Focus on the people who came to the party

And then work like hell to get new peeps to show up next time!

I’m writing today from the breezy balcony of my mom’s friend Betsy’s barn house in the gently rolling fields south of Eau Claire, Wisconsin. Technically still Eau Claire, I suppose. Birds are chirping. I can hear at least four different songs though I can’t see the singers. The barn in which I sit is the shape and color of Old Macdonald’s – high arching ceilings, burnt cherry red paint with crisp white trim. But it’s no longer a place for cows and hay so much as the stuff of writer and artist retreats. Sleds lining the garage wall conjure wintertime family fun filled with laughter, snowpeople, and hot chocolate.

On this June morning, bean fields stretch out to forests filled with oaks, maples, birch, and others. My shrewd plant ID skills tell me they are deciduous leafy green trees. The grasses and wildflowers around the barn gently sway in a pleasing, indiscernible pattern. This is exactly what biophilic designers call “non-rhythmic sensory stimuli” (NRSS) – and you can create this in your classroom (or home!) by putting a plant in front of an air vent or an oscillating fan.

It is working – this setting. My brain feels at peace. I am ready to reflect and write. And share my ideas with you. Plus, I’m alert. The balcony is in the shade right now and I’m a little bit chilly.

So let’s turn to getting more people to the party next time. But first a flashback.

June 4, 2024

I’m at Colorado State University’s Spur campus in Denver for Colorado Education Initiative’s “Hopeful Futures” summer convening. I feel ready. Fresh and invigorated from giving my first Ted-style talk, “An Apple-a-Day: The Case for Nature-based Learning in Schools” at the Children & Nature Network’s Nature Everywhere conference a week ago, my ability to galvanize support for nature in schools is feeling ever more second nature (pun intended), with answers to any question at the tip of my tongue. I’m filled with unbridled enthusiasm – even more than my exuberant baseline.

I love this. Sharing the nature-based learning message by interacting with other people – in real life – is my jam. I’m thrilled to be here – at a mainstream education conference – to represent nature-based learning.

Perhaps now is the moment we break through to the Zeitgeist – connecting these dots once and for all:

Dot 1: Nature is good for humans.

Dot 2: We have a low cost, attainable, immediate, and proven way to make nature part of schools everywhere: nature-based learning.  

Our panel – “Nature-Based Strategies for Wellness and Learning” – is one of just twenty breakout sessions scattered over two days. Topics range from ‘diversifying talent and recruitment’ to sustainable school finance to ‘simplifying communication for engagement, inclusion, and trust.’

Our panel is in the “Student & Staff Wellness” track. I like this. It’s running opposite 3 other options from which attendees can choose: one on absenteeism, another on designing graduate profiles for postsecondary success, and the last on AI. There was a session on AI in the 9-10am block also.

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It is 10:08am, just 2 minutes before our session is supposed to start. I am standing outside the Bear Room.

A few attendees wander the hall last minute trying to find their chosen breakout session. When they look at me standing by the door, I smile big, willing them into our room where the current panelists-to-attendees ratio is about 1:1. 

Across the hall in Cottonwood Creek, there appears to be a full house. Which session is that? I walk across the hallway to read the paper on the wall: “AI for Accessibility and Differentiation.” The presenter is from a group I’ve never heard of: The AI Education Project. I make a note to circle back to learn more.  

10:10am. I look in our room again and back into the hallway. No one else is coming. 

Just then one more person runs down the hall. She looks at me, at the sign on our door, then hurries across the hall into Cottonwood Creek.

Our facilitator shuts the door. 

Well, shall we get started? Looks like it’s just us for today. This is a good group.

She smiles. Earnestly? Apologetically?

The room has capacity for another forty people. I invite the few attendees there to come in closer for a more intimate conversation.

Another few people trickle in as we get started. Participants comfortably outnumber presenters. Their faces are kind and bright and eager. 

I draw a deep breath.

“Focus on the people who came to the party.”

My friend Martha’s counsel runs through my mind. 

Mildred says more-or-less the same thing.

