Digging for Knowledge

I think we owe it to children to let them dig their knowledge, of whatever subject, for themselves out of the fit book; and this for two reasons: What a child digs for is his own possession; what is poured into his ear, like the idle song of a pleasant singer, floats out as lightly as it came in, and is rarely assimilated. ~ Charlotte Mason

What does "digging for" do to the mind?

The best way to answer that question is to dig for yourself. Until we experience digging, we can only see what our children show us. Digging takes time. It is a slow process. It demands careful attention. The results are not always immediate.

Understanding Charlotte Mason's method requires us to dig. Because we are used to having knowledge poured into us, opening her books and studying them is a challenge. It's much easier to read someone else's interpretation of her ideas or to follow a checklist or "how to". This may be easier but it runs the risk of becoming a system, the very thing Mason sought to avoid. We must understand why we do what we do.

Right now, I'm digging into The Living Page by Laurie Bestvater. If you're looking for a quick summer read, TLP is not it! I read a little bit and narrate to my commonplace journal. I copy my favorite quotes and phrases. I join the grand conversation about this book with AmblesideOnline friends.

This is how I process nature study (pages 17-27), which addresses Mason's connection to scouting, how Gilbert White inspired her, what Mason expected in a nature notebook, her thoughts about nature lists, scrapbooks, collections, a family diary, science notebooks, lab books, calendar of firsts, natural history clubs, etc. I read a page and write down my thoughts. I look up examples of nature notebooks at the digital archives. I write a collection of phrases resonating with me: "make Glory 'visible and plain,'" "source of delight," "knowing glory," and "traveling companions and life records."

Reflecting upon my walks at Santee National Wildlife Refuge, I copy Laurie's words, "Perhaps it was his ongoing relationship with a relatively small patch of country over time, allowing him to form deep knowledge of a particular place and to notice even the smallest seasonal changes that Mason admires" (page 20).

I let go of my guilt about the lapses in nature notebooking last winter and spring when I read what one of Mason's student teachers wrote, "I am horrified to find that I have not written in my diary for nearly a month" (page 21). I copy her words into my commonplace journal. Then, I pull out my nature notebook and make my first entry in six months! The skink in my watercolor is too short and stubby. The artists in my family would see every flaw. I remind myself of a recent article about John Ruskin: "So if drawing had value even when it was practised by people with no talent, it was for Ruskin because drawing can teach us to see: to notice properly rather than gaze absentmindedly. In the process of recreating with our own hand what lies before our eyes, we naturally move from a position of observing beauty in a loose way to one where we acquire a deep understanding of its parts."

My goal is not to produce great art. My goals are to learn how to see, observe beauty in a skink, and understand its parts. Process, not product.

I think about the nature lists in the back of a notebook, which Laurie suggests students adapted to their own needs. I spend time in two states regularly and have a special walking place for both. Rather than sorting my items by kind (flower, bird, insect, etc.), I decide to sort mine by place. I get out my ruler and draw lines in the back of my notebook. Since I'm halfway through the notebook I begin my calendar with June 2014, rather than January. I make it a year and a half, rather than two. I leave a column for notes. I title it "Santee List." My first walk yields sixteen items: broad-headed skink (Eumeces laticeps), crane fly (tipulidae), eastern pondhawk dragonfly (Erythemis simplicicollis), roly poly (Armadillidium nasatum), daddy long-legs (Pholcus phalangioides), orchard orbweaver (Leucauge venusta), banana spider (Nephila clavipes), tiger beetle larva "chicken choker" (Cicindelinae), eastern tent caterpillar tent (Malacosoma americanum), catalpa leaf (Catalpa bignonioides), bald cypress wood (Taxodium distichum), unripened black cherries (Prunus serotina), sweet gum balls (Liquidambar styraciflua), huckleberry (or blueberry or...?), white blue-eyed grass (Sisyrinchium albidum), and naked puffball (Lycoperdon marginatum). Here's a video of the whacky crane fly.

Maybe, I'll attempt a calendar of firsts next spring.

