Arts, Environment and the Child: Walking the Wheel of the Seasons

pole barn organic farm

room 104

lincoln elementary

room 104

lincoln elementary

project room

lincoln elementary

A mother teaching her children: how to cook, how to feed themselves, how to nourish one another. A lesson taught in the home, between early morning rises and late afternoons raking leaves. Alka was a mother to eleven of us, one Friday afternoon. She came to Lincoln, to share her love, and her effort in cooking and teaching us how to prepare samosas, a staple food of her home in Delhi, India. Her daughter Toolly attends fourth grade at Lincoln, and Alka has shared her traditional dishes with groups of students throughout the years, contributing intention and time toward the early release program. This day, ten Lincoln students and I learned how to roll and flatten dough that we then shaped and filled with potato and peas. My co-learners were overall quite interested in this process, and elaborated with use of additional utensils, such as spatulas and wooden spoons, in order to prepare the dough.

The four students with whom I shared a table were immersed in their task and two of the girls even competitively made their samosas, trying to outdo one another in quantity and size. While I was excited that they were interested in learning this craft, I was disheartened that the activity soon became a rivalry, and a struggle. Instead of working together towards a common idea, the table was divided among those that longed to produce and those that wanted to create. Those that were not so interested in making “the best” samosas, quickly fell instep with the more competitive girls, and too tried to prove their merit, though it seemed that their efforts were externally-compelled. Division further arose between the two friends who wanted to “win,” as they argued, criticizing the methods of the other.

I felt very frustrated towards this interaction, as it seemed that their loud and demonstrative behavior overshadowed the diligent efforts of the other girls, as well as the presence of the entire group in uniting to share and learn. As I explained my feelings toward their behavior, I felt that they ignored my words and intention. And perhaps because I knew that they were not receptive to my suggestions, I focused on the negative energy of the duo, the content of their conversations, their mannerisms, their relations with the other girls, rather than offering a compassionate heart and reaffirming the positive things they were saying or doing. Thus, when the activity was completed and the students had left, I felt relief in leaving the setting and the situation that had been rather uncomfortable for me. Yet I realized that while I may have disagreed with the manner in which the girls behaved, I certainly chose how to react and respond to them and their actions. I chose to focus on their power struggle and added validity to their dynamic as I put my attention towards them and their words. I did and do have the opportunity to experience the growth and life in any situation, and desire to support and manifest positive vibrations that radiate from our center.

Jennifer, Liz and I came to the garden during the light of late afternoon, with the golden rays of the sun quickly waning and much to the surprise of a guardian dog, napping near the entrance, who permitted us to pass only after he had sufficiently demonstrated his protection of the garden. This pup grounded me, in action and thought, and helped that I realize my intention and my presence on sacred land. Yet how often do I act in this manner, of rushing about, trying to learn or be helpful, and immersing myself in the immediate physical task, while forgetting intentionality and compassion? I recognize this disposition of mine and I must continually strive to be present and thoughtful.

Upon entering the garden with much gentleness and sensitivity, we immediately gathered around the sacred plants and shared silence in order to attune ourselves with the plants and the physical space, and to offer our work in gratitude with the plant people and for the Skokomish peoples. I had wanted to remain with the plants with silent voice and still movement, but the sun told us it was time to work and offer gratitude for the light, and so I returned to the south bed, to continue tending the growth of the past seasons. I observed the magnificent tansy, abundant and full of life, and as I cut back this plant, I sang that it may keep strong during the coming moons of winter and I dedicated myself to learning about tansy, so I may share and spread knowledge and respect of its medicine and healing properties. While I know that it is an herb commonly used for women’s reproductive health, I desire to better understand the power of tansy.

In this same way, I cut back the salal, knowing that this plant will continue to thrive throughout the rainy season. I offer its harvest to Uncle, that he may guide my hands and service. I collected the salal to use in fiber dyeing and too to explore its medicinal and spiritual qualities. Liz tended the catnip and offered it to us as she sang and seemed to float around the garden, breathing with the plants for which she has cared during several seasons. This was Jennifer’s first experience with the gifts garden and although she said that she had no gardening experience, she intuitively interacted with the plant people, tending rosemary and motherwort, with a gentleness that one exudes in loving and learning with children. She later mentioned that she would have liked to have fully immersed herself by walking through this space and meeting the plants, as we had first done with Sonja, and I hope that soon she will be able to sit with the plants and offer them the attention that she unconditionally gives to her students with autism.

The skies were dark, and still I wanted to continue, as it seems like we barely touch the surface when coming to work for just a few hours. Yet as the plants became less distinguishable in the disappearing light, I listened to the moon, and reminded myself to bring sturdy clippers on my next visit so that I may begin to tend to hardier-stemmed plants, like huckleberry.

