I knew at the beginning of the year, since we’d be studying European history this year in History at Our House, that I’d want to get a good map of Europe to which they could refer.  Well, I didn’t find a good map of Europe.  I found a fantastic map of Europe.  This one.  Big and colorful with lots of info packed onto it, but legibly.  It’s been a great resource.

Even so, in terms of actually memorizing aspects of it, they were having troubles keeping all the countries in order, and the bodies of water as well.  So one morning I sat them down and did what I do for myself: Start looking for connections and analogies.  For the countries it was a matter of teaching them where the smaller ones are. I knew they knew where England, Spain, France, and Germany are, so I went from there.  Here’s what I told them (click to open this simpler Europe map in another window to follow along, or zoom in on the one linked above) :

• Germany is shaped like Pac Man, facing right.  Pac Man Germany is eating the Czech Republic, which makes sense since Germany annexed Czechoslovakia in WWII.  And now you know where Slovakia is, because it used to be one country with the Czech Republic.
• Denmark is Pac Man Germany’s hat.  It looks a bit like a dunce cap.  Denmark’s capitol is Copenhagen: DenC (pronounced “dense.”)  Also D.C., like our D.C.: Denmark-Copenhagen.
• The Netherlands and Belgium are Germany’s hair, flowing out from the back, west, of its Pac Man head.  The Netherlands is the larger of the two on the map just like the word “Netherlands” is larger than the word “Belgium.”  Similarly, for the capitols, Amsterdam is longer and so has to go with the country with the longer name.  Brussels goes with the shorter Belgium.
• Switzerland is in between France, Germany, and Italy—just like Switzerland is always in between—neutral, in the middle—in the big wars (in all the wars, for that matter, but that’s not important right now).
• Austria has to be the one next to Switzerland because how else could the Von Trapps have escaped to there from Austria?  (Our kids have seen The Sound of Music lots of times.)
• Austria’s capitol is Vienna: “-ria” and “Vie-”.  Vienna sausage makes us Hungary—which is next to Austria.

That’s as far as we got on countries.  Then we moved on to bodies of water.  They knew the Mediterranean, but couldn’t keep the Adriatic, Aegean, Black, and Caspian seas straight.  So I pointed this out to them:

• The Mediterranean is the biggest one and it has the biggest name.  The rest are in alphabetical order west to east: ADriatic, AEgean, Black, and Caspian.
• At first they were confusing the Black with the Baltic.  Well, Italy’s boot kicks the BALtic up in the air, so it’s the one up above, next to Norway, Sweden, and Finland (which we’d looked at first).

(Forgot about Norway, Sweden, and Finland.  I taught them those by showing how they’re linked together like fingers of a hand, so they go together.  What’s the order?  They’re north, and a source of the Norse, so “NorSFin.”  Sounds like Norsemen and gets them all in the proper order.)

These actually worked surprisingly well for my kids, especially since it was all off the cuff.  A little WWII history helps, but they didn’t know it until I told them, and it still mostly worked as a link.  A note on our maps: I spent hours and hours over a few days finding the maps I wanted.  I ended up finding all three I had in mind from the same place, maps.com.  Great company.  I bought this world political and this world physical.  Thrilled with all three of them.  They’re all mounted on foam core and hanging on nails in our school area.  I’ll be doing a separate blog on them at some point as well.

Her brother Alexander has no aspiration to that, but his interest in the subject is strong enough that he also chose a weather-related science project that year, and when choosing science-related place mats for the table a few Christmases back, we got him the weather one and her the astronomy.  Now they argue about who gets to use it.

That all being the case, it seemed natural to see if our first behind-the-scenes trip this year could be to the Channel 8 weather studios.  So a few weeks ago I popped onto the website to see who’d be best to contact about a tour.  The answer was immediately obvious: Colleen Coyle.  Who better to talk to Angelina about a career in meteorology than a woman with a B.A. and published in the subject, as well as storm tracker and meteorologist for the TV station whose website she checks every day?

