An IslandWood educator, Maddi Sullivan, offered a few corrections to some inaccuracies in my blog post about IslandWood. I'm writing them here and also updating the original post:
1. The Mill Pond is technically down at the harbor, rather than where the Floating Classroom floats. Its sectioned off from the rest of the harbor and is how the big logs were transported from ships etc into the mill. During the waning tide the logs would get dumped and they'd enter the mill pond and the gate would be shut to keep them from exiting as the tide rose. The pond with the Floating Classroom was created during the time of the great mills but it was simply a small stream that was dammed for drinking water etc in the dry months. There would have been no way to get the logs from that pond up at higher elevation and a couple miles away, down to the mill via water.
2. We don't have rain boots for kids to borrow, but just about everything else: rain jackets and pants, warm fleece jackets, hats, gloves etc.
3. "in the dining hall, where kids serve themselves buffet style"---the kids actually eat family style, not buffet. So one kid brings platters of food to each table and everyone serves themselves from them.
Thanks, Maddi! I really appreciate the note.
Showing posts with label offsite learning. Show all posts
Showing posts with label offsite learning. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
Outdoor learning in Seattle: IslandWood's School Overnight Program
[UPDATE 4/16/13] An Islandwood educator, Maddi Sullivan, offered a few corrections to some inaccuracies in this post. I'll note them as updates below. Thanks, Maddi!
I had the opportunity to go to Seattle a few weeks ago, and while there I grabbed the chance to visit four exciting elementary-school programs that get kids doing science outside. Three of these are sibling non-profits and the fourth is based in a Seattle public K–8 school. This post is dedicated entirely to IslandWood's flagship School Overnight Program for fourth- through sixth-graders. I'll address the other programs in subsequent posts.
IslandWood is a 255-acre outdoor learning center located on Bainbridge Island, a half-hour ferry ride from Seattle. The site is old logging land formerly owned by Port Blakely Tree Farms; the ground near the mill is still springy from mounds of sawdust beneath the dirt, and on the mill pond where men used to float logs for transport, a floating classroom now carries kids collecting water samples.
[UPDATE] The Mill Pond is technically down at the harbor, rather than where the Floating Classroom floats. Its sectioned off from the rest of the harbor and is how the big logs were transported from ships etc into the mill. During the waning tide the logs would get dumped and they'd enter the mill pond and the gate would be shut to keep them from exiting as the tide rose. The pond with the Floating Classroom was created during the time of the great mills but it was simply a small stream that was dammed for drinking water etc in the dry months. There would have been no way to get the logs from that pond up at higher elevation and a couple miles away, down to the mill via water.
The center is the compassionate, careful, and thoroughly researched implementation of its founder’s vision. Seattle-area resident Debbi Brainerd bought the land with her husband Paul in 1998 for the express purpose of creating a "magical place" where Puget Sound area children could learn about the region's natural and cultural history.
Today, about 4000 students from over 70 Puget Sound schools, including about 50% of Seattle's public school students, participate in IslandWood's four-day School Overnight Program annually. Rain or shine, fourth- through sixth-graders are outdoors for most of their waking hours, using the plants, water, wind, and sun to do academic work that other kids are using textbooks for.
The center was developed by the design firm Mithun, known for environmentally sustainable architecture, and is gold LEED certified.
Buildings are located and positioned for minimal impact on ecosystems and watersheds. Windows are placed and angled to capture sunlight in the winter and maintain shade in the summer; dirty water is filtered through shale-and-plant cycles with the goal of reuse; rainwater is collected in cisterns and organic waste is composted. Buildings have solar panels, skylights, and sound panels to capitalize on natural energy and physics.
Countertops are made of recycled yogurt containers (you can still see the foil) and bathroom stalls of plastic milk bottles. Panels, floors, beams, and doors are constructed from reclaimed or sustainable wood and building insulation from old newspaper. Artwork and ornamentation are made by local artists from locally sourced and/ or recycled material.