I head over to AO's thread about this section of the book. One person asked about identifying and naming things. I write,

On learning the names of things, we take pictures and post them on Facebook. You would be amazed at how passionate the conversations between parents, grandparents, and knowledgeable friends get in naming things. If we don't know what something is, we give it our own pet name. There was this spider that we called either neon spiders or alien spiders and, one day, I got the perfect picture and we were able to name it: orchard orbweaver.

I think it is healthy for children to realize that *WE* are lifelong learners. It's okay not to know something and to research it together. Our elementary students do spend some of their free time trying to find the name of something and it is exciting when they figure it out and share it with the class. Also, you sometimes need to see something several times and to watch it undergo seasonal changes and to observe its behavior before you can name it. It's the relationship that really matters, not the name. The name is just the icing on the cake.

Oh, the funniest thing is when you learn that something has no common name. Then, the kids start to debate what the name should be!

Here are glimpses of Glory from our last walk.

Science for Students in the Autism Spectrum

Temple Grandin worries that schools do not value of hands-on learning. In a recent blog, she wrote, "One of the worst things the schools did was taking out the hands-on classes such as art, music, sewing, woodshop and auto mechanics." Art gave her something to look forward to doing at school every day: "My ability in art was always encouraged, and both my mother and my teachers encouraged me to draw and paint many different things. I loved getting recognition for several of my best elementary school art projects."

We are blessed to have part-time and full-time students in the autism spectrum at our school. I think Grandin might like our approach to science and art by the scenic trail of nature study. The primary and elementary classes are reading Minn of the Mississippi by Holling C. Hollings. To help them feel the "realness" of the story, I shared pictures of my family's visit to the headwaters of the Mississippi at Itasca State Park about ten years ago.


Some autistic students develop the habit of frustration for a variety of reasons. It takes time to help them find joy in learning what is beyond their pet interests. Every person is different, so what works for one autie may not inspire another.

Eman is teaching me so much. He often refuses to try because either "it's too hard" or "he's bored." He does not enjoy keeping a nature notebook until he finds something that delights him, in which case he begs to draw. One day when he was dragging his feet, I let him tape pictures to a page and narrate what I should write. Novelty is a big hook for him, and being able to use double-sided tape for the first time made a few notebooking experiences positive. When that novelty wore off, I tapped into a positive episodic memory of last year when he joined us for the turtle release party. I showed him pictures of those very turtles: the cage my friend constructed to protect them from crows, the nest, the hatchlings, and the dud.



When the classroom after lunch was too much for him, we switched to reading Minn in the morning. We focused on finding joy in his tasks. When he wanted to draw a story about Minn in his silly notebook (comic strip things that make him laugh), I encouraged him to start an unsilly notebook (comic strip things related to what he is learning). When he asked to read outside on a sunny day, I agreed if he promised to do his best on the notebook. And, he did! One day, he drew seven different scenes representing the most emotional moments of Minn's life: her hatching, getting her leg shot off, her canoe ride, meeting the fox, scaring the boys in the pond, laying eggs, and snapping at the dog's tail.

Right now, working on the pond gives him joy. Watching what happens when we turn on the water pump that pushes water through our homemade water filter is exciting. We stand at the little pool and watch it with anticipation until the water reaches the top of the stones and forms a waterfall. One day, the filter overflowed and he watched the headmaster solve the problem. Somehow, cleaning leaves out of the pond gets him to thinking about turtles. Before long, he is ready to read more about Minn's adventures, draw it in his unsilly notebook, and read it to his mother.



On another day, a cockroach caught his eye. He was shocked when I shared my plans to draw it in my nature notebook. "You keep one, too?" He was so interested in seeing mine that I promised he could look through it once he had finished making an entry in his.

At another time, two doves enchanted us with a stroll around the little pool to get a sip of water.