I dispatched an e-mail to Colleen, and then sent a friend request on Facebook, since sometimes that’s a faster way to get hold of people.  The e-mail did the trick.  She replied that she’d be happy to do it, and suggested we do it at the satellite studio at Victory Park by American Airlines Stadium.  We delayed it a few weeks so that my dad, then on vacation in Florida, could come with us.  A private pilot of forty years with an avid interest in meteorology himself, I knew he’d like to join us.

We set the date for this past Saturday morning, while the show was still on.  That way we could watch Colleen do the weather on TV before getting our tour.  She did a great job of keeping in touch, even remembering after three weeks about our tour and e-mailing about it.

It only took half an hour to get there, and parking was a cinch, since it was early on a Saturday morning.  After some initial confusion about where exactly to enter—we could *see* them doing the morning show through the glass walls—Colleen saw us and came to our rescue.  We were “her people.”  She was in the middle of a set, so she had us wait where we were at first to watch the proceedings, and then came over a bit later to offer the break room or a different vantage point from which to watch the show.  They have five different sets/desks set up in the satellite studio, so we had to make sure we weren’t standing in a spot where at some point we’d show up on camera.

When she finally had a longer break she introduced us to everyone more properly.  It’s a very loose set, with barely a handful of people making it go.  Everyone was exceptionally friendly and, not surprisingly considering the venue, outgoing.  Our four-year-old, Christina, had to go the bathroom, so at the next break we did take Colleen up on the break room offer.  Christina got to go to the bathroom and my dad got his coffee.  All was well with the world.  Well, almost: Christina was disappointed there wasn’t any decaf for her.

When the show was over, Colleen came and got us and gave us a brief tour of the weather set/station.  Since it’s a satellite studio, it’s mostly a computer bank with multiple monitors that she can use to make and call up the maps she needs, and the graphics she wants to use.   There was of course the green screen that lets her stand in front of the radar and forecasts, and Colleen let the kids try it out.  Angelina was wearing a multi-color striped sweater, so on the TV screen her green stripe cut her in half.  She recovered nicely once she stepped back out.  (Guess it’s green socks for Colleen on St. Patrick’s Day.)

As we were wrapping up, Colleen let the kids get behind the anchor desk to see what that was like.  She gathered the on-air talent together with us and the result was this:

A quick poll on the way to the car found unanimous enjoyment of the experience, and was buttressed by quick smiles all around.  So a big special thanks to Colleen Coyle, and kudos to the entire Saturday News 8 Daybreak staff at WFAA, for making it an enjoyable experience.  Be sure to check out Colleen’s Facebook page, and you can also sign up for daily e-mail forecasts sent straight to your in-box every morning.

Before we started the school year, I knew I wanted to take the kids on some “behind-the-scenes” field trips.  That is, I wanted to get them into some local businesses and institutions to show them how the world works.  How their world works.  I had several places in mind from the start: police station, fire station, a game-design business since they both enjoy video games, and one with a personal connection—a movie theater.  After years of talking to them about film and showing them how to make little stop-motion movies of their own, I wanted to get them into a projection booth so they could see how the big dogs run.

Last month I finally was able to make that happen.  A phone call to Cinemark Legacy put me in contact with its general manager, Melissa Rohrbach.  My kind of manager, she was immediately and graciously on board with the idea.  She passed me over to her head projectionist, Paul Konen.  He would be our tour guide.

It proved to be not just an informative trip, but an historic one.  It just happened that I was scheduling our trip one week before that theater began the transformation to an all-digital theater.  Film—the beautiful, ephemeral celluloid strip that’s delivered so many immortal moments to billions of people over the last hundred years—is officially on its way out as the format of choice for theater chains across the nation.   Cinemark expects the segue to take place nationally over the next three years.  Cinemark Legacy is the first stop on that journey, so we were privy to the last week of operation for the platters.

The first stop was an editing table, where Paul showed how trailers have been spliced onto features, and to each other, for decades.  He was nice enough to hack off some twenty-four frame strips—one second’s worth—for the kids to take home.  They got a kick out of that.