Each of these elements is made explicit to kids as they come into contact with them. Everything at IslandWood, in fact, is optimized for teaching moments. And everything is kid friendly. The place was made for kids--not (only) for adults who want kids to pay attention and learn things. Hundreds of chlidren were consulted for the center's creation.
That is why at each bunk there is both a forest-facing window and a little nightlight.
That is why the benches of the "Friendship Circle," the outdoor amphitheater, subtly demarcate individual seats (children of a certain age need their space, even in friendship circles).
It goes without saying that kids requested a treehouse.
People, there's a treehouse!!
It is constructed by the local Seattle outfit Treehouse Workshop with meticulous attention to the health of the tree.
Every student gets a science journal for sketches and notes--some prompted, some open--about plants, animals, water, air, and earth. Kids climb a canopy tower to compare tree features, weather, and humidity at the different heights.
They do scientific investigations of water quality and soil type; they study ecosystems, animal tracks and scat, and orienteering. They observe plants and animals from a bird blind in the marsh, a boat on the pond, and a suspension bridge over a ravine, among other places.
There's a place to check out boots and coats, so no one needs to worry about staying warm and dry. [UPDATE] Actually, IslandWood doesn't have rain boots for kids to borrow, but just about everything else: rain jackets and pants, warm fleece jackets, hats, gloves etc.
There's a garden and a beehive; kids learn to make a snack from fresh-picked food from the garden.
Classrooms are multi-level, because children love going into their own corners, and because the architects wanted to break up the literal and metaphorical flatness of the classroom. The multi-level design also aids in the functioning of barrel-and-tube models of watersheds, as gravity is an important component.
Education at IslandWood is predicated on gentle experienced insights into the interconnectedness of resources and actions. This is as effective a social principle as a scientific and ecological one: in the dining hall, where kids serve themselves buffet style, there's a leftover-food weigh-in station.
[UPDATE] The kids actually eat family style, not buffet. So one kid brings platters of food to each table and everyone serves themselves from them.
At the end of the meal, students weigh what's left on their plates and compete by table for the least amount of food wasted; numbers are significantly lower by the end of the week. (I would love to see this used for math-lesson teaching moments as well as a resource- and waste-awareness ones.)
IslandWood curriculum is mostly science, but integrates other important areas of learning as well--specifically those areas that teachers report get lost in the standards and accountability churn. Artists-in-residence provide curriculum in the arts, while mill structures and a cemetery are fodder for social studies.
These subjects are combined in the lessons of instructors from the area's Native American communities, who work with students on songs, crafts, and other traditions.
(All photos taken by H. Lukic or me, but this video is from IslandWood's YouTube channel.)
IslandWood encompasses so many elements of my dream school. Just getting out into green spaces is important for physical and emotional health, but that's only the beginning. Students on the School Overnight Program get to experience nature to an extent and in a manner that will likely engender stewardship of natural resources. There is sustained interaction--four days at the center, with two thirds of the day spent outdoors. And--so important and fulfilling in my mind--kids also learn important academic skills and concepts through experience and exploration, guided by mentors and coaches. Children who aren't focused or interested in classrooms often respond strongly and positively to experiential learning, especially outdoors.
In my dream world, IslandWood is a year-round school.
A slightly (...slightly) less wildly unrealistic dream is of a school system that allows for full, authentic integration of IslandWood-like programs. Imagine a school set-up that facilitates as part of its regular everyday curriculum repeated visits to a wilderness area, for example throughout different seasons, or at various times of day. Imagine lessons in math, writing, literature, and P.E. that take place outdoors or respond to outdoor experiences. Imagine curriculum standards, societal expectations, and budgets allowing for thorough in-class followups to wilderness experiences (IslandWood staff are available to visit classrooms after their IslandWood stays, but it is left to individual teachers to make time in their overpacked schedules for this visit--or to connect the residency to class studies in any other way).