Towards a science of qualities: a Biodynamic skillshare was my first real introduction to anthroposophy, a spiritual science guided by Rudolf Steiner. This encompassing life-view seeks to understand the delicate dance of the mystical and physical forces that create our human existence, in as much as we are a part of the vegetal, mineral, animal and cosmic realms united. Biodynamics is the study of the interconnectedness of these forces as related to the growing world. Awareness of the phases of the moon and other planetary beings and their influences on plant growth is attentiveness to the natural ebb and flow of energies cycling in the universe that yields a harmonic balance of life decomposing and giving life in another form. Through preparations of plants and animal matter selected for their inherent spiritual essence, which are then nurtured and aged in animal particular vessels, a radiant vortex of energy is created, actualizing the potential life-giving soil and making it accessible for the transformation of mineral to plant to human nourishment.

Thirteen humans gathered at Delphinia, an intentional community outside of Olympia, for a weekend of discussion, movement exercises, artistic exercises and biodynamic preparation, as facilitated by Wes and Alex of Olympia and Barry Lia of Seattle, in hopes of sharing and spreading biodynamic awareness. Understanding “the ways in which earthly and cosmic forces effect agricultural systems and nature” was our shared vision in gathering, and while individual familiarity and study of Rudolf Steiner’s teachings varied greatly, every person contributed intention and knowledge/intuitiveness to the creation of a sacred space. We made four preparations using pregnant female cow manure, chamomile, dandelion and oak bark gathered from diverse sources in accordance with a calendar related to sectional growth of plants. We discussed the essence of each of the organic matter used and contemplated what aspects of the matter are ingrained and revitalized in preparations. We continually made connections between our outer world as manifestation of our inner activity and sought to understand preparations as based in our own bioregion, as in listening to the wisdom of the salmon that run through our local watersheds each year. As the salmon travel thousands of miles to actualize their fertility and spawn, they complete their own life cycle, dyeing and returning their own organic matter to this system as well as that of their offspring which begin the cycle anew.

This opportunity to share our hopes and visions of a dynamic living community in the context of practically maintaining the health and integrity of the soil through preparations was an amazing opening into a new way of thinking about one life. I feel blessed to have listened to the wisdom and stories of kind, compassionate folks who are tending the earth and to have begun to contribute to the community of vision. I have much to learn and much to share and hope to truly breathe in the radiance of body, mind and spirit that connect us all. I would love to discuss specifics about this skillshare and more about biodynamics and anthroposophy with anyone who would like to share.

gymnasium +

music/science room

lincoln elementary

walnut house

kitchen

I prepared Gaultheria shallon (salal) that I harvested from the gifts garden. My friend Abi and I first inspected the leaves and grouped them according to color: green, or green with discoloration, likely due to either insect or fungal disease. Next I measured one quart of each group, chopped the leaves and soaked them overnight with equal parts water to leaves. The next day I began to cook the leaves, in two different pots, simmering at low temperatures over the course of a few hours. Before heading to class, I removed both pots from the stove, and have let the leaves remain in the water bath for several days.

While the salal dye bath heated, I mordanted four white cotton garments with 3.5 tablespoons of potassium aluminum sulfate. I used alum as it is readily available and relatively benign and because I am familiar with this mineral mordant. I filled up a large metal kettle with several gallons of water and heated the water, adding the alum once the water was sufficiently hot. I stirred in the alum, churning the water in all directions to gracefully disperse the power of this chemical. I added each garment individually to the dye bath, slowly lowering the piece into the near scalding water, and gently mixing the fibers in the dyebath, exposing their surface areas to the color fixative. I stood at the stove, stirring intermittently, for approximately one hour as the pores of the fibers received the alum. In doing so, I looked into the steaming pot, and saw womyn through centuries standing before their cauldrons, mixing their potions, medicines, broths, dyes, in the open air and in dark huts, gathering stories and wisdom from the plants they are invoking in their preparations. And so I continue the work of the alchemists, experimenting, exploring local plants that bite (mordere) and those that share their color essence.

While the potions cooked on the stove, I went outside to cut kindling.

A new day in this new moon cycle. I awoke this morning, with the sun, with a spring to my step, ready to greet this day, and anxious to spend some time with the children who I haven’t seen in more than a week. I entered the classroom with remnants of a lingering cough, but quickly forgot about my weekend sickness as I chatted with Mirin about her special person poster, that was filled with photos of her throughout her life. I had been looking at the poster when she approached me and excitedly asked me if i knew the baby in one photograph. I correctly guessed that it was she and we then admired her entire assemblage of photographs, that showed the loved ones in her life. I was quite pleased that she had initiated interaction and that she had wanted to discuss her work. She would point to the baby in several photos, and ask if I could identify her person. She didn’t seem surprised when I guessed correctly and was clearly excited that she was receiving due attention. As she drifted toward the group of students playing in the kitchen, I moved along, heading toward the math table where Lillian was slowly counting the insects on her page as she watched Maya help Halle with her math work. With some encouragement Lillian finished her counting exercises, and then began playing with a stuffed dog. As I sat down to observe the class as a whole, Mirin again approached me, seated herself, and pulled out an etch-a-sketch while she chatted with me.

