catalyst cata·lyst (kat′ə list′): Lessons From A Rafter

I love where I work.

I was just preparing for a couple of homeschool classes I'm teaching as part of a little outreach program for Dodge. My next classes focus on seeds, so my prep work consists of going out to collect as many seeds as I can. My job requires that I go on a hike here at the Nature Center. Don't you feel sorry for me? While I'm out on the trail prepping, I am quickly stirred from my quiet reverie and reminded that I am not the only forager in the forest. In short order, I encounter three deer, five squirrels and sixteen turkeys; did you know that a group of turkeys is called, "a rafter" of turkeys?

Well, the small herd of deer, the drey of squirrels and the rafter of turkeys are all too busy eating to give me more than a glance. Passing through the orchard, I reach up to grab an apple and nearly step in a pile of fresh coyote scat, full of apple chunks, and seeds. Not only is my job really enjoyable, but it reminds me of my relationship to the rest of the planet.

I get to hike or be outside every day with my students, so I'd have to be pretty thick not to get the message about my relationship to the web of life; we humans are, of course, inextricably linked to everything else, whether we remember it or not. But, today, on my little solo expedition, my place in the world, really hit me over the head. I'm just doing what everything else is doing: living. Of course, when I'm out with my classes, we see animals frequently (wildlife is so available here at Dodge, so non-plussed by our non-threatening presence, it's really quite silly), but crossing paths with wild things when you are alone is different.

I think highly of solitude, especially in the woods. A walk in the woods alone, with your phone turned off, is like nothing else. There is time and space to notice stuff with fewer distractions or concerns (especially when all the leaves have blown off the trees!).

While I was out there, following/harassing the rafter of gobblers for a few photos, I got to thinking about solitude and companionship. I seem to need quite a bit of both; everyone is different. Most early childhood people think that socialization, learning through companionship, is of vital importance for children. I'm in the socialization camp. Attending school and learning to get a long with others is, as we reminded families during our recent Curriculum Night, curriculum. Now that I'm teaching a couple of classes for homeschoolers, I'm thinking about the importance of companionship a bit differently. Parachuting in to a rented space, where homeschooling families gather one day a week and share a little array of classes, is a really interesting contrast to teaching in my classroom at Dodge. Lively community can certainly be found in that rented church on Thursdays, but it is of a different stripe. Here at Dodge, I'm in danger of taking my embeddedness, my membership in the school community for granted (thanks to the turkeys for the wake-up call). At the homeschoolers' site, there are elements of school, as kids move from Spanish to Music and Science (that's me), but there is a lot that is very unlike school as I have known it here at Dodge or in my own past. That is neither here nor there though; this is no indictment of home-schooling.

Mostly, what I am struck by is the fact that both homeschoolers and schoolers rejoice in the same two things: companionship and play (and play outside in particular). Kids find joy with friends in play. The schoolers and homeschoolers may need companionship and play in different concentrations, and they might even have different motivations to play socially, but they all seem drawn to it, whether they find it fulfilling, engaging or challenging. In my experience, even children who are hesitant to join social play seem to spend a lot of time observing it and, I therefore presume, considering it. The homeschool classes, and the turkeys, have served as a reminder of how important a sense of relationship to the world is. The homeschoolers are engaged in the content of my classes, but their interest in socialization and play reminds me that certain needs are universal.

The turkeys seem to like companionship. All sixteen of them were hanging together, following a leader, chortling and chuckling under their turkey breaths to each other. They tolerated me as long as I stayed back at least twenty feet. Many animals find safety and benefit in numbers. So do plants for that matter. The seeds I'm collecting wouldn't be so abundant right now if plants didn't proliferate and "rub shoulders" with each other and the animal kingdom as they do. Even lone wolves are driven to approach a pack from time to time, if only to fulfill some instinctual drive.

Turkeys, deer, squirrels, kids-- they all remind me that we're in this boat together. The world may be vast, but we sure do have a lot in common. If you can, I urge you to take a walk in the woods by yourself; in your solitude, you might discover how much you appreciate being part of the pack.