Not everywhere has the natural beauty that the Puget Sound area has, but there is nature everywhere, even in cities. Cultivating health, activity, and environmental awareness and stewardship, as well as opportunities for experiential learning, is important--and possible--everywhere. For example, in my beloved Chicago.
IslandWood was born of the significant wealth of a caring and visionary private citizen and is sustained through grants, donations, and conference and event rentals. The very existence of this amazing place, and the dream of propagating such a model, begs deflating questions about money and public and political will. I'll address those questions in the final post in this Seattle series.
I had the opportunity to go to Seattle a few weeks ago, and while there I grabbed the chance to visit four exciting elementary-school programs that get kids doing science outside. Three of these are sibling non-profits and the fourth is based in a Seattle public K–8 school. This post is dedicated entirely to IslandWood's flagship School Overnight Program for fourth- through sixth-graders. I'll address the other programs in subsequent posts.
IslandWood is a 255-acre outdoor learning center located on Bainbridge Island, a half-hour ferry ride from Seattle. The site is old logging land formerly owned by Port Blakely Tree Farms; the ground near the mill is still springy from mounds of sawdust beneath the dirt, and on the mill pond where men used to float logs for transport, a floating classroom now carries kids collecting water samples.
[UPDATE] The Mill Pond is technically down at the harbor, rather than where the Floating Classroom floats. Its sectioned off from the rest of the harbor and is how the big logs were transported from ships etc into the mill. During the waning tide the logs would get dumped and they'd enter the mill pond and the gate would be shut to keep them from exiting as the tide rose. The pond with the Floating Classroom was created during the time of the great mills but it was simply a small stream that was dammed for drinking water etc in the dry months. There would have been no way to get the logs from that pond up at higher elevation and a couple miles away, down to the mill via water.
The center is the compassionate, careful, and thoroughly researched implementation of its founder’s vision. Seattle-area resident Debbi Brainerd bought the land with her husband Paul in 1998 for the express purpose of creating a "magical place" where Puget Sound area children could learn about the region's natural and cultural history.
 |
| Forest...one of IslandWood's five distinct ecosystems |
 |
| The mill pond, another ecosystem |
 |
| The cattail marsh, a third ecosystem and the location of a bird blind. |
Today, about 4000 students from over 70 Puget Sound schools, including about 50% of Seattle's public school students, participate in IslandWood's four-day School Overnight Program annually. Rain or shine, fourth- through sixth-graders are outdoors for most of their waking hours, using the plants, water, wind, and sun to do academic work that other kids are using textbooks for.
The center was developed by the design firm Mithun, known for environmentally sustainable architecture, and is gold LEED certified.
Buildings are located and positioned for minimal impact on ecosystems and watersheds. Windows are placed and angled to capture sunlight in the winter and maintain shade in the summer; dirty water is filtered through shale-and-plant cycles with the goal of reuse; rainwater is collected in cisterns and organic waste is composted. Buildings have solar panels, skylights, and sound panels to capitalize on natural energy and physics.
Countertops are made of recycled yogurt containers (you can still see the foil) and bathroom stalls of plastic milk bottles. Panels, floors, beams, and doors are constructed from reclaimed or sustainable wood and building insulation from old newspaper. Artwork and ornamentation are made by local artists from locally sourced and/ or recycled material.
 |
| Yogurt-container countertop in a classroom |
 |
| A Muir quote etched in a Mobius circling an old milled beam |
 |
| Student-made sidewalk mosaics |
 |
| Glass-bottle bathroom tiles |
That is why at each bunk there is both a forest-facing window and a little nightlight.
That is why the benches of the "Friendship Circle," the outdoor amphitheater, subtly demarcate individual seats (children of a certain age need their space, even in friendship circles).
It goes without saying that kids requested a treehouse.
People, there's a treehouse!!
It is constructed by the local Seattle outfit Treehouse Workshop with meticulous attention to the health of the tree.