I was excited that I had connected with a student, as this was the first independently sustained interaction that I had held with a student since my arrival in kindergarten. We conversed and shared a mutual interest and connected as human beings. In beginning this classroom observation project, I was somewhat uncertain as to my role in the classroom. While I would be observing the students and later planning an activity for them, I initially did not know how to interact with the children because I felt that in the school setting my relating with them would be different than our interactions in every day life. I did not want to be an outside authority figure, who told them what they “should” be doing, nor did I desire that they regard my words as background noise that bear no relevance. This preoccupation with our manner of interaction and my voice as an adult figure, with loving yet constructive guidance, stemmed from my experiences as a malleable counselor at a summer camp, in which, because I did not care to assert myself as the person in charge, I subsequently found myself struggling to maintain harmony among a group of 11 year old girls who were outwardly very critical of one another, and of me, whom they considered a friendly but unfamiliar acquaintance, as well as a lame authority figure. Thus, even before my initial visit with the kindergartners in lynn’s class, I was already considering as to how I might get to know them, as fellow human beings, rather than prescribing roles either for myself or for the students.

I do not know initially how successful I was in breathing; and listening to the breathe, which would have reassured me that with love, compassion and patience, I would ably work together with the children. Instead I worried, and set myself apart from the kids, by thinking that I needed to be a certain way or act in a specific manner around them. Because of this tension, I had not really enjoyed my experiences in the classroom thus far, as I was always fearful that they weren’t learning, or that my (lack of) teaching experience and accompanying “mistakes” would negatively influence them. What heavy baggage! Life is full of opportunities to learn! Instead of assuming that I would have difficulty in relating to these children, I could have more positively trusted in my self and in the universe and celebrated these new humans, and this learning community and this opportunity to awaken the creative, collective spirit. And so, I reflect on this today, and breathe. I realign myself with the moon and cleanse myself with the rains, and open my heart in thanksgiving.

On Friday, Elizabeth and I met with the intention of heading to the gifts garden. She arrived at Walnut to pick me up and became sufficiently soaked merely walking from the car to the house. Some say it was one of those days when the rains come down sideways, and as both of us were still trying to recover from lingering sickness, we did not feel it wise or realistic of us to press on toward Skokomish nation to weed in the garden during a day of drenching downpour.

Instead, we decided to look for some much-needed garden implements at goodwill. We were seeking some clippers and large loppers that would aid us in cutting back some of the woody stemmed plants. A brief but thorough search of three separate shelves yielded only a spotting of three cheap hand trowels, which we passed over, as these inexpensive tools were clearly not a substitute for large cutting device.

I discovered this text on a shelf in lynn’s classroom and was immediately intrigued by the title. What a blessing to come across a book of ritual as I am trying to listen to the rhythms of my own body within the rhythm of the season. Since the inception of this new school year, I have been slowly adjusting myself to a new routine: class, homework, a new home, a never-ending search for employment, care of plants and chickens, dance, autumn, visits to Lincoln and the Skokomish nation, family. I have often felt overwhelmed, feeling stimulated by the projects that are blowing in from different directions and yet I have felt unable to ground myself. As I wake each morning already thinking/stressing about what I need to do that day, this book is helping me to understand the value in a gentle transition for the dream state. To breathe and appreciate the light of the new day as my body unfurls itself to a glorious new cycle, beginning in calm.

classroom 102 + project room

lincoln

I experienced a new face of Lincoln Elementary today. Instead of heading to room 104 per usual, I walked into the classroom next door and entered into a new world. The physical space is small and cozy, with a small loft in the corner decorated by a hand-made garland that seems to grow as it stretches across the ceiling of the entire room. This creates a soft, low, green ceiling that is closer to the height of the children and the diminutive Wendy, who lovingly embraces each child as s/he comes in the door. Wendy is a teacher of everyone. She is energetic and immersed in each child as s/he speaks, and holds the hands of those who are not yet so comfortable in talking in front of the entire group. She effortlessly guides the children through the rhythms of the day, beginning during free time, in which kids created geometric designs with rubber bands interwoven through pegs, haunted houses with wooden blocks, and drawings, and then individually and proudly explained their creations before cleaning up. Between activities, the children are attentive to her words and interact peaceably among one another, without any prompting. I am totally impressed by the dynamics of this group. Here, truly, is a classroom of playful learning.

