The Discovery of a New Planet
Before I had children, I worked in media and public relations in Seattle and Los Angeles. With the arrival of my two children, my latent love of science and nature took on a life of its own.
No one argues that parents are their children’s first teachers -- but my children were the ones who gave me insight into what the curriculum should be. I have countless pictures of my oldest son playing in the sand at the beach near our house in San Diego. Others show him, diaper clad, sitting in the dirt in our garden and testing the elasticity of worms and the culinary delights of dirt.
A move to semi-rural North Carolina thrust us into a completely different natural world, one filled with insects like the cow killer ant (a name that leaves little to the imagination), box turtles whose sex could be determined by looking them straight in the eye, and snakes disguised as worms. Walking in the woods with my boys, I never knew what discoveries lay ahead.
At one school conference, my youngest son's kindergarten teacher commented on the number of days he had missed. “Personal days,” I defended. This was a child with a strong connection to the natural world and needed, every now and again, a day to explore the woods. “But why,” she asked, “would he want to come to school when he can look for snake eggs with his mom?"
Exactly.
In North Carolina, I discovered that my passion for nature could become my profession. I completed a certification in environmental education and started the first of many schoolyard gardens, nature classes, rain gardens, and writing projects that melded my love of writing with my passion for sharing nature with children and adults.
Whether I'm teaching preschoolers, high schoolers or adults, my method is the same. To know nature, it's critical to hold it in your hand. To fully understand the interdependence of organisms, there's no substitute for seeing it in action.
No one argues that parents are their children’s first teachers -- but my children were the ones who gave me insight into what the curriculum should be. I have countless pictures of my oldest son playing in the sand at the beach near our house in San Diego. Others show him, diaper clad, sitting in the dirt in our garden and testing the elasticity of worms and the culinary delights of dirt.
A move to semi-rural North Carolina thrust us into a completely different natural world, one filled with insects like the cow killer ant (a name that leaves little to the imagination), box turtles whose sex could be determined by looking them straight in the eye, and snakes disguised as worms. Walking in the woods with my boys, I never knew what discoveries lay ahead.
At one school conference, my youngest son's kindergarten teacher commented on the number of days he had missed. “Personal days,” I defended. This was a child with a strong connection to the natural world and needed, every now and again, a day to explore the woods. “But why,” she asked, “would he want to come to school when he can look for snake eggs with his mom?"
Exactly.
In North Carolina, I discovered that my passion for nature could become my profession. I completed a certification in environmental education and started the first of many schoolyard gardens, nature classes, rain gardens, and writing projects that melded my love of writing with my passion for sharing nature with children and adults.
Whether I'm teaching preschoolers, high schoolers or adults, my method is the same. To know nature, it's critical to hold it in your hand. To fully understand the interdependence of organisms, there's no substitute for seeing it in action.