They’ll remember the ladybugs. Surprising, appearing at their fingertips, camouflaged yellow among the dry, yellow coriander. The planned lesson on seed collecting turned into ten minutes or more of catching ladybugs. Gentle holding, wide-eyed discovery, calm assistance to friends, sharing without arguing. OK, I’ll collect more seeds later. My students in the Miles ELC school garden will remember catching ladybugs last Tuesday.
They’ll remember the beet. Red juice, stained lips, slippery fingers. Did we move on to digging the treewell? Trying something new, liking the sweet sample, asking for seconds. And here I was worried our harvest was spotty, that the weeds had gotten the best of the vegetable beds. Three groups of students shared in the discovery of that one beet last Wednesday.
They’ll remember the trees. Inviting, embracing, cool. While his group ground corn, one boy sat away, under a red push pistache tree. I let him look up through the leaves to the sky. While another group clambored for carrots and other spring secrets revealed, a pair of boys sat in the branches of a mesquite tree. I let them draw the pattern of leaflets on paper and etch their fondness for the tree in their minds. These students weren’t apart from their groups as much as in different company.
The school garden teaches. I try to supply the words – ladybug, coriander, beet, root, pistache, mesquite. I usually have a goal for getting us out there – collecting seeds, grinding corn, observing spring growth. Sometimes the goal is good enough. Sometimes what we find is better than the goal. If students remember the feel of ladybug legs, beet juice, or filtered sunlight, the real lesson comes not from the plan but from the present.