THis was my first occasion to observe Wendy's class and this was prompted by ALyson's request for me to sit in on her activity. Alyson was well-prepared and very adaptable as a teacher. She quickly reworked some of her curriculum as the book about faeries that she had intended to read, the children had heard just a day earlier and so in good spirits, she chose another book mentioning faeries and found tongue twisters to riddle their brains. After both she and Wendy properly baffled the class with the challenging word games, Alyson gathered a group of students to begin creating faerie houses. Kawika, Molly, Binny, Andy, Ben, Ciel, Sam, and Jack all created faerie houses with the inspiration of a house created by a someone's parent with such building materials as lichen, moss, bark, pine cones, flowers, peebles, etc. Kawika created an impressive lean-to of bark and carefully arranged a pine cone to serve as a wood stove/source of heat for the dwelling. Binny and Ciel added lots of translucent glass beads to their yards as paths and asked me for assistence in securing some of the bark that did not immediately adhere to the glue. Alyson clearly put much time and intention in preparing for her lesson and wanted to encourage the children to create a piece of art that they would share and appreciate with their families during the coming months of faerie activity. I was inspired by the efforts and creativity of my classmate and by the joyful and genius attention of wendy, who gently and ably guides children in lessons of cooperation, self expression, and critical thinking.

Walking on Walnut Road toward the bus stop, I see the 10:00 bus from downtown zoom past me on Division and I sigh, thinking that perhaps this is a sign that I shouldn’t be going to the garden on this day. I did not truly think this was a sign, I more wanted it to be a signal to turn around and head back to the house where I could spend the day catching up on journal entries, plant monograph, and project ideas. Yet I knew that I needed to be in the garden and that the plants needed my attention and so I continued walking, deciding that I would use my thumb to get myself to school. Several cars passed by me as I signaled my intention, and I walked along Division, rain soaking my pants, until a woman pulled over and said that she could take me to the Handy Pantry. I thanked her and entered the vehicle and during the course of the short ride, we discovered that we were connected through the Gifts of the First Peoples Garden, as she had worked in the garden with Marja during 2000, and as I was headed there today. She was curious how the plants were doing and was pleased to find out that our group was giving the garden some attention. It was a powerful realization to be reminded of how interconnected all of life really is, and particularly in regards to this garden, how sacred the experience to be with and tend plants that nourish peoples, body and soul.

After parting ways at the hp, I again outstretched my arm and extended my thumb and quickly summoned a car driven by two women heading to evergreen. I thanked them for their generosity and as we chatted, we realized that one woman and I had previously met, and the other was from an area in south eastern Vermont very near to the farm where I had worked several years back. We shared our feelings of great love for the northeast, as well as similar feelings of place and connectedness with the PNW. Most interestingly, in discussing our academic programs and ideas toward the upcoming winter quarter, I learned a bit more about the chilean literature program, of which I have been intrigued. While it is important for me to continue developing myself in natural rhythms of childhood, season, and art, it is equally stimulating for me to think, read, speak and write in Spanish. And so I will contemplate my focus of winter quarter during the coming weeks.

Arriving at school, I immediately saw Jennifer waiting at the library loop, and Stacey arrived while Jennifer and I were discussing our sentiments towards mounting schoolwork. With the rains as a constant companion, the three of us humans drove in Stacey’s car towards the Skokomish nation, anticipating today’s task. Earlier in the day, I had felt particularly unmotivated to work in the garden. I hadnt spent time up there since Liz, Jennifer and I worked until dayfall, nearly two weeks back, and I was feeling very distant and disconnected from the plants. Initially I had thought that I would be spending several long days each week tending to the plants, yet as the quarter has progressed, it has proven difficult to regularly work up there due to scheduling, weather and health reasons. For these temporary setbacks, I had allowed my intent and interest in the garden to wane, and had begun to feel apart from a purpose. And so, the universe today provided and helped to reveal that I breathe in with and of life, and breathe out with and of life. I give thanks that I missed the bus and that Jennifer and Stacey were there to work and share with me and the plants.

Arriving at the garden today, already prepared (and wet) with rain gear, I felt uncertain where to begin, as large wet maple leaves plastered every area of earth, and I saw areas overgrown with bushes who did not seem to be asking to be trimmed back. I surveyed the north and south beds, already prepared with intention, and proceeded to walk into the willow circle, realizing these plants too needed some attention. Withered stems and vines covered the wet soil, and tall but drooping woody stems called out to be cut. I began cutting back either a burdock or yellow dock plant, adorned with spurs. This plant clearly had seen more radiant days, and so I helped that it redirect its energy into its roots and prayed that it restore itself come spring. I could only assuredly identify calendula, in Michelle Pickel’s dye bed, but focused energetically on those plants presence and contemplated their dye properties. I cut back another slim, light green yellow stem, whose leaves reminded me of california mugwort, as well as two stocks of mullein and a bush which resembled raspberry. I quickly fell into breath with the plants, and happily and steadily cut back stems and branches, with the rains reminding me of this place, and the plants reminding me that I know what I am doing, even if always I do not believe this of myself.