After that we began touring the projectors.  The kids obviously didn’t know what to expect, so they were suitably impressed by the huge silver platters, wider than they are tall, from which physical films unspool across empty space into the huge projectors.  At the projector of an empty showing of The Green Hornet, Paul actually let the kids make shadow puppets on the big screen.  An exit poll of the kids revealed that as the favorite moment of the trip for both of them.

We got to see the difference in size and complexity—which is significant—between the newest generation digital processors and the older generation.  We saw what a blown bulb does to the reflector around it.

And then we saw the digital projectors.  Now if it wasn’t obvious, I’m a film snob.  I don’t want to like digital.  I saw the first generation digital projection back in late Nineties and wasn’t impressed.  I saw the swirling digital artifacts and tut-tutted.  I haven’t seen one since.  Digital bad, film good.  Up with film.

But I’m also not blind.  I know full-well how far digital video technology has advanced over the past ten years.  I now own high-def video equipment that testifies well enough to that.  I know there will almost certainly come a time when digital projection will close the gap enough that even the most devout follower of the church of film will squint in utter frustration to tell the difference between one and the other.

As emotionally tied to physical film as I am, I came away with a new appreciation for why theater chains would want to make the switch.  I knew it would make their lives easier, but I just hadn’t thought it through.  Gone are the days of the editing table; thanks to feature films on hard drives, switching and arranging trailers is as quick and painless as moving files between your C: and E: drives.  Films come in fifty- to sixty-pound canisters with thin handles that are a bear to get around; digital features come on a hard drive.  From a central network hub, features are pushed out to individual projectors.  The schedule can be created and modified as needed from a single computer station, and *poof*, it’s done.  It’s impossibly convenient.  And it saves money, since only one projectionist is necessary to run even a twenty-four-auditorium theater.  For theater chains, there’s no good reason not to do it.

The film snob in me tells me I’ll still be able to spot the difference, and who knows, maybe I will.  On high-end sound equipment, it’s easy to spot the superiority of vinyl over CD.  That’s one of the main reasons vinyl is making a resurgence.  But there’s no denying at least the convenience of digital technology, and how helpful that is especially in this case.  I still believe film cameras will be around for a long time, but I fully expect to view them digitally without much reasonable complaint.  I certainly won’t be able to complain about the scratches on the film, or the garbled soundtrack.

So an educational outing for all of us.  Angelina has her film strip tacked to her bulletin board.  Alexander’s is on his desk in his room.  One thing for sure: When we see a movie in the theater the next time, they won’t be asking me what goes on behind the little window in the back of the auditorium where the light is coming out.  Thanks, Paul, and thanks, Melissa, for the, ahem, illumination.

As an introduction to that, I intended from the start to make history more real to the kids by taking them to…a local cemetery.  It’s funny, I suppose: Graveyards have never weirded me out.  On the contrary, I remember being intrigued as a kid by the idea that there were people who lived where I lived, fifty years, a hundred years before.  Hence I’ve never treated cemeteries as weird with our kids.  They’re a resting place.  That said, while I’ve had the intent for a couple of years, it wasn’t until now, at nine and ten, that I felt they were cognitively ready to begin comprehending the lessons involved.

They learned more than even I was intending.  What stood out first, of course, were the dates, which got older, in general, the farther back we walked.  They’d exclaim about someone being born in 1910, and then we’d find someone born in 1878.  And then 1856.  And then 1836.  I pointed out to them that when that person was born, where they were standing was part of Mexico.  That got a look from both of them.  The oldest birth date we found was 1812.  That was just four years after Lincoln was born, I told them.  Another look.  What I should have done and didn’t—need to do—is have them count up how many generations ago that was.  I think they’d be surprised how few it is.  (Only six or seven from my generation.)

