“I think we’re where we need to go!” or “Algae Day”

“I think we’re where we need to go,” a child says, hopping down off of a stone lion. She is making a reference to her own gameplay which I never quite figure out. Nonetheless, her words ring true to me on another level. The truth is that “we” (our class) are supposed to be somewhere else right now; yet a series of events has brought us to these lions.

We were “supposed” to be crossing the street to head toward the Botanical Garden. However, Lauren heard a noise whirring in the background and wondered aloud to me: “What’s that?” From my vantage point I could see the machine at work, pulling the duckweed from the still water of the pond just a few dozen yards away. As Lauren wanted a closer look—and as I did also—we decided to take a moment and observe.

Once at the waterside, we enjoyed what was analogous to a private viewing of this machine (and its kind operator) at work! Within a few minutes the children had shed their backpacks, found long sticks, and begun taking duckweed from the water and piling it up nearby. The children, in short order, joined their own work to the work of what my notes refer to as “the duckweed truck”.

My mind immediately wondered:

What are the children doing, on a deeper level, as they take this duckweed from the water?

They are increasing their knowledge of their communities, this particular place, and of the processes that go into maintaining it. Place-based education exemplified.

Another moment, and I wonder about myself:

What am I learning, on a deeper level, as I watch. The children take duckweed from the water?

Flexibility and innovation. And presence. 

“Woah!” - CK

Indeed, I was planning to have been walking among flowers, noticing colors, hues, leaves, patterns, and wondering about processes of growth. Instead, I am breaking off long branches from fallen trees for the children to use as fishing poles. This is where I am needed—right where I am.

And so I break sticks, and smell algae, and celebrate big catches.

“Algae Day!” one of the children exclaims sometime during the events of the midmorning. As she repeats this refrain, her body sways like the smelly algae her classmates lift high. Algae Day. It is as if she is reading into my internal monologue, subconsciously reminding me that, yes, today is now “Algae Day” and that it is okay. Reiterating that emergent curriculum means always being surprised. Celebrating the existence of a space like ours—where Algae Days can happen as often as they need to.