Jennifer cut back a bit of horsetail, and I asked her to set it aside as I will be dyeing with horsetail in the next few days. She also put aside wormword and lavendar, of which I collected some of the former to hang and dry and hopefully use to aid in lucid dreaming. Stacey, with cold, wet feet, cut back colt’s foot and ornamental grasses and mentioned her desire to photograph the plants of the garden but her continual persuasion not to by continuous rains. In removing the cut stems from the dye bed, I realized the need to clean out and weed the beds, but resigned myself to undertaking this task on a day not so saturated. I thoroughly enjoyed myself in the garden today, as I related with two peers and many plants with whom I have not shared in several weeks. I felt useful, tending to the plant people now with an open heart, and able to see the physical transformation of this space by the hands of strong, dedicated women. After two hours of tending, we decided to return to olympia, and so I gathered up the cut horsetail and wormwood from which I will learn and use.

I had been feeling very overwhelmed and ubiquitously spread in no and every direction lately. I had been feeling vulnerable and fragile, allowing others' energy and negative feelings to penetrate into a grounded core that I try to nourish. I emerged from my room, with a scowl on my face, feeling very behind on schoolwork despite my earnest attempts. needing a break from preoccupation and self criticism, I sat down next to alex and a pile of lichens, and began to follow his handwork of separating the two species of lichen. I was not familiar with lobaria oregona and after alex showed me how to identify between the two, I began to think of how often i had seen a foliose lobaria and immediately assumed it was lungwort. My eyes quickly adjusted to this new knowledge and as I ably sorted the lichens, I found myself relaxing, breathing and thinking more gently, and as I removed dirt and moss clinging to the lichens, my gaze softened to that of meditation. I was silent as I let my fingers understand the contoured edge of this lichen and I began to trust my hands, whose intention and energy were now focused on healing. I watched alex garble the lichens and paid attention to the proportions of plant to menstrum that he used. He said that if i didnt have the time, i shouldnt worry about helping him and i laughed, responding that this was exactly what i needed to be doing. i live with plants and people and i want to help realize both to their fullest potentials. thus, instead of stressing myself with deadlines and worrying about things that society says i "should" be doing, i would rather be empowering myself and getting to know plants and making medicine and laughing.

after sorting and cleaning the lichens, I decided i wanted to make my own medicine. I gathered the roots of Rumex crispus (yellow dock) that I had harvested a few weeks back, washed them, cut them into small pieces and consulting Michael Moore's Medicinal Plants of Pacific West, I added Everclear alcohol as 50% of menstrum to the roots in the mason jar. I agitated the solution and placed it in a dark corner of our medicine making area.

I awoke around six a.m. and readied myself to take to the forest. At the first break of light, with my headlamp and heavy wool sweater as reinforcements, I wandered around the walnut woods, searching for mushrooms with which to make spore prints with the kindergartners. Though day was breaking, I had difficulty in seeing as the alder and cedar canopy was denser than I had realized. Searching for identifiable mushrooms among dry needles, deer fern and salal proved quite challenging, as despite seeing many fungi through filtered light, I was not able to distinctly name their species. I harvested any that called out to me, hoping to positively identify them with aid of either of David Aurora’s Mushrooms Demystified or All that the Rain Promises and More. Though perhaps it would be wise to use this mushroom as a physical indicator of the potential negative potency of fungi, I currently am more comfortable in sharing my knowledge of those mushrooms of which I can positively identify as edible. After two explorations in the woods yielded no positive identifications of either explicitly edible or non-edible species, I returned for a third and final survey, deciding it that I would harvest those mushrooms that did not in any way resemble poisonous fungi and would take particular caution in working with the kids, explaining that these mushrooms were solely for spore printing and must then be composted or discarded.

I gathered ten mushrooms, and headed to Lincoln, glad that I had arranged to begin my activity around eleven a.m., as I very much had needed the morning hours to harvest. When I arrived at Lincoln, I discovered that we would not be able to proceed with the activity this day, as a folk singer would be performing for the entire school that day. Lynn did not have my telephone number on her person in order to advise me beforehand, and was very apologetic in explaining the change in schedule. While I wanted to put to use the mushrooms I had gathered, this experience served as a good lesson in adaptability and helped me to realize how I need to be prepared to fully respond to needs of children, as they change suddenly much like the direction of the falling rains.