An unanticipated (but not surprising to me) lesson for them was how hard life was for children a hundred years ago and before.  They were at first confused, then sad, when they did the math on one and the age was only three years old.  There were several like that.  Three, two, one.  One was a set of twins, born and died in the same year.  And one simply said, “Infant,” with no dates.  I told them I wasn’t sure what that meant, except that perhaps it died at birth before even being given a name.  They were clearly troubled by it, but it gave me the opportunity to explain to them how lucky they are to live in the time they do, when science and technology have made being born and being little aren’t nearly so risky as they used to be.

Another unexpected revelation was that women tend to live longer than men.  After seeing two or three dozen husband-and-wife graves, we came upon one headstone that had the birth and death years for the husband, but only the birth year for the wife.  I asked them, “What’s different about this one and why?”  It took a long moment before the confusion set in.  ”The wife doesn’t have the year she died.”  ”Why do you think that is?”  Another pause, and then Angelina got it, surprised: “She hasn’t died yet?”  Nope, I said, explaining that many married couples arrange for a single headstone for both of them, so when one passes, the birth year for each of them is inscribed.  After we found a fourth one like that, I asked them if they were spotting a trend.  Again it was Angelina with the strike: “All the women are still alive!”  Yep.  I told them that women tend to live longer than men.  The sideways look she then cast at Alexander was priceless.

We left soon after that.  (After I showed them a headstone with a Star of David on it and I explained that to them.)  I could tell it had them thinking.  Somehow we got to talking about cremation versus burial.  They were struck by the idea of cremation.  I told them that for a long time my plan was to be cremated, but that now I’m leaning toward burial.  My reasoning, which I shared with them, is that I like the idea of there being a physical place for those who so desire to come visit me after the transition, and I like the idea of returning to the earth.  (Though come to think of it, I would more quickly return to the earth as ashes than a body in a comfy coffin.  I’ll have to think on that more.)  Regardless, after hearing my reasoning, they were both still sure they’d want to be buried.

A bit morbid, to be sure, but it was a good experience for them.  I don’t want to introduce such things too early to them, but I don’t want to wait unnecessarily long, either, especially when it can inform and expand what they’re studying.  When we were leaving, I reminded them again why I’d brought them there: to help them understand that history doesn’t just happen somewhere else, a long time ago.  That it happens in their own home town.  That there were people living where they live, under much different circumstances, a hundred, 150 years ago.  And that those people, while not necessarily the main movers of history, all contributed their part to it, locally, nationally, and otherwise.  History shows the movements of people and the results those movements cause, and it was all of those people choosing to settle where they did that caused the town of Allen to come into being, and all the events—affecting scores of thousands of people, over the next 150 years, including, eventually, them—resulting from its creation.  They just finished watching the Back to the Future trilogy.  The effect of events big and small on future events is currently well impressed on them.

Our next history class is now written.

It is difficult to put a challenge on paper.  I would rather look you straight in the eye and say, “I dare you!”  In my mind that’s exactly what I am doing.  I am on one side of a table.  You are on the other.  I am looking across and saying, “I dare you!”

I Dare You, young man, you who come from a home of poverty—I dare you to have the qualities of a Lincoln.

I Dare You, heir of wealth and proud ancestry, with your generations of worthy stock, your traditions of leadership—I dare you to achieve something that will make the future point to you with even more pride than the present is pointing to those who have gone before you.

I Dare You, young mother, to make your life a masterpiece upon which that little family of yours can build.  Strong women bring forth strong men.

I Dare You, boys and girls, to make life obey you, not you it.  It is only a shallow dare to do the foolish things.  I dare you to do the uplifting, courageous things.

I Dare You, young executive, to shoulder more responsibility joyously, to launch out into the deep, to build magnificently.

I Dare You, young author, to win the Nobel Prize.

I Dare You, young researcher, to become a Microbe Hunter.

I Dare You, boy on the farm, to become a Master Farmer—A Hunger Fighter.

I Dare You, man of affairs, to have a “Magnificent Obsession.”

I Dare You, Grandfather, with your roots deep in the soil and you head above the crowd, catching the rays of the sun, to plan a daring program to crown the years of your life.

I Dare You, who think life is humdrum, to become involved.  I dare you who are weak to be strong; you who are dull to be sparkling; you who are slaves to be kings.

