The Geranium on the Windowsill Just Died, But Teacher You Went Right On
The Geranium on the Windowsill Just Died, But Teacher You Went Right On
A note on educational irrelevance, version 2023
Today’s letter is short and it’s a poem. I want to crowdsource a bit, so no Tl;dr section.
Ok…moving on:
Summer 2022, when we (Good Natured Learning) launched our inaugural cohort of the Brains on Nature Fellowship, it felt like all of my and my co-founders’ (Erin Allaman) combined life experiences had coalesced into a hopeful, purposeful vision for education in which educators (real humans!) could each effect immediate change in their locus of control – their classroom or school – by bringing regular doses of nature and its goodness to their students and selves to sustain everyone through life’s day-to-day traumas. It wouldn’t be “days-and-nights-under-stars-Capital-N-Nature” backpacking trips (very cool, just not what Good Natured Learning does; wrote about this a bit two weeks ago). And still, the evidence for the benefits from even small, regular doses of nature had (and has!) me totally convinced.
During the Nature Retreat1 launch for the fellowship, one of the fellows (@Mary Mares @naturebasedmath) shared this poem that popped into her brain one day as we were talking about simple nature-based learning interventions and how meaningful even small acts can be.
The robins sang and sang and sang, but teacher you went right on.
The last bell sounded at the end of the day, but teacher you went right on.
The geranium on the windowsill just died, but teacher you went right on.
– Albert Callum, 1971
Mary had been shown The Geranium – a book full of heart-wrenching, gut-punch reflections from students – in her teacher training program. I have since read it, and am struck by Mary’s professor’s decision to include it and the poignancy of it now.
Callum is calling out what I see as one of education’s biggest threats: irrelevance.
I haven’t been able to get The Geranium out of my head. Looking at the book’s cover, a picture of a teacher with a horse nose sitting at her desk…wearing blinders, I feel nauseous.
I am haunted by a million more lines for this poem in 2023:
Bombs flew and innocent people died, but teacher you went right on.
Smoke covered the sun, but teacher you went right on.
Floods circled our feet, but teacher you went right on.
A hurricane ravaged our school, but teacher you went right on.
A landslide flattened my home, but teacher you went right on.
Species died, but teacher you went right on.
Drought stole our harvest and killed our livestock, but teacher you went right on.
Our bellies were empty, but teacher you went right on.
The well ran dry, but teachers you went right on.
Locus of Control
In spite of the maelstrom of pressures around them, teachers have tremendous control over what they do in their classroom. I currently work with 11 Good Natured Learning Fellows who have shown that regardless of their context, they can make changes in their practice and schools. This “locus of control” approach aligns with one of the key principles for education reform per education historian Larry Cuban:
Small changes in classroom practice occur often. Fundamental and rapid changes in ways of teaching seldom happen. - Larry Cuban
So what is (or are) the small changes I’m inviting?
Stop, acknowledge, make space.
Make small modifications to daily instruction to incorporate nature.
Might I suggest nature-based learning practices2?
And, the well ran dry…
I can’t help but think of metaphorical and literal wells here.
Even as teachers have tremendous power in their own classrooms and over their own actions, we could easily rewrite Callum’s poem from teachers’ perspectives.
We know more about how students learn, but Ineffective Approaches – you march right on.
We know external accountability pressures (like state takeovers and standardized testing) have failed to beget improvement, but State & Federal Enforcement and Testing – you march right on.
We see and have documented massive inequities in schools, but Racist Policies – you march right on.
We are suffering a mental health state of emergency, but Medical Establishment and Schools – you march right on (mostly to the beat of your own drum!).
We know how change happens in education3, but Large-Scale and Out-of-Touch Education Reform Efforts – you march right on.
We understand that tech-based education solutions are not a silver bullet, but Funders and Resources – you all march right on.
We know 56% of young people globally think “humanity is doomed” in the face of climate change, but Irrelevant Education Approaches — you march right on.
We have learned a tremendous amount about child development and the superiority of free, sensory, play-based, student-centered, project-based instruction in and with and of nature, but Rigid, Single-modality, Didactic, Teacher-Centered, Indoor learning – you all march right on.
Let’s re-write this poem together
We know nature connections are good for humans – students and educators – so we joyfully leap at our chance to nurture people and nature through connections between both in our schools.
What’s your next line?
❤️B
The Fellowship begins with a 5-day, 4- night immersive retreat in nature. Participants draw inspiration from other educators and from nature, deepen knowledge of nature-based learning, and receive training to bring back to colleagues. They leave ready to implement nature-based learning and prepared to share nature-based learning skills with their colleagues. Read more about the Good Natured Learning Fellowship here.
Nature-based learning practices are instructional (pedagogical) and classroom design actions to implement nature-based learning.
They can be employed by any educator, anywhere, at any grade level, in any content area, in any curriculum or school design model.
They can be applied in formal (i.e., in schools, during the school day) and informal (i.e., in everyday life) educational settings.
They are within an individual educator’s locus of control to implement.
This is particular to the U.S. model and may not be completely relevant elsewhere, especially in contexts with more centralized control as demonstrated in Amanda Ripley’s The Smartest Kids in the World.