Speaking of problem-solving, Grandin spotlighted another value of hands-on projects: "Practical things do not always work right and people skilled in the real world learn how to improvise. When I made a mistake on a sewing project, I was sometimes able to fix it and other times I could not. Mistakes I made cutting the fabric wrong on a sewing project taught me that I had to slow down. I had to be more careful before I cut the material."

One day, he helped his class with the compost bin. The lesson screeched to a halt when they discovered worms. He watched the students find grubs and toss them into the pond to feed the fish. Two weeks later, his cat showed up at school. He decided to see if she would eat a worm and he knew exactly where to find them. The cat did not!

And, then, there was the day he found the dead fish. Eman studied it in the net for quite some time. He wanted to touch it but was afraid he might get cut. So, I offered to do it first. A bit grossed out, I put my finger on it for only an instant. "No, you need to do it longer!" So, I held my finger on the squishy fish and it must have been long enough. He mustered his courage and touched it himself.



Mason's thoughts in connection to literary books like Minn of the Mississippi: "The approach to science as to other subjects should be more or less literary, that the principles which underlie science are at the same time so simple, so profound and so far-reaching that the due setting forth of these provokes what is almost an emotional response" (Pages 218-219).

Mason's thoughts in connection to outdoor work: "They are expected to do a great deal of out-of-door work... They keep records and drawings in a Nature Note Book and make special studies of their own for the particular season with drawings and notes" (Page 219).

Mason's thoughts on nature notebooks: "The nature note book is very catholic and finds room for the stars in their courses and for, say, the fossil anemone found on the beach at Whitby. Certainly these note books do a good deal to bring science within the range of common thought and experience; we are anxious not to make science a utilitarian subject" (Page 223).

Be Inspired, a Nature Notebook Update

Last Friday was our ninth visit to Santee National Wildlife Refuge. It was also our shortest for the invigorating air encouraged us to press on! In spite of bracingly cold temperatures, we could not help but find treasures along the way. We spotted "male" pinecones and searched for the accompanying "female" pinecone. A facebook friend—quite knowledgeable in the natural history of Santee— identified it as a slash pine (Pinus elliottii) and stated that this pine is not native to Santee and were planted at the refuge about sixty years ago. My friend explained to the children how the males pollenate the females (and I love the beautiful illustration of joint attention in the photograph below). So many lovely varieties of pine live here that I think our first formal study from the Comstock book will be on pine trees. Since the slash pine pollenates in January and February—as we have already seen with our own eyes—we could begin with a study of pinecones first.



We heard and saw many geese out in the fields and watched a flock take off. The view was so lovely, I had to stop for pictures with the bitter wind stinging my face.



Starting nature study with children feels a bit dangerous. You never know what you are going to see. What if the teacher cannot answer a question? What if there are things we have trouble identifying? Other than experts, who can really tell one fungus from another? Heading outdoors to study the world is humbling because we realize how little we know.

And that is okay. Children benefit from knowing that adults are life-long learners, too.

Richard Louv, author of Last Child in the Woods, observes,

More recent research has suggested time spent in more natural environments (whether it’s a park, a wilderness or a nature-based classroom or play space) stimulates the senses, improves the ability to learn, and helps students connect the dots of the world.... Children are more likely to invent their own games in green play spaces rather than on flat playgrounds or playing fields. Green play spaces also suit a wider array of students and promote social inclusion, regardless of gender, race, class, or intellectual ability. One study found that so-called at-risk students in week-long outdoor camp settings scored significantly better on science testing than in the typical classroom. At the Human-Environment Research Laboratory at the University of Illinois, researchers have discovered that children as young as 5 show a significant reduction in the symptoms of attention deficit/hyperactivity disorder when they engaged with nature.

I have seen this in action on the trail we adopted last fall! Even the youngest child is eager to explore when given permission. Boys turn water hyacinth lilies into hats and trumpets. Girls get manicures with water hyacinth lily bulbs. Children claim castles in the woods. They climb branches to ride horses. They turn fallen trunks into benches and balance beams. When someone loses a shoe in the mud, they have to apply engineering to retrieve it without getting their own shoe stuck.