I Dare You, whoever you are, to share with others the fruits of your daring.  Catch a passion for helping others and a richer life will come back to you!

That ringing challenge comes from William H. Danforth, the founder and former chairman of the board of the Ralston-Purina company, in his little book aptly titled I Dare You. It’s been reprinted at least twenty-seven times since its original release in 1931.  I’ve been reading it to the kids lately and they love it.  They’ve actually requested it a couple of times.  (Okay, Alexander has.)  Kids love to hear this kind of message, which is good, since it’s a necessary thing for them to hear.  Of all the books that ought to be required reading in school, this one should be high on the list.  (I have some others in mind.  Fodder for future posts.)

It can be bought new in its original format on the American Youth Foundation (which Danforth helped found) here, or used on Amazon here.

For a few years now the kids have occasionally gone to Camp Classen in Oklahoma as part of their YMCA Adventure Guides program.  As it turns out, Camp Classen has begun offering homeschool days, and we decided to make a day of it.

We were to be there at 9:30 a.m., and leaving Allen at 8:15 we got there right on time.  (That’s with a fuel stop.)  Because of some confusion over which parking lot we were supposed to use, we had to hike and hunt a bit to get to the main lodge where everyone was to meet.  (There was a clear path, so it wasn’t a big deal.)

I’d estimate there were forty or fifty kids and adults there, so a fine turnout it seemed to me.  After a short wait while everyone made bathroom breaks and got organized, our hosts, Bradley and Heather Doherty, introduced themselves and some of the staff, and explained athe history and purpose of Camp Classen.  Heather, who serves as the outdoor school coordinator, served as our main host and guide for the day.  She was a gracious host with the patience of someone who’s fielded lots of questions from kids.  After our orientation, she took us on a tour of the main camp, including the cabins, cafeteria, and a game building (basketball, etc.).

After that the kids got to choose two activities to do before lunch and an afternoon hike.  Alexander and Angelina were split on what to do at first.  They both wanted to do archery, but he wanted to go canoeing afterward and she wanted to shoot BB guns.  He finally opted for BB guns himself, so after shooting arrows atstyrofoam animals, they shot BBs at some hanging targets.

We were among the first back for lunch and we staked out a place on the patio area.  Both of them apparently liked my idea of propping my feet up on the stone wall and followed in kind.  Alexander took off after eating to explore with some of the other boys.  Angelina went with him on some of it, but after a while came back to hang with me.

After lunch there was time to play, which the kids filled with some tether ball and another game the name of which I can’t recall.  It’s a bit like horseshoes, except it involves throwing a strap with bean bags on each end toward a couple of elevated horizontal bars.  Now when I’d first looked into coming to the camp, I was a bit concerned about the hike.

I have asthma, and while it generally doesn’t bother me much, it’s something to consider, especially on a three-mile hike.  Not all three-mile hikes are created equal, obviously.  So I’d asked Heather by e-mail—she was always very prompt and helpful—how strenuous it would be.  She said it was wasn’t all that, mostly just gradual inclines and switchbacks.  Okay, cool.

She was right.  My asthma didn’t bother me much at all.  In fact, what turned out to be the biggest issue wasn’t my asthma, but how it would have been if Christina had had to come along.  Thanks to one section of the hike in particular, I’m not sure I could have made it with her.  There’s a single steep grade that has to be climbed almost on hands and knees.  The guy with the backpack baby was able to do it, but that’s because the baby was riding.  (Sleeping, actually, for most of the hike, head lolling over the side like a gravity compass.  ”Down is *that* way.”)  He wasn’t having to hold its hand and help it up the hill while trying to use his hands for balance on slick rocks.  Oh, and another point: Shoes with tread—good.  It’s darn fortuitous that we made Alexander wear his sneakers rather than his Crocs.  The rest of the trail wasn’t a big deal.  It still would have been a lot for a toddler, so think three or four times about toting one of those along.