Instead of preparing for the mushroom activity, I remained outside for an early recess during the cool late autumn morning, talking with a group of fifth grade girls who were pretending to fawn over me like I was a celebrity. I laughed with them and introduced myself as a bird, and later learned from a male student who approached me after they had run off, that their feigned star struck behavior was common toward Evergreen students. Walking near the slide, I spotted my friend Oliver, who is in the first grade and was chatting with him, when I saw Mirin fall from her upside down hanging position on the bar to the pebbly ground. She immediately began crying and was holding her arm. I rushed to her side and checked to see if she was okay. She was holding her right elbow and indicated the place where she felt pain, and stopped crying after the initial shock of the fall dissipated. Lynn, who also saw her fall, asked Mirin if she wanted to see the nurse, and asked me if I would accompany Mirin to the office. We returned to the main school building as the rest of the student body entered the gymnasium for the concert. The school nurse gently consoled Mirin and as she was examining her arm, Mirin’s sister who had witnessed the fall, came into the office and offered to get Mirin an ice pack. After checking to see if Mirin wanted to ice her bruise, the nurse told the girls to fetch the cooling agent, and similarly told a different student who came looking for a bandage that he could help himself to one. I was impressed with the care and respect with which the school nurse treated her patients. She truly listened to their words and validated their feelings, and respected their self-prescribed means of healing, whether it was with the help of a bandage or ice pack. Both Mirin’s sister and the other student knew where the first aid supplies were kept and accessed them without overwrought supervision by the adult ‘in charge.’ This is a trend I have joyously observed at Lincoln. Students are responsible for themselves and their peers, and are respectfully treated as the capable and intelligent individuals they are by teachers, parents, and other students. Unfortunately, I during prior school experiences outside of Lincoln, I had experienced and even come to expect teachers/adults to treat students/children as dependent and helpless puppies who are not capable of communicating their needs. I was not comfortable in interacting with children in this manner and was disillusioned with the school system that seemed to perpetuate a learned enslavement in the manner of dispersion and content of knowledge. I am very grateful that the Lincoln community is a healthy learning environment and has helped me to realize that guidance and trust in the compassionate and creative capacity of humanity is essential and INHERENT in growth.

As I missed the AEC class meeting at Kennedy Creek, today I traveled with the kindergarten class for my first experience in observing salmon spawning. Since moving to the PNW two and a half years ago, I have become increasingly aware of the significance that salmon play in our local and bioregional sense of environment, culture and spirituality, but had yet to observe this phase in the life cycle of the salmon. Thus, I was very eager to visit the salmon, and especially with children, as we share an insatiable curiosity and excitement. Even before the much-anticipated experience with the salmon, this day began quite joyously, as I woke, during a natural pause in the sleep cycle, and refreshed myself in cleansing, life giving waters of a shower after a weekend spent walking along the sand dunes at coastal beaches and through ponds of standing water. I chatted with my housemates Alex and Jesse as I readied myself and prepared a nourishing breakfast, choosing to be present in my morning hours rather than rushing out the door to catch the eight o’ clock bus and beginning my day in hurriedness. Though I wasn’t certain if I would make it to Lincoln in time, after arriving downtown just before nine o’ clock, I trusted that I would be where I needed to be as I put my intention and confidence in the universe, and assuredly walked toward the bus stop. En route on Walnut, I noticed a cheerful yellow house, which I had not previously given much notice, and while briefly contemplating the life of the family that lived inside, a little boy who was exiting the house waved at me and shouted hello. I waved back, and guessing that perhaps I knew this child, though I could not distinguish his face from my vantage on the road, I returned his greetings and walked towards him and his mother who was moving towards her car. But of course, it was Ronan, a friend from the kindergarten class, who was also preparing to head towards Lincoln! After introducing myself to Sue, his mama, and explaining that I too was going on the field trip to Kennedy Creek, she immediately offered me a lift, and thus enabled me to arrive on-time and participate in the salmon experience.

Arriving at Lincoln before many students, I had the opportunity to play a bug game with Ana, Ronan, Maya and Kendall, and in observing their interactions, I again realized how much I have to learn and understand about kids and education and communication. Ana and Kendall had a brief disagreement regarding whose turn it was and through some tears and hard feelings, we all learned that taking something without asking is not the most considerate way of communicating. I did not know how to mediate the situation, and after Kendall walked away in tears, leaving Ana sulking, Lynn interceded and discussed the matter with the girls. I would have liked to check in with Lynn afterwards, but the commotion of a room full of fieldtrip-eager parents and children and the constraints of a school day just two and a half hours long took precedence, and we gathered up car groups as efficiently as possible and headed out the door. I rode in the automobile with Ana and her papa Logan, and Ronan and his mama Sue as we headed north on 101 toward Shelton. As the dreamy front seat navigator, I promptly lost myself in the landscape. Fortunately Sue provided knowing and experienced directional support.

Kennedy Creek was a new place to me. Its pathways and numerous informational placards dedicated to the salmon experience were unexpected, though I immediately delighted in the very explicit sharing of pertinent and comprehensible wildlife information, not so common to me during my formative schooling. I felt much gratitude in standing here, under the maple and evergreens and with little people and big chatting excitedly, as we came together during this again-turning season to watch the salmon through their cycles of birth and death. I am continually impressed and inspired by and with the life of this land, Cascadia. I have never known a community, a school, a class to be so grounded in its place. To understand the changing of the seasons and to know when salmon are spawning and when chanterelles are abundantly growing up through the forest floor is truly amazing. I feel that for the first time in my life I am beginning to know and understand a place and I feel so fortunate that I live in community with people here who also delight in finding berry patches and who begin their day with song. The salmon lay dead, along the bank of the creek and tangled among piles of fallen limbs in the water. In their final resting place they were ephemeral, loosely poised among rock and tree until a strong gush of water or a motivated seagull would transport and transform them to another place, another existence. I was drawn to the salmon, whose vacant eye sockets signaled a giving or releasing of self, to the birds, in this cycle of decomposition and creation. I thought of my own nourishment by salmon, whose flesh and protein, were put into my body and filled my being with a sacredness I had not experienced during five and a half years of vegetarianism.