Every student gets a science journal for sketches and notes--some prompted, some open--about plants, animals, water, air, and earth. Kids climb a canopy tower to compare tree features, weather, and humidity at the different heights.
They do scientific investigations of water quality and soil type; they study ecosystems, animal tracks and scat, and orienteering. They observe plants and animals from a bird blind in the marsh, a boat on the pond, and a suspension bridge over a ravine, among other places.
 |
| Bird blind |
 |
| Suspension bridge |
There's a garden and a beehive; kids learn to make a snack from fresh-picked food from the garden.
Classrooms are multi-level, because children love going into their own corners, and because the architects wanted to break up the literal and metaphorical flatness of the classroom. The multi-level design also aids in the functioning of barrel-and-tube models of watersheds, as gravity is an important component.
Education at IslandWood is predicated on gentle experienced insights into the interconnectedness of resources and actions. This is as effective a social principle as a scientific and ecological one: in the dining hall, where kids serve themselves buffet style, there's a leftover-food weigh-in station.
[UPDATE] The kids actually eat family style, not buffet. So one kid brings platters of food to each table and everyone serves themselves from them.
At the end of the meal, students weigh what's left on their plates and compete by table for the least amount of food wasted; numbers are significantly lower by the end of the week. (I would love to see this used for math-lesson teaching moments as well as a resource- and waste-awareness ones.)
IslandWood curriculum is mostly science, but integrates other important areas of learning as well--specifically those areas that teachers report get lost in the standards and accountability churn. Artists-in-residence provide curriculum in the arts, while mill structures and a cemetery are fodder for social studies.
These subjects are combined in the lessons of instructors from the area's Native American communities, who work with students on songs, crafts, and other traditions.
(All photos taken by H. Lukic or me, but this video is from IslandWood's YouTube channel.)
IslandWood encompasses so many elements of my dream school. Just getting out into green spaces is important for physical and emotional health, but that's only the beginning. Students on the School Overnight Program get to experience nature to an extent and in a manner that will likely engender stewardship of natural resources. There is sustained interaction--four days at the center, with two thirds of the day spent outdoors. And--so important and fulfilling in my mind--kids also learn important academic skills and concepts through experience and exploration, guided by mentors and coaches. Children who aren't focused or interested in classrooms often respond strongly and positively to experiential learning, especially outdoors.
 |
| The chimney in this lodge conveys the region's geologic history |
 |
| Art, science, and learning are everywhere |
In my dream world, IslandWood is a year-round school.
A slightly (...slightly) less wildly unrealistic dream is of a school system that allows for full, authentic integration of IslandWood-like programs. Imagine a school set-up that facilitates as part of its regular everyday curriculum repeated visits to a wilderness area, for example throughout different seasons, or at various times of day. Imagine lessons in math, writing, literature, and P.E. that take place outdoors or respond to outdoor experiences. Imagine curriculum standards, societal expectations, and budgets allowing for thorough in-class followups to wilderness experiences (IslandWood staff are available to visit classrooms after their IslandWood stays, but it is left to individual teachers to make time in their overpacked schedules for this visit--or to connect the residency to class studies in any other way).
Not everywhere has the natural beauty that the Puget Sound area has, but there is nature everywhere, even in cities. Cultivating health, activity, and environmental awareness and stewardship, as well as opportunities for experiential learning, is important--and possible--everywhere. For example, in my beloved Chicago.
 |
| The Chicago River at Wilson Bridge |
 |
| Beautiful Lake Michigan |
 |
| North Pond in Lincoln Park |
Monday, April 1, 2013
CLOCC and Chicago.coop
So many excellent and galvanizing meetings, presentations, and experiences 2013 has brought me! No Child Left Inside, Poetry Out Loud, Pecha Kucha. And now presenting: The quarterly meeting of the Consortium to Lower Obesity in Chicago Children (CLOCC).
