. A recent conversation went like this:
"I was pulling weeds from under the bricks, and one brick was a home to rollie pollies! Can I put the brick back so they can still live there? They have a happy home."
I was pretty sure that pill bug are harmless, so I said that would probably be fine. I did a quick search and learned that they eat decaying plant matter. I told D and he asked if he could give the dead weeds he was pulling up to the rollie pollie family. Sure, why not? He said, "That's so good! We need to kill the weeds, and they need to eat them! Isn't that so good?!" He was amazed by the serendipitous discovery.
All these little interactions with nature are why it's so important to me that my kids get outside. Not just to play soccer or climb on a playground - but really into nature. Spending quiet, thoughtful time watching, touching, building, exploring, creating and testing child-sized hypotheses about why and how things happen to be a certain way. These are beginning lessons in entomology, biology, ecology, botany... I call it "unschooling," because we're not planning lessons here - we're cultivating a lifestyle in which the kids can freely learn through exploring the world around them, and even under their feet. I'm around to answer questions, but their natural curiosity drives their learning. The thrill of personal discovery trumps any coloring page text book, or nature documentary in terms of both the experience itself, and for retention and meaning. Discovery is a meaningful personal memory, not a dry fact.
It seems so silly, but I distinctly remember adopting an ant hill in my backyard in Georgia when I was seven years old. I brought bread crumbs out to feed them, and watched, fascinated, as the teeny tiny creatures carried them away down into their tunnels.
Picking up worms and putting them into the garden because their waste helps feed the plants is a child's study in nutrient cycling.
Watching the ducks forage for slugs to keep our garden from their constant slimy attack is a child's lesson in organic pest management and biodiverse agriculture (watching the slugs decimate the garden this year, including the sunflowers D planted, because we don't have ducks, is a much less pleasant way to learn that lesson).
Watching plants wither and droop in the sun, then spring back to life after the rain is a child's study in plant respiration and circulation.
Observing that the clover closes up its broad leaves toward the evening, then opens them again to the morning sun, is a child's study in circadian rhythms and plant physiology.
Children are so curious, so excitable, so impressionable, that all we need to do is give them access to the outdoors, and they simply learn. I leave you with these quotes from Charlotte Mason, a pioneer of homeschooling philosophy at the turn of the 20th century:
"[The child] must live hours daily in the open air, and, as far as possible, in the country; must look and touch and listen; must be quick to note, consciously, every peculiarity of habit or structure, in beast, bird, or insect; the manner of growth and fructification of every plant. He must be accustomed to ask why––Why does the wind blow? Why does the river flow? Why is a leaf-bud sticky? And do not hurry to answer his questions for him; let him think his difficulties out so far as his small experience will carry him."
"…because my object is to show that the chief function of the child––his business in the world during the first six or seven years of his life––is to find out all he can, about whatever comes under his notice, by means of his five senses..."
"I was pulling weeds from under the bricks, and one brick was a home to rollie pollies! Can I put the brick back so they can still live there? They have a happy home."
I was pretty sure that pill bug are harmless, so I said that would probably be fine. I did a quick search and learned that they eat decaying plant matter. I told D and he asked if he could give the dead weeds he was pulling up to the rollie pollie family. Sure, why not? He said, "That's so good! We need to kill the weeds, and they need to eat them! Isn't that so good?!" He was amazed by the serendipitous discovery.
All these little interactions with nature are why it's so important to me that my kids get outside. Not just to play soccer or climb on a playground - but really into nature. Spending quiet, thoughtful time watching, touching, building, exploring, creating and testing child-sized hypotheses about why and how things happen to be a certain way. These are beginning lessons in entomology, biology, ecology, botany... I call it "unschooling," because we're not planning lessons here - we're cultivating a lifestyle in which the kids can freely learn through exploring the world around them, and even under their feet. I'm around to answer questions, but their natural curiosity drives their learning. The thrill of personal discovery trumps any coloring page text book, or nature documentary in terms of both the experience itself, and for retention and meaning. Discovery is a meaningful personal memory, not a dry fact.
It seems so silly, but I distinctly remember adopting an ant hill in my backyard in Georgia when I was seven years old. I brought bread crumbs out to feed them, and watched, fascinated, as the teeny tiny creatures carried them away down into their tunnels.
Picking up worms and putting them into the garden because their waste helps feed the plants is a child's study in nutrient cycling.
Watching the ducks forage for slugs to keep our garden from their constant slimy attack is a child's lesson in organic pest management and biodiverse agriculture (watching the slugs decimate the garden this year, including the sunflowers D planted, because we don't have ducks, is a much less pleasant way to learn that lesson).
Watching plants wither and droop in the sun, then spring back to life after the rain is a child's study in plant respiration and circulation.
Observing that the clover closes up its broad leaves toward the evening, then opens them again to the morning sun, is a child's study in circadian rhythms and plant physiology.
Children are so curious, so excitable, so impressionable, that all we need to do is give them access to the outdoors, and they simply learn. I leave you with these quotes from Charlotte Mason, a pioneer of homeschooling philosophy at the turn of the 20th century:
"[The child] must live hours daily in the open air, and, as far as possible, in the country; must look and touch and listen; must be quick to note, consciously, every peculiarity of habit or structure, in beast, bird, or insect; the manner of growth and fructification of every plant. He must be accustomed to ask why––Why does the wind blow? Why does the river flow? Why is a leaf-bud sticky? And do not hurry to answer his questions for him; let him think his difficulties out so far as his small experience will carry him."
"…because my object is to show that the chief function of the child––his business in the world during the first six or seven years of his life––is to find out all he can, about whatever comes under his notice, by means of his five senses..."
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