Memories in the fire

1

I decided that we would read our memoirs, the ones my students had been working on for the last five weeks, on our immersion trip down to Mississippi. The idea of sitting around the fire, sharing memories was just too enticing to pass up.

I was a little surprised that no one objected, or even hesitated, when I made the suggestion the week before. We’d just come in from soccer and I was trying to figure out how we’d fit the projects, the tests and the presentations into the time we had left. There was a precedent. They’d read their first stories, the ones from the orientation cycle, on our first immersion and that had worked out well because it had given us an entire afternoon to have a great discussion. They seem actually to look forward to, what’s come to be called, “Teatime with Doctor.”

“What if,” I asked, a little quietly to one of the 8th graders, who’d been on the challenge course immersion the year before and happened to be walking by, “you read your memoirs around the campfire on immersion?”

“Yes.” Declarative and succinct. I raised an eyebrow, but he just continued on his way. I was a little surprised he did not have more to say. I’m always surprised when my students don’t have more to say. My students can be quite loquacious given any opportunity, and this one in particular tended to have strong opinions that he was usually more that willing to share.

The discussion with the rest of the class took barely longer. The larger the group, the more likely you are to have people who need to think out loud, but there were unanimous thumbs up in less than two minutes.

I think that there’s some primal need that gets stirred up by even the thought of sitting around a fire and sharing stories. Of course this plan of action also fulfilled that other fundamental need of the adolescent, the need to procrastinate.

II

We get to Camp H., have lunch, and an afternoon of community building games. Lamplighter’s been working with the camp leader here for years and Ms. A’s impressed by how well this group works together. No surreptitious sabotage, no subtle denigration, no stubborn unwillingness to participate.

We talk about the group, she and I, as we walk back to the cabin, red gravel crunching under our feet, oak leaves turning color overhead, and myself getting slightly out of breath on the last climb. I’m perhaps a little more impressed than she is because I can see the conflict in those by now familiar faces; glimpses of of baser instincts being overruled by the prefrontal cortex. It is a sight that is ambrosia to the middle school teacher.

I get back to our cabin and I find V., one of the two students I’d promised they could get the campfire going.

“Are you guys getting the fire started?” I ask.

“We’re just going to play football for a little while, then start on the fire,” he replies. V’s been our main supervisor for Student Run Business this cycle and it shows. He’s been breaking out his calm, clear, confident, supervisor voice on the challenges all afternoon.

“We have half an hour until dinner and it will probably be dark afterward,” I say.

He just nods, seething competence.

It’s 5:45 and they’re still playing football. I look at my watch more and more frequently. I’m not going to remind them of what they have to do. We’re Montessori after all.

Two of the girls start working on the fire pit. Aha, I think to myself, this is going to get interesting. I saunter outside and my path nonchalantly takes me down to the fire pit. I suggest more kindling, they never get enough kindling. The boys realize other people are working on “their” fire.

Dissension in the ranks. Conflict. I tell them they should work together. Harsh words are spoken. A covenant broken. The poignant cry of impassioned idealism, “injustice”. Things fall apart; the center does not hold; Bethlehem is apparently somewhere on the other side of the playing field.

Ten minutes later it’s time to go to dinner, but first it’s time to rebuild, time to remind them of the covenant they came up with that very afternoon, time to have a short, quiet talk about the use of language.

Over dinner the laughter starts up again. I’m at the other table with Ms. A and her family, all of whom work at the camp in some degree or the other. After the last fifteen minutes I’m extra impressed by the calmness of her teenagers.

When we get back to the fire pit the laughter is perhaps a bit too loud, but the group seems back together again. The fire is started without recrimination (eventually because they did not have enough kindling).

We sit around the fire, reading stories, finding issues, being helpful writing partners, and learning how important it is to be critical, brutal even, to our own work. There are some really good writers in the group, and there’s nothing better than learning from your peers.

“Can we put our memoirs in the fire when we’re done?”

