Building the James River Together

Recently I realized something about myself: I have always lived in a city near the James River. I grew up in Lynchburg (a city situated along the James), attended the College of William and Mary (located between the James and York Rivers), and for the last 18 years have lived in Richmond (a city divided by the James).* I've even worked in very close proximity to the James: years ago as an archaeologist in the Williamsburg area, I literally worked alongside the river every day for 3 months, feeling its welcome breeze in the stifling Virginia humidity. More recently, I've been observing my children getting to know the James River in ways I never experienced growing up. My 13-year old has been paddle boarding up and down the James and has seen parts of its shoreline only approachable by water craft. My younger child craves the rushing water of the James, communing with its current on the large smooth boulders near Belle Isle in what appears to be the deepest of private meditations.

So now I'm serendipitously considering the James River in a classroom context as part of this year's Umbrella Project. I'm embarrassed to admit that I haven't often thought about this great river. Perhaps I just took it for granted; maybe I became complacent about my surroundings, or got too caught up in my daily life to really reflect on the beauty and bounty around me. Thankfully this year's Umbrella Project has motivated me to consider more deeply the city in which I live (and full disclosure- I actually live in North Chesterfield, but totally consider myself a Richmonder!) and I'm realizing that the James is the center and the soul of my city.

A display of various projects, including houses,
wildlife, a bridge, and a thunderstorm placed
around a teacher-created river



The construction of the river

To my delight, the children in the Rainbow Room have demonstrated a similar sentiment. One day about a month after school started, Tucker noticed the large map of Richmond displayed on our wall. It didn't take long for the river to get the children's full attention: it's a prominent geographical feature bisecting our city. Once a dialogue about the river began, many children responded with their own personal adventures or experiences with this part of their hometown. For some children, the bridge crossing the river to and from school is their experience with the James. For other people, the fun of playing in the water at Pony Pasture or visiting Texas Beach is their favorite part of the river. (Another dialogue occurred, too, in which children brainstormed about where they live, discussed their favorite places, and explored mapping these features with Lisa and Anna. The James River is one tangent of the Umbrella investigation in the Rainbow Room).

It made sense, therefore, to provide props and materials in the classroom to enhance and support this interest in the James River. We created a small river provocation with blue glass beads and Kapla planks and placed various children's projects around it. Several children made a bridge in the studio that we placed over the river. Children's representations of their own homes composed of tiny bricks held together with clay were placed along this river prop as well. It became clear, however, that this interest in place would continue to grow. We needed a bigger area for the children's play and creations. We needed a river, something large and permanent.

Luckily the November Parent Dialogue was just around the corner. We recruited the classroom parents to construct a permanent "James River" as a gift for their children using various open-ended materials and two large canvas-covered panels found in the Sabot basement. The final result is a lovely, enchanting depiction of our great river running continuously along the panels, fitting together nicely to create one large river landscape. The glued-down stones, beads, moss, wood, and other natural objects, provide a pleasing tactile experience for the children of the Rainbow Room. And it's even geographically accurate: landmarks such as the Nickel Bridge and the old bridge posts near Belle Isle were included.


A group of parents finish their half of the river

 The following morning, the Rainbow Room children entered the classroom with a delightful surprise: their very own James River. They were thrilled with this new landscape and immediately adopted it as their own. With the additional materials provided, children added their own touches to the landscape, and even moved a bridge to the river from another part of the room. Small tigers were the center of some fantasy place in the river, while other children preferred to play with their very own dolls (laminated photos of each child in the room). Their comments were not only observant, but also reflected an immediate connection with this river:
It has lots of rocks!...It's very long!...Look, I'm swimming!...Look, I'm on the bridge!...
Vivian: I see little rocks and I was pretending to hop on them
Julian: It has two bridges
Jeremy: I see big rocks
John: I see that one (pointing to one).
Will: I want to share my snake. It will go in the river
Beckett: There is a big bridge and some green stuff
Charlie: I notice there's a big and little bridge and I was swimming
Tucker: I was trying to save him (Charlie)


Tigers playing in the river

Logan declared, "I love this!" and Julian commented, "They did a good job!" Yes, they did.


 

Now we will build around the river those parts of our city that are meaningful to the Rainbow Room. We are also planning a field trip to the river in December. Lisa and I will continue to reflect and write about the children's Richmond and James River experiences. I'm grateful to be a part of this exploration. It's an honor to support some of the youngest residents of this city as they explore its rich natural and cultural landscapes. I'm at the beginning of this journey as well, and will develop a connection to my city (and its river) alongside them.