“Becca, the people who are meant to be there will be there.”

Yes. That’s right. These are my people.

In fact, I am about to present to a room with people (I almost wrote “full of people,” but that’s just not true) genuinely interested in how nature can support them as educators and support their students. At a mainstream education conference. What an awesome opportunity.   

I consider – and resist – cracking a funny-not-funny joke about the apparent interest among Colorado educators (and probably other states’ educators too) in “AI” rather than nature – the other AI. Authentic Intelligence. I’m not sure what the joke would be. I don’t actually have one in mind. I suppose I could ask ChatGPT to generate one…but I won’t.

That’s the thing. My gut, which I trust a lot, and which has led me to so many awesome things over my four plus decades on the planet, appears to be wrong on this one.

My gut pushes these questions toward my brainstem:

Who would choose something fake over something real?

Why would someone want something artificial rather than authentic?

My gut also tells me AI should have a major branding problem.

But, like Shakira’s hips, the numbers don’t lie. Educators at this conference have voted with their feet. Way more of them are in Cottonwood Creek – a room ironically named for nature but filled with conversations about technology – Artificial Intelligence.

The OG – Authentic Intelligence – nature herself – can’t compete.

My heart hurts.

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I shake it off, step up to the podium and take Martha and Mildred’s advice. I even step it up a notch: I am the life of this party.

I speak passionately about nature’s mental and physical wellbeing benefits for students and teacher’s alike, about improved academic outcomes, about environmental stewardship. I lament that less than one thousandth of the 2280 days I spent in my 14-year PK-12 school career was spent learning outdoors connecting with more-than-human nature.

1 in 1000 is not enough.

I say.

One hour outside learning to 999 hours seated at my desk indoors, sometimes in windowless classrooms like Ms. Fulkerson’s 6th grade math room. One minute of experiential connection with more-than-human nature to 999 minutes with pencil, paper, graphing calculator (or today, keyboards, screens, and computers). 

I continue with this shameful truth:

…and for most kids on the planet, and many students even in our beautiful, mountainous state of Colorado, the total time spent learning outdoors connecting with more-than-human nature in school is…

0.

It doesn’t have to be that way.

I say.

I share how foundational nature connections are possible for EVERY teacher, EVERY student, in EVERY school, EVERYWHERE on the planet through learning that includes routine, modest, “bite-sized” nature connections – what I call “apple-a-day nature-based learning.”

Teaching outdoors – connected with nature – is an opportunity – and our responsibility. It’s also about the joy of being a teacher.”

I say.

The people at the party nod.

After my opener, I turn it over to the panelists who share powerful stories about nature connection in their schools.

Participants ask questions. They take notes. Some approach us afterwards to ask questions.

One of the panelists seeks me out – “We need to collaborate,” she says.

“Let’s.” I agree. I jot down her email address.  

I’m so caught up in the post-party conversation that I forget about the party across the street. And about how few people came to our party today.

The next party

As I clean up the metaphorical red Solo cups, mop the floors, and follow-up on leads and ideas from the conference party – I feel a bit melancholy.

I finally look up the AI Education Project. Their landing page declares:

I love literacy and I am a big fan of making sure students develop confidence using the tools at their disposal. So I don’t disagree.

But we (you’re in this too!) need to get more people to come to the next party. How can Shakira’s hips tell a different story where there’s standing room only in the nature-based learning session at a mainstream education conference?

Here are my pledges:

1. I commit to get nature-based learning on the list for more parties. Education parties. Public health parties. Social justice parties. Mental health parties. Physical wellbeing parties. Environmental justice parties. Conservation parties. Parties to fight climate change. Parties for the planet. Parties for people. Parties for more-than-human nature. All.the.parties.

2. And I commit to throwing some parties of our own. We’ll cast a wide, inclusive net. We’ll create awesome invitations. We’ll find our pink Cadillacs. We will host the parties of the year. Decade. Century. Centuries.

Nature deserves this. I know you’ll be there. Invite everyone you know, ok?

❤️ B