“Sure,” I say. Sharing our writing is supposed to be a celebration. Something strikes me as just about right about liberating these memories in flame, letting them take on a new, ethereal life. Burning pages in dancing flame, marking the putting away of cherished, childhood things; an adolescent rite of passage.

As the last few stragglers work on putting out the fire I sit there, on a cool fall night, thinking about cycles and the seasons. I wish I was on the beach, watching the tide come in, small waves advancing and retreating, bigger waves pushing them farther from time to time, every time a little closer to where they need to be.

Classroom culture

One of the most powerful aspects of a multi-aged classroom is the institutional memory that develops and makes learning a whole lot easier than starting off, every year, from scratch. All the aches and toil of last year did not just disappear when the new crop of students started. The new kids look to the older students for cues about how to behave and it has been saving me a whole lot of time and energy.

That’s not to say that bad habits don’t persist too. But having a slew of new students mixes things up enough so that even the returning students are receptive to some change.

So now I have a bit more time and energy that I can now put into new projects and tailoring the curriculum to make life a little more interesting for one and all.

Well we’re on our first immersion now and I’m getting a little reflective. Probably because it’s close to 2 am and they’re still not asleep.

Resurrecting the greenhouse

Two years ago, the middle school’s flagship project was to put up a fully functional greenhouse (using this design). It took all year but we did it. On the way, we got to practice geometry, mapping and construction, while learning and growing plants and studying soil profiles. It was so successful that, with our spring plant sale we broke even on the entire project.

Last year, however, the greenhouse was somewhat neglected. My plans to add an automatic window opener, which would have been a wonderful tie-in to our electronics and Newtonian physics studies, did not work out; we just did not have the time. We’d taken the plastic covering off, so only the bare, forlorn PVC frame was left standing around a plot of waist-high weeds.

Though I could not have predicted it, this year we have a strong core group of students who are highly enthusiastic about resurrecting the greenhouse and making it work. My suggestion was that we try to grow produce this fall that we could cook in December when we do our Dinner and a Show. Well, two weeks in, they’ve already put together a menu plan, weeding is well on its way and I’m being harassed to hurry up and arrange a trip to Home Depot. The excitement is so infectious that another student has volunteered to bring in his electric weed-whacker during the immersion. It’s amazing!

I’m having the hardest time not butting in. There is a beauty in seeing a well oiled machine executing a project or solving a difficult problem. But there is another even more wonderful aesthetic visible in a the birthing struggles of a nascent team. The forward motion of infectious enthusiasm is pulling puzzle pieces into its wake, and the pieces just seem to click into place when the time is right. I have to keep reminding myself that my job is to prepare the environment and let the kids do the rest.

Help with gardening/greenhouse

The National Gardening Association website has a wealth of resources for managing a garden. Including regional reports:

For the middle-south, “With year’s hottest and driest weather just ahead, it is best to delay the planting of tress and shrubs until autumn, when the odds of successful establishment are more favorable.” – St. Claire, 2010

They also have some nice how-to videos and instructional pages on topics like planting tomatoes and starting vegetable seeds (for the plant sale).

Rafting on the Meramec

After the caves at Meramec Caverns we took a rafting trip down the Meramec with the same company that runs the Caverns. They drove us to a put-in point a couple kilometers upstream in an old yellow schoolbus and left us with two rafts and the full kit and we floated down the stream back to the cavern’s parking lot.

The stream was quiet and it was an easy float, especially with the nice weather. We saw turtles sunning on the logs, a bald eagle flew across of the bows of the leading boat, and we chatted with a few of the other boaters on the river.

Not a bad way to spend an afternoon.

St. Louis overview

View of St. Louis from the top of the Arch.

I had not particularly wanted to go up into the St. Louis Arch myself, but the students really wanted to and we had a little time to spare after the Science Museum. So I grabbed tickets for the last tram to the top, and I’m glad I did. Looking down on the city and river from above you could, in an almost tactile way, reconcile the geographic elements with the history that we’d talked so much about at Anheuser-Busch.