*I also lived in Nottingham, England for 3 years



The Forest of So Many Things

When I was young we played in the woods behind our house.  I have no idea how big the forest was, but to us it stretched infinitely in all directions; the world beyond, dissolving into a distant dream.  Real life was in the woods.  I remember a part of the forest that we named "twin tunnels" where two run-off pipes emptied into the stream.  It was a challenge to cross there, which is why we liked it.   It was ours because we named it; not in the sense that we owned it, just that we belonged there. Separate from the world of grown-ups, it was as though we had stepped through a looking glass or wardrobe.

Traditions have already started among the children in the Meadow room as we go to, linger in, and return from the outdoor classroom.  How marvelous that there is a wall at the entrance, something to keep the ordered world separate from the wild.  As soon as we round the corner of the wall, we are free.  

So many things make you belong to a place.  In the forest the stick-dens are the backdrop for pretend play, places of nurturing and safety as well as jails and forts.  They are for coming together with a few friends and examining the world "out there".  

Already there are familiar paths of travel - up this hill and down that one, around that fallen tree and over the superfluous little plank bridge that crosses a path where water might flow after a rain.  Round and round they run.  Round and round committing the paths to memory for all time, not so much a visual memory, but the feel; the body sensations of going up, over, down, around; each one different and thrilling.  I remember flying, feet barely touching the ground.

So many experiences make you belong to a place.  The children have begun to make tools and weapons from sticks, and leaves, and string, and wire.  I tied a tiny bell on one of the dens and instantly the children wanted to decorate the others.  With Anna's help, they have made brooms for cleaning shoes, rakes for leaves, magic wands, bows with arrows, throwing stars, and hooks for hanging their jackets from the trees.  We planted our bulbs for spring, and we even found a twisted wood mask on Halloween!

So many rituals make us belong to each other.  When our time is up and we are making our way back to the wall and around, traditions have begun that focus on our connection to each other.  They mark our passage back from the wild.   The first children to go around the wall wait on the upper side and reach out to hold hands or high-five those passing by, bridging our two worlds.  

And as we leave the forest behind, the children place their hands on the shoulders of the child in front of them to form trains; long, zig-zagging trains that will eventually stumble and collapse into pools of laughter on the ground.

(special thanks to Kelly for taking amazing photographs)

The Deconstruction of (Living) Things

Deconstructed bumblebee

A few weeks ago a person* in the Rainbow Room tore apart a dead bumblebee that was available for viewing under the loupe (a large magnifying glass on a stand). People nearby were very upset: Hey, you hurt the bee!!

The teachers, too, were concerned. Please don't break our classroom materials. This bee was for everyone to see under the loupe.
Admittedly we don't want people to destroy or dismantle items in our classroom, but these types of events occur in a preschool classroom. When a person knocks down someone else's magna tile ship, we ask the person to rebuild the ship for his or her classmate. Or if a toy gets broken, intentionally or accidentally, the teachers invite the person involved to help repair it. By bringing people back to a  destructive event, we are encouraging a reflection on one's actions; creating awareness of oneself and their surroundings. We also are supporting the growth of empathy: even if one's inadvertent actions (or purposeful, for that matter) impact someone else in the classroom, we check in. We promote the care for each other, the things around us. This process is an everyday occurrence in the Rainbow Room; par for the course.


Showing Anna a bug
caught in our classroom




A depiction of a dead spider a group
saw in the basement

Choosing a favorite butterfly on our poster

But the bumblebee incident brought up questions and feelings that I had not before considered.... somehow this "deconstruction" felt different. Why? Is there more to this event than just someone tearing apart a classroom material? It's not alive any more- is the fact that it once was alive making us more sensitive to it's safety? Should we expect the children in our classroom to feel the same way? Aside from the social norms about breaking something other people are investigating- that's not what I'm wanting to discuss here- is there learning to be had by actively deconstructing a dead bumblebee? What can this person share with the group that we had not before noticed? Is there a fascination with seeing the parts of an organism separately that we had not considered? Maybe there's an interest- an iconic, age-appropriate interest- in exploring living things, especially accessible things like bugs- and dead things.


The more I reflect on how we treat small critters, particularly bugs, I'm realizing how much presence insects and bugs maintain in the Rainbow Room (literally and figuratively). We find bugs all the time and usually catch and release them. Our warm windowsills often exhibit the occasional dead fly, a living stink bug, and to the children's delight, the beautiful ladybug.