The salmon, living and swimming, exhausted their remaining energy in journeying upstream, to birth and deposit their eggs before completing their physical passage. We donned special glasses that reflect the glare of the water, helping us to better see the vertically-striped males and horizontally-striped females that fiercely swam against the current. It was truly incredible to see the raucous splashing of water produced by the slapping of fins in navigation and in digging excavation. The quick moving creek was even more alive than usual, as I observed in wonderment the tremendous strength and perseverance of these fish who travel thousands of miles upstream to give birth and die. A large white seagull sat poised on a log, its bleached coloring a stark contrast to the subtle gray-brown of the salmon who must live their lives camouflaged. Everyone was amazed. While Kai counted the living salmon that he spotted, Carissa spent much time positioning herself on the trunk of a fallen tree in order that she might have a comfortable spot for extended observation. The children were attentive and inquisitive, running from bank to bank to see the fish, and tried their best to maintain a low-volume presence at the creek. I said goodbye to the salmon and left Kennedy Creek with much respect and gratitude in my heart.

I went to sleep last night realizing that I would not be able to proceed with my mushroom curriculum as intended. While I would have been able to again gather ten fungi from the forest this morning, the probability that I would not be able to decisively identify the mushrooms was quite high and I did and do not feel comfortable in discussing mushrooms with the children if I am not able to recognize the species that I have in my hand, presenting to them. Thus, during my slumber I tried to focus on creating another equally appealing activity for the children and myself, and woke with the desire to do art. As I stretched my body back into its awake state, I listened to a variety of sounds and music, ranging from Indian tablas to Bob Marley’s Rasta vibrations to strumming of the Spanish guitar, and decided that stretching with music would stimulate our blood flowing through our dexterous extremities and would help us to release energy and also enable us to focus on the creative task at hand. I gathered up dry leaves, twigs and seeds that I regularly collect for my own art projects and selected two attractive musical selections.

I arrived at Lincoln during recess and only Lynn and Quinn remained in the classroom. As he finished his snack, he greeted me warmly and told me that he knew me, because I worked at the bakery. I smiled and told him that I too knew him, but guessed that he had seen another woman with dreads at the bakery who looked much like me. He agreed and told me again that he knew me before scampering outside for free time. I checked in with Lynn and told her about my predicament with the mushrooms and she supported my decision to proceed with another activity if I didn’t feel comfortable with the former. She told me that the day had been going well and that the students were in good spirits and were focusing quite well. She asked if I needed any help in activity preparations and provided me with newsprint from the faculty room with which I would line our floor surface. After the students returned from recess, Lynn asked the children about their experience with the salmon yesterday and using a soft fish stuffed with counted colored beads, the students received visual instruction as to the procreating plight of the salmon, which lay some two hundred eggs, of which only two usually survive. She also passed around specimen vials of salmon milk at various growth stages and every single child was immersed in this delicate balance of life.

Quinn, Fuscha, Jesse, and Mirin were assigned to my activity and the five of us bounded out of the classroom with much enthusiasm. We began by sitting in a circle and going around talking about how we were feeling. Everyone said they were good and after telling them that I attended school at Evergreen, Mirin told me that her papa had gone to TESC years ago, and Quinn asked me if this was the Evergreen on Overhulse Rd. I told him the school was located near Overhulse and he then asked if I had ever driven past 2435 (or some combination of numbers in the 2000 block) on that road. I told him that I probably had passed his home, but it was likely on bicycle, and I began to steer the conversation toward the topic of autumn, our present season. We talked about leaves falling and things decomposing and after spreading my hands and arms across the ground, demonstrating how organic material returns to the roots in the ground, Quinn suggested the idea of the seed and he curled his body like a seed. We all then folded ourselves into the smallest seed ball possible and I began to grow upward, like a sprouting plant. Fuscha looked at me and my reaching arms, and began to move her arms upward into the sunlight. Suddenly we had become a small patch of young plants, reaching our leaves and petals toward the sunlight and growing tall, now standing on our feet. As we grew into strong tall trees, I asked how trees move, and how the wind moves through us, and we five trees swayed in the wind and fell to the ground following an intense storm.