Eads Bridge across the Mississipi River in St. Louis.

Standing in line, waiting for the tram to the top, we were treated to a short documentary on the Eads Bridge, the first across the Mississippi in St. Louis. The video stressed the importance of the bridge in allowing the city to become the gateway for westward expansion.

The tram arrived and small rectangular doors opened up to reveal tiny escape pods fit for a spaceship. Five of us squeezed in, fortunately we were all friendly. The distinct possibility of claustrophobia tinged the air. Three minutes 47 seconds later we reached the top. Forty-five degree rain was pouring down outside. The wind was so strong you could, if you held still and waited for it, feel a slight sway in the Arch itself.

Barges in the distance.
Grain silos and transhipment docks.

Looking east we saw the mighty Mississippi. Not quite so mighty as it is in Memphis, which is downstream of the confluence with the Ohio River, but enormous nonetheless. On the river, huge barges carried freight cars with unknown cargo south toward New Orleans. Just below, an helicopter sat on an helipad barge waiting for an emergency call. Directly across the water, on the east bank, enormous silos with their own docks waited to load barges with grain collected from across the mid-west.

It was still pouring when we left the Arch, and the rain continued on even during dinner. But leaving the restaurant, heading back to the hotel, the setting sun to the west, refracted through raindrops over the river, created one of nature’s own ephemeral monuments. A poignant reminder that forty-five, or even one hundred and forty-five years are but a moment in the deep span of geologic time.

Segway lessons

From playing with robots we tried an actual application of robotics. We had the Segways 101 course at the St. Louis Science Center.

The lesson itself was fun, with an entertaining video of people falling off Segways. They also had a little obstacle course to let you try doing all of the things the video told you not to do (but most of it was for the more advanced class).

Afterward, we discussed the fact that this too was robotics and a pretty advanced application at that. We did not talk much about how the Segways were supposed to revolutionize urban transportation but students did recognize the fact that aesthetics were a major impediment to their broader adoption.

The price was a bit steep however, and I’m a little conflicted about if it was worth it.

Lego Mindstorms

I’ve been curious about the Lego Mindstorms robotic systems for a while now, and I had my first chance to try them at the St. Louis Science Center.

The kits come with a micro-controller, a few motors and some sensors. While there are quite a number of ways of assembling these to make robots, the ones at the science center were pre-built except that you could just plug in a bulldozer or sweeper attachment (and a head which was purely decorative). This limited the degrees of freedom to three, which made it easier to program something useful in the hour we had with the robots.

The programming is very basic. There are two sets of instructions, one to control the movement of the robot in general, and one to control its response when the sensor detected a change in the environment. The objective of the science center’s game was to clear off a set of objects from a white rectangle within five minutes.

You could tell the robot to move forward, back or rotate while it’s on the board and to activate its sweeper or shovel. So a full program could have just five elements; general: lower shovel –> move forward –> rotate; sensor: move backward –> rotate. With these strict limitations, the programming interface is also very simple; you plug in blocks with each instruction in the series for either the general movement or the sensor reaction. With all this simplification, I’m not sure just how much the students learned about programming from our short session.

The full kit from Lego offers more freedom to design robots and thus more flexibility with the programming interface so with a little thought it could be easily integrated into the curriculum. At about $300 each the system is a bit pricy, we’d probably need to get one kit for each small group of 3-4 kids. They would probably be worth it however if we used them more than just once.

I’ve been playing with the Basic Stamp micro-controller for a while, and while it offers almost infinite flexibility, making it more useful for practical applications, it does not provide the immediate gratification of the robots, and the ease of assembly to make it the better tool for introducing robotics to middle schoolers. I still, however, tend to favor practical applications, so perhaps I can persuade a student to do an advanced project to build an automatic window for the greenhouse.

The session at the Science Center was worthwhile. All of the students seemed to enjoy it. It provided a nice integration of the mechanics and electronics we’ve been learning about all year, and a glimpse of where technology is taking us in the future.