Grub worms mysteriously appeared in our
acorns in the sensory table

Releasing the grub worms
on the playground

Making a home for the grub worms

Sometimes living bugs become the object of protective nurturing, as in the case of the grub worms "hatching"(?) from our classroom acorns. The same people whom I've observed stepping on bugs outside on the playground have been seen sensitively and carefully caring for these grubs in the classroom, making homes for them out of magna tiles and hollow blocks. Some specimen were collected to release on the playground- even the details of the grubs' comfort was considered when crafting the transporting environment (note the acorns in the bowl).


People noticed a spider on the playground
climber and quietly watched it move away.

For further exploration of living things,
a giant leopard moth caterpillar
was discovered and saved. An
enriching habitat will support its life
functions until its metamorphosis.



Providing space for the spider
while observing it.

After one person killed a granddaddy
long leg spider, a group was
invited to help the individual bury it.


Occasionally living things are deliberately killed on the playground. We aren't comfortable with this behavior, so we remind people that the playground is the animal's habitat; move away if you don't like it, but please don't hurt it. Drawing one's attention to the reaction of his or her peers can be a learning opportunity as well: were people interested in this bug? Were they observing it? 

When a particular episode occurred recently, a group of people were asked to help their friend bury the spider he had squashed. What resulted was a devoted group of friends working to create a lovely place in which to bury the spider. They rallied around each other, working toward a common goal and were satisfied with their collective result.



The spider's grave


Now I'm thinking of the Rainbow Room's next bug-related provocation: examining the parts of a bumblebee together.

 

 *I am deliberately using the terms people or person because generally that's how Rainbow Roomers refer to themselves (versus "children").



INSPIRATION-CONTAGION

"I'm looking at the way you made it so I can make it"

Zoey to Berkley

Learning from each other is basic, and it is important for reasons that may not be immediately apparent.  Contagion, as we like to call it, is where one child's idea catches the eye of another, and sometimes another and another.  With it we see the development of new skills, the sharing of knowledge and the spontaneous growth and transformation of an original idea.  Adding one to another, sparks fly.  The creative process is made into visible steps as it is shared between children.  

But the part that is not so obvious is that an idea passed on to another child increases our shared experience and thereby our connection to each other. Before long there are common mythologies in the room, familiar props for play, and joint investigations into new concepts.  It creates a culture in the classroom that ties us together.  It is dynamic and continuously evolving.

It starts with a moment of noticing and being inspired by someone else's work.

"Can you help me draw what Cal drew?"  Kai

Bridges inspired by Berkley's trip to California:

WHEN WORDS BECOME WIRE

Why do children call each other names?

Last week name-calling seemed to spring from out of nowhere.  First one child, then another, and another.  We are working to help the children identify the motivation behind it and find more appropriate ways of communicating and getting what they need.  Most of the children have gained enough control to refrain from physically lashing out; they are just beginning to realize that their words are also powerful.  We have been talking about this with the children, and Kelly and I did some role-playing in circle the other day.

Very often children lash out because they feel excluded, feeling out of connection.   Though it is counter intuitive, it is often a desire to connect that drives divisive behavior.  When children hurt each other, physically or emotionally, we ask them to check to see that everyone is okay, to see if there is something to do to help the wounded child, and then we help them come (back) into connection with each other.  In a conflict, we also teach children how to tell someone to "stop" when they are uncomfortable with what is going on.

We decided we will follow the same strategy with name-calling.  There is also an opportunity for playfulness around language and rhyming if the situation is light enough.  As parents, you can help too by arranging play-dates with a variety of children because the more they get to know each other, the more they find in common.

But this is a bigger problem; not only with the children, but also with us.

In our discussion about this we noticed our own attitude; we considered this a "childish" problem, as if we were above their behavior.  But our attitude that this is a childish problem created an instant divide between us and them.

But wait, do grown-ups call names?  At first we laughed at the thought of calling each other "poopy pants", but we actually do; just silently, in our heads, all the time.  Our name-calling has just become internalized.  Even the more benign labels have an edge, - feminist, conservative, teenager, - they diminish the other and separate us.

And quieter than the labels are the silent voices, the thought voices.  Can you hear them?  As we drive our cars, as we wait in lines, as we watch the news, our inner voices constantly judge other people's choices, their actions, their affiliations, the way they look, what they wear.  We strengthen our own sense of right, our sense of self, by making "others" from brothers.  It is as if we can only know and appreciate ourselves by knowing that we are NOT THEM.  Any little difference will do.   And even more amazing is that in all these things we constantly judge ourselves as well.

Kelly asked, "What happens when we start to believe the names we call"?
And we do believe them, we cling to them.

And then she said, "When we exclude others we exclude ourselves."
Which prompted an image for me - we set out to build fences to keep the others out, one section at a time - but a fence that goes all the way around is no more than a cage.  We become trapped in small thoughts.