This consortium brings together Chicago clinicians, educators, non-profit leaders in social, educational, and environmental fields, urban planners, and city representatives to develop and implement measures for improving Chicago children's health. Their approach is as varied as their participants: subgroups consider the issue in relation to early childhood needs, food access, physical activity, schools, policy, research, and public education. You can find their blueprint for the next decade here and many other resources here.
I attended because of my interest in integrating nature-based and other outdoors activity into the school day as part of formal education, as I've discussed before in earlier posts. (I am even more excited about this now, having just returned from an amazing and informative trip to Seattle last week! More on that--with pictures!--later.)
At the meeting, we heard anthropologist Howard Rosing, PhD speak about his research on cultural considerations related to food access, and a panel, composed of Kelly Lowry, PhD and Alicia Gonzalez of Lurie Children's Hospital/ Chicago Run, Rush University Medical Center's Brad Appelhans, PhD, and research consultant T. Nigel Gannon, PhD, discuss opportunities and challenges in community-based research design. As you can gather from all those name suffixes, the consortium values its relationships with university researchers and medical doctors--but what I find impressive and refreshing is that it appears equally committed to on-the-ground implementation. When there is a gap between research and application the public loses faith in the value of the research and the researchers lose perspective on practical realities. And, on the other hand, when program developers do not regard authentic grounding in research to be important, programs can become idiosyncratic, narrow, or inconsistent.
Before the meeting adjourned, the interest groups reported on their work earlier that day (mostly, they reviewed the new blueprint, which had been published since the prior meeting) and announced their next meeting dates. I plan on attending the Health Promotion and Public Education meeting next week, and the Physical Activity and the Built Environment one at the end of the month.
The week prior to this meeting, I went to an exciting kick-off meeting for a new food cooperative being put together in Chicago, headed by the tireless and supersmart Greg Berlowitz. The prospect of a community gathering place based on healthy produce and locally produced goods is a welcome one in Chicago (sadly, my beloved town is pokey when it comes to environmental and food awareness, one of the reasons I am interested in building education around these issues)--and I see many possibilities for integrating educational programming.
This consortium brings together Chicago clinicians, educators, non-profit leaders in social, educational, and environmental fields, urban planners, and city representatives to develop and implement measures for improving Chicago children's health. Their approach is as varied as their participants: subgroups consider the issue in relation to early childhood needs, food access, physical activity, schools, policy, research, and public education. You can find their blueprint for the next decade here and many other resources here.
I attended because of my interest in integrating nature-based and other outdoors activity into the school day as part of formal education, as I've discussed before in earlier posts. (I am even more excited about this now, having just returned from an amazing and informative trip to Seattle last week! More on that--with pictures!--later.)
At the meeting, we heard anthropologist Howard Rosing, PhD speak about his research on cultural considerations related to food access, and a panel, composed of Kelly Lowry, PhD and Alicia Gonzalez of Lurie Children's Hospital/ Chicago Run, Rush University Medical Center's Brad Appelhans, PhD, and research consultant T. Nigel Gannon, PhD, discuss opportunities and challenges in community-based research design. As you can gather from all those name suffixes, the consortium values its relationships with university researchers and medical doctors--but what I find impressive and refreshing is that it appears equally committed to on-the-ground implementation. When there is a gap between research and application the public loses faith in the value of the research and the researchers lose perspective on practical realities. And, on the other hand, when program developers do not regard authentic grounding in research to be important, programs can become idiosyncratic, narrow, or inconsistent.
Before the meeting adjourned, the interest groups reported on their work earlier that day (mostly, they reviewed the new blueprint, which had been published since the prior meeting) and announced their next meeting dates. I plan on attending the Health Promotion and Public Education meeting next week, and the Physical Activity and the Built Environment one at the end of the month.
