(By Larry Gfeller)
Ever stubbed your toe on a root or something while hiking, only to discover a hidden treasure on the ground. . .something you surely otherwise would overlook? It happened to me again the first Thursday in December! This time, I wasn’t hiking and I didn’t actually stub my toe, but the rarity of the revelation was just as meaningful. I visited the Home School Nature Classes hosted by Pines and Prairies Land Trust, executed by a dedicated team of Master Naturalists. These are the classes held at the Lost Pines Nature Trails in an outdoor classroom built especially for this program.
Envisioning pastoral scenes of children and their moms, sitting under the sun freckled canopy of towering cottonwoods, I was defeated by the weatherman this time around. Dawn came up drizzly and cold. On bad weather days, the program moves indoors, so this class—“How Animals Prepare for Winter”—was held at the Bastrop Library.
I don’t channel W.C. Fields or anything, but children generally frighten me. You see, they’re not cynical; they’re spontaneous, perceptive and honest—sometimes brutally so. They’re also curious—insatiably curious—and reject wordy explanations. I’ve been embarrassed by children’s’ questions enough to realize it takes a special skill to work well with them. Complex concepts require creativity to engage and hold impatient young minds.
This group of educators ooze creativity!
The classroom was arranged to grab their attention: a small white board on an easel, curious items of clothing draped over a stand, a picnic basket on the floor, a blanket folded on the opposite side—these are items that stoke curiosity, like finding a golf ball on the forest floor. The mothers seated in chairs; kids on the floor in front of them. A table display stands in the background, filled with books and teaching aids. . .all eyes and ears focused on the speaker, Miss Martha (Gonzalez, that is).
Familiar human metaphors brought all the props to life. Miss Martha drew parallels between our use of heavy coats, scarves, galoshes and hats to animals growing heavy winter fur, between storing winter food and the picnic basket, between hibernation and a blanket on the floor, between migration to warmer climates and a travel case in a corner. The kids (and moms) are inexorably drawn into a free-flowing conversation about various adaptations animals have for coping with cold weather. The term “brain storm” doesn’t come close; it was a volcano of rich mental protein spewing forth from the floor. In a chair off to the side sits hippy grand uncle Mr. Bill (as in Brooks), offering
timely emphasis to important points through stories and animal pelts. Everyone—myself included—rapt attention.
A Houdini-like transition brought Miss Louise (Ridlon, that is) to center stage, with her glasses pulled down over her nose—you could sense the mood change; we’re about to drive some stakes down beside some important ideas! Miss Louise produces a paste board box, filled with animal pictures, asks each child to select two and pass the box along. “Pick one of your pictures and come up here and share with the rest of us what you have,” says Miss Louise to the first little girl.
Some initial mistakes are made, but it doesn’t feel like a miscue; everything’s good. Never made to feel alone in this virtuoso moment, leading questions, clues from the gallery and mindful nudging urges the child to place the picture before the correct prop that suggests what winter adaptation his/her animal uses to survive. After our young student takes a seat, Miss Louise shuffles through a fist full of research pieces, selects the matching animal, and infuses the children with the science of that animal’s winter adaptations. Yes, this is the hard stuff, but by now they’re excited and ready for it.
As a reward for the serious part, Miss Louise next pulls out a bold print illustrated children’s book on animal behaviors, holds the pictures and words to the class and breaks into song—urging everyone to sing along. A dam breaks and the room is filled with loud chaotic song, as Miss Louise points to the words, turns the pages and directs her choir. I’m dumbfounded! They were eating out of her hand. A 30-minute hike is announced (Fisherman’s park is outside and down the steps). The sun outside made intermittent stabs between wind-chased clouds. Like an overflowing popcorn machine, everyone tumbles outdoors to make real-life connections with fat squirrels, chubby birds, acorns on the ground. Excess energy released; the theme is indelibly burned into young minds. Bullseye!
A half-hour later, we’re back inside. Where did the two hours go? This will be the last session until spring and everyone is given an assignment to study a favorite animal over the winter. As mothers collect up their kiddos and belongings, everyone receives a crafted Christmas tree ornament and their choice of cookies—this is no ordinary classroom.
Roles are soft and liquid among these unsung educators. One time you are an instructor, another you arrange guest speakers, yet another you step up and do
grunt work. Everyone helps design the curriculum. Even so, the level of effort is intense for everyone. Today, Joan Russell (PPLT icon) and Marianna Hobbs (Capital Area Chapter) act as producer/director, making the weather call, arranging alternate meeting space—there is a flurry of emails throughout the week keeping everyone focused. As show time nears and moments grow short, the dialog of text messages and phone calls takes over. This is not a shoe-string operation put together on the fly. Research, organization, planning, communication, coordination—it’s all there, like a pedagogical S.E.A.L. Team Six—a group of elites.
It’s gratifying to realize that a community of parents and children in the local area depend on these nature classes to complement a well-rounded educational curriculum, at once captivating and wholesome. When you consider that most of these kids will one day be parents themselves, connections made here are timeless. If you need volunteer hours, if you enjoy seeing that spark of understanding in a child’s eye when some grand mystery is solved, or if you understand the magic of simple acts moving mountains, then you owe it to yourself to check this out. These nature classes have been going on for at least a decade so they’re not going away, but more volunteers are needed. This is real impact folks! Dr. Suess’s Lorax said it best, “Unless someone like you cares a whole lot, nothing is going to get better. It’s not.”