All that said, it was a nice hike through woods and then into grassland largely above the tree line.  I believe the top elevation is about a thousand feet.  You get an expansive view of the surrounding countryside.  It’s worth the hike.  The hike itself was the kids’ favorite part of the day.

After the hike, and back on the bus that took us to the trail head, we got a tour of the ranch.  Yes, it has a ranch.  This piqued Angelina’s interest especially.  Horses were a bonus she wasn’t expecting.  We didn’t get to get out, but the ranch foreman came on the bus to give us a report about it.

Back at the lodge, we got some souvenirs and Alexander played with a large group of kids that learned—kind of—a new game that’s basically freeze tag with a soccer ball.  He had a blast.

We finally gathered our stuff and headed back to the car for the 1.5-hour drive back.  I think we might have actually made better time than that.  It was a good day.  The kids both had that happy, dazed look of kids whose outdoor fun meter had finally been pegged.

It’s a good experience I recommend.  The hosts were gracious and appreciative of our being there.  What’s happened is that the big groups that used to come from the larger independent school districts like Plano aren’t coming as often thanks to the economic downturn, so the camp is actively courting other groups, including the homeschool community. It’s a good fit.

Camp Classen.  Davis, OK.  Joe Bob says “Check it out.”

There was a man named Dr. Gerrit Jan van Heuven Goedhart. He was a Dutch journalist and politician — also the U.N. high commissioner for refugees. He ended an important speech as follows:

Many years ago I participated in a discussion on the problem of international education. After many experts had presented their complicated theories, an old headmaster of a certain school got up and quietly said: “There is only one system of education, through love and one’s own example.” He was right. What is true for education is true also for the refugee problem of today. With love and our own example — example in the sense of sacrifice — it can be solved. And if in the cynical times in which we live someone might be inclined to laugh at “love” and “example” as factors in politics, he would do well to be reminded of Nansen’s hard-hitting, direct, and courageous words, based on a life full of sacrifice and devotion: “Love of man is practical policy.”

Nor is there any such creature as a self-made man or woman. We love that expression, we Americans. But every one who’s ever lived has been affected, changed, shaped, helped, hindered by other people. We all know, in our own lives, who those people are who’ve opened a window, given us an idea, given us encouragement, given us a sense of direction, self-approval, self-worth, or who have straightened us out when we were on the wrong path. Most often they have been parents. Almost as often they have been teachers. Stop and think about those teachers who changed your life, maybe with one sentence, maybe with one lecture, maybe by just taking an interest in your struggle. Family, teachers, friends, rivals, competitors – they’ve all shaped us. And so too have people we’ve never met, never known, because they lived long before us. They have shaped us too – the people who composed the symphonies that move us, the painters, the poets, those who have written the great literature in our language. We walk around everyday, everyone of us, quoting Shakespeare, Cervantes, Pope. We don’t know it, but we are, all the time. We think this is our way of speaking. It isn’t our way of speaking – it’s what we have been given. The laws we live by, the freedoms we enjoy, the institutions that we take for granted – as we should never take for granted – are all the work of other people who went before us. And to be indifferent to that isn’t just to be ignorant, it’s to be rude. And ingratitude is a shabby failing. How can we not want to know about the people who have made it possible for us to live as we live, to have the freedoms we have, to be citizens of this greatest of countries in all time? It’s not just a birthright, it is something that others struggled for, strived for, often suffered for, often were defeated for and died for, for us, for the next generation.

(Anyone who follows me on Facebook might recognize this as the seed for my post about who and what has shaped our individual lives the most.)

We’d already joined Homeschoolers Excel and signed up for their co-op program this fall.  Another group we were sure we wanted to join was SAIL, based in McKinney.  Due to the timing of our knowing for sure we’d be homeschooling this year, we missed their August join activities, but we were there at Gabe Nesbitt park on the 14th to go through the initiation rites.  (These were complex and drastic, including a short orientation in a shady, breezy area and the offering of a small check.  Only those of pioneer fortitude should attempt it.)