The week prior to this meeting, I went to an exciting kick-off meeting for a new food cooperative being put together in Chicago, headed by the tireless and supersmart Greg Berlowitz. The prospect of a community gathering place based on healthy produce and locally produced goods is a welcome one in Chicago (sadly, my beloved town is pokey when it comes to environmental and food awareness, one of the reasons I am interested in building education around these issues)--and I see many possibilities for integrating educational programming.
Saturday, March 16, 2013
My Morning Judging Poetry Out Loud
A few weeks ago I served as a judge for Poetry Out Loud (I've been waiting to secure permission to publish a couple photos of the finalists before posting this blog, but it's not yet forthcoming; so, onward). This is a competition wherein high school students memorize and recite published poems of their choosing. The contest starts at the school level and then moves through regional and state tournaments, ending with a national competition in Washington, D.C.; I was a judge for the Chicago regionals, held in the calming and airy headquarters of the Poetry Foundation.
Specifically, I was the "accuracy judge." While the other three judges evaluated students on style, clarity, and other such subjective elements, I was to follow the text of the poem during each student's recitation and measure fidelity to the written form. Even pluralizing a word or saying "the" instead of "a" meant a loss in point value.
While I would have enjoyed watching the students' full presentation, which I couldn't do with the Weight of Accuracy in my hands, I was grateful my criteria for judging these hopeful, earnest kids were entirely objective. As soon as we started, though, I realized I couldn't hide behind the black-and-white of the text: out of the four of us, I looked like the Mean One. Nervously standing not more than five feet in front of me, the contestant would say "of" instead of "for" and I would act immediately, marking the error on the poem. There is no way the students couldn't see me do it. While the other judges took notes during the presentation, their moves were not tied so directly to a particular word or phrase, and they could have been writing something positive, of course. If my hand moved, it meant nothing but bad news. I effected my kindest and most benign expression as each student recited, but I they weren't fooled, and I had a job to do.
In the end, the students I would have picked as the third, second, and first place winners indeed came in third, second, and first, so all was right with the world. I was relieved that no one's lack of orientation to detail, betrayed by my scoring sheet, had destroyed their chance at national poetic fame.
It was a joy to be around adolescents again. My days of classroom teaching are over, for a number of reasons, but I sure do miss teenagers. I love how newly and momentously they feel and experience things, how much their own growth in their minds and perceptions rock them, how they begin to catch glimpses of their adult selves, and you can see their comportment shift subtly accordingly. And it turns out all of those qualities are in evidence when they recite poetry.
Specifically, I was the "accuracy judge." While the other three judges evaluated students on style, clarity, and other such subjective elements, I was to follow the text of the poem during each student's recitation and measure fidelity to the written form. Even pluralizing a word or saying "the" instead of "a" meant a loss in point value.
While I would have enjoyed watching the students' full presentation, which I couldn't do with the Weight of Accuracy in my hands, I was grateful my criteria for judging these hopeful, earnest kids were entirely objective. As soon as we started, though, I realized I couldn't hide behind the black-and-white of the text: out of the four of us, I looked like the Mean One. Nervously standing not more than five feet in front of me, the contestant would say "of" instead of "for" and I would act immediately, marking the error on the poem. There is no way the students couldn't see me do it. While the other judges took notes during the presentation, their moves were not tied so directly to a particular word or phrase, and they could have been writing something positive, of course. If my hand moved, it meant nothing but bad news. I effected my kindest and most benign expression as each student recited, but I they weren't fooled, and I had a job to do.
In the end, the students I would have picked as the third, second, and first place winners indeed came in third, second, and first, so all was right with the world. I was relieved that no one's lack of orientation to detail, betrayed by my scoring sheet, had destroyed their chance at national poetic fame.
It was a joy to be around adolescents again. My days of classroom teaching are over, for a number of reasons, but I sure do miss teenagers. I love how newly and momentously they feel and experience things, how much their own growth in their minds and perceptions rock them, how they begin to catch glimpses of their adult selves, and you can see their comportment shift subtly accordingly. And it turns out all of those qualities are in evidence when they recite poetry.
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