While I sensed that we could have continued with the movement exercise, I had already mentioned our intent to collage, and Fuscha had responded positively and excitedly toward this idea. We then moved to the nearby area where I had set up the organic materials in piles in the middle and had arranged newsprint in a circle surrounding the art supplies. I asked if anyone recognized any of the plants and Mirin correctly identified horse tail while Fuscha then commented that a lot of horsetail grew near the stable where she rode horses. I named the other plants and told the students that they had either grown in my yard at walnut or I had gathered them from the Skokomish Reservation, with the exception of the banana leaves that I had brought from southern Mexico. We put the western red cedar up to our noses and all agreed that it smelled good. I held several colors of think recycled paper that I had delightedly purchased from Turtle Press, a cool paper store in Ballard that sells recycled paper journals, in addition to those of kenaf and hemp, and the children each selected a color that appealed to them. With glue in hand, they began selecting materials for their collage and the boys chatted away as they made their pieces. The girls were a bit more reserved, if only for the gregariousness of Jesse and Quinn, but all were eager to add their input to conversations. Our 25 minute period, quickly dwindled and as the end of the day for the kindergartners drew to a close, everyone made last minute modifications to their works before heading back to the classroom. Everyone was smiling and seemed to have fun, and I can't wait to play with another group of kiddos tomorrow.

Day two of completing my curriculum started promptly once Daphne, Kai, and Noah arrived for the beginning of the school day. I had set up the stereo and art supplies in an alcove in the hallway and I again opened the group space by checking in with the students to see how everyone was feeling. It was the first activity of the day and everyone excitedly stretched their arms up toward the sun and bent down sna dstretched their root fingers into the ground and grew into trees that swayed in the wind. I really enjoyed doing the movement exercises with kids, especially in guiding them to move their bodies as other plant or animal bodies might move. It is a fun way of awakening our kinesthetic awareness and of encouraging ourselves to think and feel not just through our human sensibilities, but through all of life, and allowing the spirit of life to move through and in us. I sensed that this group could have continued with different movement exercises, but as Lynn had liked the idea of every student making a collage and had already begun to hang their creations on the wall near individual photos of each child, I thought some children might later feel left out if they did not have a personal art piece to display and so we proceeded with the collaging. Noah was really excited about the idea of boats and he used the opened seed pods from the wild indigo as boats and held them in place in a sea of glue. Kai added just one boat to his collage, which showed a bridge made of cedar bark and trees of horsetail.

the second group of the day consisted of Maya, Halle, Ronan, and Kai's mom Suzy. this group was filled with energy and was a bit more challenging to encourage focusing. Ronan was very vocal and did not initially want to participate and act like a seed, or a sprouting plant, but when I suggested the idea of a strong wind moving through the trees, he readily volunteered and became a wind that knocked over the trees. Both maya and halle then also wanted to act like a powerful wind, and after taking turns, we headed to the art materials on the floor. Taking Suzy's lead of creating a bird on her paper, Maya made a bird, with outstretched wings of seed pods, as Halle glued various textures to her page creating a design. Ronan quickly finished with his collage and ran to the classroom in preparation for their new weekly Spanish lesson with Francisco.

The third group of the day began the activity after recess. With ruddy cheeks and the excitement of windfilled freetime as a very recent past, Hollis, Kailea, Alex, and Lillian entered the hallway space with energy and enthusiasm. While we began growing and moving as trees, Hollis stood apart from the group, with his hands in his pockets and appearing like he did not want to participate. Throughout the movement, he stood by himself but did engage in our group conversation. Alex excitedly formed a tiny seed and had many suggestions to offer regarding the natural occurences during autumn. Lillian offered her input reservedly, adding her input after the more vocal Alex and Kilea, and after everyone appeared ready for a new activity, we moved toward the collaging. I was most relaxed with my third and final group of the day, and did not have the highest of expectations in regards to willing participation as Lynn had told me that the energy of the children in this group might be challenging to focus. This is a dangerous assumption and in retrospect, i think a somewhat negative projection of the group. While i understand that she made particular mention of the dynamics of the group in order to help prepare me as how to most appropriately interact with them, I think that any thought, suggested as forewarning, carries somewhat of a negative connotation. I tried not to let the words of Lynn influence my interaction with the group and instead truly let the feelings and inclinations of the children to organically chart our course. The four students were very attentive and interested in the collaging activity. THey asked intelligent questions about the names and origins of the plants, as well sharing stories about daycare at Mariah Arts and their grandparents. Hollis was particularly excited about this activity, even stating "hey, this is actually fun" while he was selecting some banana leaves to add to his collage. His participation and exclamation was a major breakthrough for me! It has often been challenging to interact with Hollis during the past weeks, as he has blatantly told me that he doesn't like me and often does not respond when i ask him to do something. Thus, his willing participation in an activity that i guided was incredibly exciting for me, and a positive step in forming relationship with Hollis, as well a reassurance that with patience and compassion I may begin to get to know and understand children.