We document delightful finds in our nature notebooks. During our walks, I snap many pictures, and I am pleased with the resolution of a Lumix point-and-shoot camera—a Christmas gift. I love the detail of this spider web snapped on a dewy morning!



After we get home, Pamela chooses her favorite memory of the walk and illustrates it in her notebook—something durable of 65-lb. paper or better, for it will store years of memories. We use watercolor pencils, which we bought many years ago. After the drawing is complete, we add water sparingly—I say we because I keep my own notebook. We try to identify the item, if possible, and record the common name as well as the Latin name. Then, Pamela describes what she observed. We make no corrections because this notebook has many purposes: it documents what we saw as well as her progress in illustrating and writing. It builds a sense of seasonal changes and natural history. I do not extract lessons in drawing and language arts, which might rob her of the joy of keeping a nature notebook.

Pamela made entries on butterflies and moths for the first two walks. My favorite free resource for identifying these insects is Butterflies and Moths of North America. I upload pictures and someone responsible for our location identifies it for me. I keep an online record of every caterpillar, moth, and caterpillar captured in film. I have added several species not already identified for our county! Pamela put the cloudless sulfur butterfly and io moth caterpillar in her notebook.



October 26 was an exciting walk for us. When we finally reached the gravel road crossing the trail, we came upon a snake sunning itself. The reptile was all stretched out. We discouraged the children from touching it, even though we knew it to be harmless. Too many nonvenomous snake are easily confused with venomous ones. When the stroller came too close, the creature sidled away into the woods. And, then, we watched it climb vines and saplings. I mistakenly identified it as a garter snake —yes, my silly fear of the things prevents me from spending too much time in their company and I was glad I did not squeal. It turned out to be a rough green snake (Opheodrys aestivus).





I could not identify her November selections. My old camera lacked any decent resolution, and cheetos-colored fungus was beyond me. While the word fungus came to Pamela readily, her challenges with word retrieval made it hard to recall moss and lichen. I supplied the terms to her. She wrote branch, instead of trunk—more vagaries of aphasia.

We would have never come across the lovely golden silk orb weaver (Nephila clavipes) had we not decided to walk the trail backwards. Starting at the end enabled us to see many things we had failed to see on prior walks. We went right under the web following a deer path to the water. She was quite lovely, and we all wished we had a cricket on hand to feed her!



And lest you think the size of these fungus is exaggerated, check out the photograph. The thing was the size of a soccer ball.



The first walk of the New Year startled us with an exciting find: a dead Eastern red swamp crayfish (Procambarus troglodytes) lying on the side of the trail, not far from the platform for observing migratory birds. The creature was in perfect condition, and it was ginormous! We all gathered around it and studied it carefully.



Pamela's drawing of the crayfish was absolutely stunning! I can hardly believe that being handed a pencil and paper made her tantrum when she was six years old. We wondered if we would ever see it again—and we did not! However, a friend of mine walked the trail with her husband the intervening Sunday and all that was left was obliterated bits and pieces of shell strewn on the ground. Pamela thinks an eagle might have eaten it.

Why? Well, last Friday, we were standing on that same platform for observing migrating birds and watched an American bald eagle (Haliaeetus leucocephalus) fly across the field, heading toward us. The bird flew right over us into the woods. Later, we saw it soar above us closer to the tree line and heard its distinctive chatter call offered here at another one of my favorite sites for bird study. Pamela and I recited one of her favorite poems together ("The Eagle" by Alfred Lord Tennyson). As my friend Megan reminds us, nature has a magic that is deeper still and, when outdoors, poetry comes to mind. Since I had trouble spotting the eagle in my camera, I took no pictures so Pamela relied on her memory for this entry.



Then, I saw the most spectacular sight—and, unfortunately, everyone else was too far behind to enjoy it with me. I watched the bald eagle fly through the trees across the walkway pictured below. And, for a moment, I was memorized like Bilbo Baggins when the eagles rescued him and his unexpected company.

All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.

~ J.R.R. Tolkien