Kelly added, "So we have to be mindful of what we say, AND what we think.  Because everyone matters, and we belong to each other."

How can we raise our children so that they don't just remake name-calling into it's internalized equivalent, lowering their voices but still raising fences?  How can we reach deeper to relieve them from the judgment and separation?  If we can do that, well, that will be something.

The Power of Kindness

In the Meadow Room, we've been drawing the children's attention to acts of kindness. We encourage them to perform acts of kindness, and to notice acts of kindness. Children are so inspired by, moved by, and emboldened by kindness.

Sometimes acts of kindness emerge in this group spontaneously, and sometimes we suggest it.  The children do seem to have a natural ability to notice when someone is in need of an act of kindness; for instance, when someone is trying to clean up a big mess or tackling a task or project that feels overwhelming.  A sad face is often the first thing children notice about someone who needs kindness.

One of the best things about kindness is that it's a gift to both giver and receiver.  Kindness seems to unlock the doors of their hearts, and make their feelings visible.  Pride. Wonder. Deep satisfaction.

It is amazing how big-hearted children are, how easily they access their kindness, how openly they offer others kindness, and how they, in equal measure, openly receive kind acts from others. It is astounding how seamlessly kindness seems to connect them, even across their differences & disagreements.

The effect of an act of kindness--for example, the successful completion of a difficult task or the change in a child's demeanor and expression--is immediate and tangible, which is perhaps why it is a concept so eagerly grasped by children of this age. In our classroom, we pause and notice the act of kindness, and the entire class is quieted, moved. The effect ripples out. There are more and more acts of kindness. They notice more and more.

It occurs to us that kindness is an excellent place to start in building trust, in building relationships, in building our classroom community.

But the satisfaction, for both giver and receiver, transcends age. We are all transported by kindness into connection with one another, and it is a profound feeling--and a revolution and transformation in our beings, and our relationships--when we are touched by kindness.

Perform acts of kindness. Notice acts of kindness. Be kindness. What better fulcrum of community? What better starting point of love?

A Story for the Girls, Part 2: A Theory

Pretend play based on the movie Frozen continued for the entire year.  We read a beautiful version of The Snow Queen and after finishing the story, which took more than 2 weeks, the children immediately wanted to read it again.  We have gone on to other Hans Christian Anderson fairy tales.

The children also wrote their own stories and performed them in circle.  These stories combined many characters from disparate sources; movies, invented characters, and video games.

Robyn and I went to see the movie Frozen earlier in the year so we would know the story the children were playing out.  There were some parts that we questioned, and we were surprised that the children were drawn to Elsa, when Anna seemed a more likely hero.  After all, Elsa was challenging - "she couldn't control her system." (Caroline, 5)

This is what I have come to believe:

Many people celebrate the fact that Frozen is, at last, a Disney movie in which the princess is not rescued by a prince; and that is refreshing indeed.  I think it has captured the children's interest for a variety of reasons, (beyond dresses and costumes) including the love of two sisters.

But I believe there is a deeper reason that this movie has taken their attention so completely.  I do not think it is a coincidence that the children, who are all working hard to learn to control impulses and make generous choices, who sometimes make mistakes and hurt others in spite of their love and desire to nurture, who may be separated from their closest connections as a consequence of not having that control; are drawn to a hero who has power that is at first beyond her.  She is a hero who unintentionally hurts someone they love, who suffers, and regrets, and tantrums, and puts herself in "time-out".  But in the end, a hero who offers hope and reassurance:  transgressions can be righted and power can be harnessed.  Maybe they too can gain control, as we know they will, and transform that unruly, unpredictable quality of their own power at this stage in their life, into the capacity to bring wonder and joy to others.  

OUR PAPER CHAIN

Towards the end of each school year we create a chain of paper links, one for each remaining day that we will be together.  This helps children comprehend, a little more, the elusive quality of time.   This is the beginning of saying goodbye, it is hard for all of us.

“Hey Indie, come and look, I can show you how many days we have left to be together.  It’s not that happy, there’s not that many days, come and see”.

Noah, 4-30-14

We begin to talk about saying goodbye, about ways that people stay in touch.  We also begin to talk about kindergarten to check on common misconceptions, like kindergarten begins the week after preschool ends.  They often don't realize the long summer between.
There are also fears about kindergarten; it is a mysterious thing that they hear about a lot, but they dot know what to expect.
Next week a kindergarten teacher will come to circle so that the children can ask her questions.  Then on another day we will visit the Sabot kindergarten because the children asked to hear what it is like from the current kindergarten class.
We invite you to send a photograph or something your child might like to share about the school they will attend next year if they would like to.