Forts!

Welcome to Summer 2009!

It didn't take long on our first trip to the park for several students to find a large Western red cedar with the perfect trunk to support a fort. Eddie was the most fervent seeker of sticks, and Tina, Bert, and Frankie joined him. No stick - including whole branches! - was too small for the strength of thie muscles or imaginations.

Frankie: I helped get it together in that tree. It was easy putting the big branches up.

Bert: But you didn't weave them through. I put pinecones for decoration. I was the bark peeler. I liked putting the pine cones on and peeling on the bark.

@very: Could someone live in it, you think?

Frankie: Yes, me! I could go "Bam!" [knock it down] - make it again - "Bam!" - make it again ...

Bert: No me. It doesn't have as much carpeting and it doesn't have candles. Could we have a sleepover in that fort?

Frankie: Maybe we could make s'mores!

Building forts is a memory that most adults carry with them from their own childhoods, myself included. Watching the creation of such a structure of architectural balance, of protection and provision, and of collaborative production, some themes that pervade such an activity come to the forefront of my thoughts.

What is it about building our own shelter in the wilderness that so entices us? We live in homes that are positively lavish compared to the accomplishments of the first humans, yet children relish in the return to such primitive activity. What is it within us that draws us back to that? I remember when I was my students' age, I wanted to found a Back-to-Nature club that would live in homemade forts, live off of foraged food, and wear clothes made out of leaves. Looking back on it now, I wonder if it all isn't a certain expression of autonomy, a common theme throughout childhood.

But why in the wilderness? I've noticed students make forts out of anything - mats, pillows, cardboard ... but never were so many kids involved in fort-making as today at the park with natural materials.

Richard Louv's book Last Child in the Woods puts forth a theory that the majority of children today are suffering from nature deficit disorder - that is, they are deprived of sufficient contact with nature. He builds his assertion on E.O. Wilson's theory of biophilia: that all humans are innately intrigued, attracted to, and wired to enjoy interacting with the natural world. Perhaps part of the expression of our autonomy is linked to how we use our surroundings - the natural world being the most pur - to become self-sufficient. Maybe our desire to interact with nature runs parallel to our search for autonomy, as it represents the "bigger world" we are increasingly longing to function within independently. Evolutionar psychology would suggest that we are, indeed, innately drawn to play activities as children that give us the practice needed to survive and protect ourselves as responsible adults, a progression observed in our distant animal relatives.

I would venture to believe that there is a little bit of all of these ideas embedded in the phenomenon of forts. There is a wonder and mystery to the natural world that draws us in, and I think that children are a bit more in tune with what miracles occur within it every day. There is also an immense sense of satisfaction in the completion of a project that entailed investment, organization, labor, and detail.

We all learn, in many ways, to build walls of protection around ourselves. These walls are physical, social, psychological, and provide us with the structure and scaffolding of our lives. At this phase of early to middle childhood, I see in each of these children that inner Tarzan in all of us that needs to come out, beat his chest, and feel part of the jungle.

Dear Ian ...

We had a very interesting afternoon together today! It started out not so great for you, but I think we both enjoyed each other in the end. I'll tell you what I remember and you can see if it's the same as what you remember.

It started with an accident. Oh no! We were up at the park and needed to come back to school to change your clothes. I knew you weren't happy about leaving, but that you would also be miserable if you stayed in your dirty clothes. So, I walked back with you.

When we arrived back at school, everyone was napping, and you were very quiet with me as we made our way to the bathroom. We changed your clothes and got you all cleaned up and then went into our classroom to wait for the others to return.

But, oh no, again! I had to go into one of the preschool rooms to help with naptime, and our class still wan'st back yet. I wondered whether you'd be able to stay quiet enough not to wake anyone up. You have so much energy and creativity, and I notice, you especially like to use your body in big ways to get rid of that energy. And yet ... you suggested to me: "I can bring my picture with pencils in with me and draw."

So, that's just what we did. Ian, you were so quiet and focused on your drawing, and for such a long time. I watched you for a long time. You had your head bent over very close to where you were drawing. I could tell you were drawing along to the story that was emerging in your mind.

Before we knew it, our class was back, and one of the other teachers came to pick you up, while I stayed in the nap room. I was sad to see you go! When I got back to the classroom, you told me more about the picture you made:

"It's a pinecone. But I made it a live pinecone. It has antennas. It has eight antennas! Here's his brain ... he doesn't know where his brain went because pinecones don't have brains."

What a fascinating story! I am curious to learn more about this character of the pinecone with eight antennae and a missing brain. How did he lose it? Will he ever find it? What happens when his brain goes missing? I can't wait to hear more soon ...

Dear Ben ...

I wasn't sure how to write a documentation on a particular interaction with one student - as I was writing the story, I kept wanting to just write a letter. So, I did.

Dear Ben,

Today was such an exciting day with you. I was delighted by the enthusiasm you bring to your thinking – it never seems to cease to explore unending possibility!

We spent most of our afternoon together on our field trip to the bus stop. On our way out, you asked me how many dimensions we were going to use to sketch our bus stop. Two? Three? Four? “Four dimensions?” I asked. “What would that be like?”

“It would be like measuring translucently,” you said, “like measuring it inside. Like, you could say, measure a solid … kind of like a skeleton with skin on!”

I don’t know what the answer is, but I hope you also found it more important that you asked the question than that we couldn’t come up with a satisfying answer. What have you been thinking about it since today? Did you go home and look it up or ask someone?

At the bus stop, we took measurements of the different panels we are going to paint this summer. Not only did you want to know the length and the height of each panel, you wanted to use this information to figure out the area of each panel and the volume of the whole bus stop! I don’t know if you’ve been learning about these ideas at school, but I could tell you were thinking and connecting something you had already learned to something you were experiencing. Alex, this is one of the most important things about learning! As a teacher, I have learned that all people (not just kids) learn best when there is as much opportunity for thinking as there is for experience. Actually, as a student at the university right now, I’ve been reading a lot about the idea that our thoughts and our experiences are so intertwined, they are almost the same thing! What would you say to that?!

Back at Hilltop, your fervor continued. It was intriguing to learn from you how schools teach multiplication now. When I was in school, we learned it a bit differently. Your boxes looked very complicated to me, but we did end up with the same answers, didn’t we!

Well, not at first, of course. I made a mistake on our first calculation of the area of the base of the bus stop – do you remember? And then, on our next calculation, when we multiplied the area of the base by the height of the bus stop, you made a mistake! This was the perfect illustration of another important belief I have as a teacher – we can learn as much from you kids as you can learn from us!

Thank you, Ben, for reminding me today how much fun learning and thinking is. Do not lose your enthusiasm, and NEVER stop asking your questions.