While the boxes and piles of books and curricula material on the picnic tables were inviting—there was a swap/sale going on—the most welcome sight was kids.  Lots of kids, of all sizes, running underfoot and covering the play area like ants.  It was a target-rich environment for my trio.

Christina, our three-year-old, was off like a bottle rocket.  (For those born after 1985 into the firework-free 4th of July era, this was a small aerial firework meant to be fired from a Coke bottle but too often instead from the hands of young children with bowl haircuts and bell bottom jeans.)

Alexander was next, and in short order had a couple of Pokemon connections made.

Angelina, as always, was slower to set her sights.  I saw what I took to be a prime target, an older girl with a tomboyish look to her, sitting by herself on the ground with her back against a pylon.  It was the perfect opening.  I urged Angelina, a fellow DSi-er, to initiate contact by asking her what game she was playing.  She wouldn’t do it.  I guess she was just pacing herself, because after I returned from taking Christina to the ball field to run the bases (her choice, not mine), Angelina had hooked up with not one but two girls—including Brittany, the one I’d suggested.  She was quite the find, too, sharing with Angelina a love of horses, riding lessons, and Super Mario.  Oh, and she lives in the country.  Farewell, Angelina.  It was nice knowing you.

I got contact info for Alexander’s two new friends, Griffin and Zachary, and for Brittany.  There was just one left, Belle, the other girl Angelina wanted to see again.  Now it was already coincidental enough that Griffin’s parents both work from home like Carole (Mrs. Me) and I and are also taking a somewhat chronological approach to their curricula.  That paled, though, to the coincidence of Belle’s mother being Jane Norton, nee King, i.e. a classmate of mine from the Allen High School Class of ’87.  That she happens also to be a home-based professional photographer like Carole was just the “Of course” on top.  A bit bizarre, but welcome.

All in all, a good morning very well spent.  The kids were very happy with their new potential pals.  I didn’t make any connections for Christina, a fact about which I felt bad, but there was too much else going on this outing to make that happen.  Next time I’ll be able to concentrate more on her.

In this case, yes, on the 13th I took the kids on our first field trip, literally.  There’s a small clearing off McDermott near downtown Allen, ringed in trees, that we pass every time we go east past Greenville.  There’s a hole in the treeline that teases with the space beyond.  It’s been catching Angelina’s eye and intrigue for months.  It seemed like a nice surprise and, thanks to being enclosed, a pretty good place to try the exercise I had in mind.

What you see once you pass through the keyhole

The idea was to start the process of teaching them how to simply observe the world around them, to think about the world in a pre-technological way. It’s hard in a metro area like this, but this was an enclosed clearing, so I thought it stood a better chance than most of removing them to some degree from their surroundings.  I didn’t try to force anything on them, just guided them towards a way of looking and coming to conclusions.  They found just the sole of a shoe, which worked out well as a model of inferences from observations: Why do you think it’s part of a shoe?  How do you know it’s the sole?  Why is the sole the only part left?

A close match, but not exactly Cinderella

All in all, though, it was a bit of a swing and a miss academically.  It was definitely a nice excursion, and they were pleased to get out of the house.  They found some things of interest to them—dew in the grass, different types and stages of grass, which I asked them about and got some decent feedback.

How hot was it at 9:00? This looked refreshing.

They thought it looked like miniature corn.

But I hadn’t prepared them well enough for the reason for the trip.  I think they were wondering why we were there just as much at the end as at the beginning.  I’d mentioned in previous weeks that this semester I just wanted to teach them how to observe nature and ask questions about it, but I didn’t brief them well enough on that before the trip itself.  The goal was for them to go into it without any preconceptions, but they might have needed that much just for context.  Instead they weren’t clear what the point was, and filled in the gap in their own way.  I tried to work both together, but only somewhat successfully I think.

Ah well.  Live and learn.  (One of Clint Black’s best songs, BTW.)  They still enjoyed getting out.  Though (mental note) next time we’ll all wear long pants, not shorts, no matter how short the grass looks, and we’ll take water, even if it is only 9:00 in the morning.  (Hey, Texas: It’s September.  Really.)