on world ocean day, I was lucky enough to be in one of my favourite places on this earth – the far nW coast of Australia. My inquiring mind is constantly activated in this ancient, sacred place. A visit to a remote beach prompted this reflection on the concept of an inquiry cycle. Perhaps the best way to understand ‘the cycle’ and to avoid the often simplistic misinterpretations of the process is to simply become aware of the way this process works in your own life. If you do this, you may better notice the recursive and nuanced nature of inquiry and understand it in your heart – as well as your head.
It takes is a while to find this particular beach. We make a few wrong turns and we are not even sure it is the right one until we walk down into it. Ah yes, this is the one. We are here.
Even with the best planning, not all inquiries begin with certainty and confidence. The first steps can be tentative: Is this worth inquiring into? Is the ‘fit’ right for these learners?
It takes me a while to get into the rhythm of walking along what is very wet, soft and ‘sinking’ sand. It’s hard work and need to take it slowly. My husband charges ahead – much more adept in this terrain. I am grateful for his patience and try to quell my frustration. Gradually I get the hang of it.
Even when we design the same learning task for our learners, it is inevitable some will need more time than others. Being rushed has such a negative impact on learning.
We find our way to the rocky platform further up the beach. With firmer footing, I begin to notice the environment around me. Memories of my young children scampering up cliff faces come flooding back together with a recollection of finding beautiful shells in similar beaches. I am struck by the way the cliffs have the same shapes and colours as one of my favourite beaches at home -I wonder if they have the same geological origins.
Tuning in and connecting to prior experience is a natural, important part of an inquiry process. We seek connection with what we know as new experiences trigger memories and invite us to look for patterns and relationships to existing schema. This provides us with a kind of cognitive anchor, a stable space from which to explore the new. Here is where we ponder the questions: ‘what do I know that is like this?’ ‘What does this remind me of?’
The sun warms my back and I breathe in the beauty around me, closing my eyes. It is then that I notice it. The strange sound … a soft kind of crackling, crunching sound. Tiny little ‘popping’ noises that I can’t quite place. As I listen more intently, it gets louder. What IS that?
Curiosity is often the result of an encounter with the unfamiliar and is nourished by the engagement of the senses. A true journey of inquiry begins when we are genuinely provoked to want to discover more – when we are engaged, fascinated and hungry to discover.
I call Steve over. We theorise. ‘What do you think that noise is?’ ‘I think that is just the water over the rocks’ Is it when we step on this seaweed? Here let me try – is that the noise?’ ‘No, listen, it is still there when we are standing still’ I think it is maybe something eating … it kind of sounds like chewing’ … listen, it is louder here…
Opportunities to share theories, predictions and hypotheses are a vital part of the inquiry journey. Here is where tuning in becomes a deeper, more considered process. As theories are exchanged, the social construction of understanding begins. We are already beginning to find out from each other, testing possibilities, discounting some ideas and strengthening others. As our theories both connect and collide, questions naturally emerge.
And then we see it. Scuttling into a small crevice in the rock is a tiny hermit crab. We crouch down excitedly and begin to scan the area. Gradually, as our eyes adjust, we see more of them. They are so small! THIS is what is making the noise. Dozens of minute hermit crabs each with a unique shell, scuttling across the rock surfaces. We have never seen such small ones. New theories emerge as we observe them closely. ‘Maybe this is like ‘the nursery’ for hermit crabs? Maybe they lay their eggs up this end of the beach where it is safer? We are mesmerized. Steve gathers some up in his hands for us to look at more closely.
In the early iterations of the model of inquiry cycle (first developed at the University of Melbourne) we used the phrase ‘the shared experience’ to describe what I now call simply ‘finding out’. But there is no doubt that a direct, shared experience is the very best way for young learners to gather information. When we design inquiry journeys, we place a heavy emphasis on field trips (or excursions as they are called in some parts of the world) as a powerful initial way for children to gather information. Firsthand experiences trump google every time.
It's only when we have spent some time delighting in this discovery – finding more and more tiny specimens as we explore, that our theorising morphs into question formulation. We have so many! How do they ‘find’ the shell when they are born? What attracts them to a particular kind of shell? What makes them move from one shell to another? What do they eat? Are the huge hermit crabs we found as children still in existence? Why don’t we see them on beaches at home? Do they eat the animal that is in the shell and then take it over? Did the Aboriginal people in this area use hermit crabs for anything?
We often expect children to ask questions about something before they have actually had some kind of encounter or experience. But we don’t know what we don’t know. While our prior knowledge might mean we have some questions entering a new inquiry, questions are more likely to emerge as a result of experience. Questions ‘bubble up’ AS we begin our research. Theorising, investigating and questioning are not linear processes – they weave in and out of each other.
We don’t need answers then and there. We are enjoying our conversation, playing with possibilities, growing our thinking. As we observe the crabs more closely, we become even more curious and find ourselves in awe of their dexterity and speed. They make us laugh as they scuttle and tumble across the rocks. We don’t need information at this point. It would almost spoil things to have someone provide us with information then and there (unless it was David Attenborough of course!)
When given time, opportunities to engage the senses and a direct shared encounter, - two powerful ingredients for learning can emerge: wonder and joy. The opportunity to explore prior to receiving explanation is incredibly empowering for learners. It fuels curiosity (which makes new learning ‘stick’) stretches thinking and builds engagement.
We take videos and photos as we explore. It is important for us to document our discoveries in some way. On our return, we re-visit the photos, google a few things and realise there are some questions we have that we want to ask a friend of ours (who is a marine biologist) when we next see him.
Documentation is pivotal to meaning making. As we document and as we re-visit and reflect on that documentation, we help learners ‘sort out’ their experience. Some questions are answered, some remain. Theories are revised in the light of new information and tentative conclusions are drawn. The documentation allows us to leave traces of the inquiry to return to and connect with even as new inquiries emerge. Journeys of inquiry are braided throughout the year. And so much of this meaning making happens through the dialogue born of our shared experience.
Later that evening, I notice something that has really stayed with me. I keep wondering about the hermit crabs my father used to occasionally bring home in buckets of seawater after fishing trips before returning them to the sea again. Giant, orange creatures housed in huge, exotic shells. That was over fifty years ago. Are they still found in that part of the world? The question is connected to precious memories of my dad, of my childhood at the beach, of family. I want to find out more.
The cycle of inquiry I have shared for many years includes an element I simply call ‘going further’. This is often misunderstood or reinterpreted by others in ways that do not align with the original intent. For the most part, ‘going further’ is about giving individuals and small groups opportunity to continue to inquire into aspects that are meaningful or interesting to them. This element is about really personalising the inquiry.
Our encounter with these tiny, extraordinary creatures stays with us. We have, once again, been reminded of the precious beauty of this extraordinary planet. Our senses feel heightened and our ‘antennae’ are up as we continue to explore this wild coastline. We feel more protective of it than ever before.
Our ‘hermit crab’ inquiry was about much more than crabs. ‘Zooming out’ of the experience, there are so many powerful concept connections. Continuity and change, cycles, adaptation, structure and function, diversity, care and sustainability to name a few. Treating ‘topics’ as case studies and finding the conceptual connections that arise from them ensures our journeys of inquiry not only build knowledge but strengthen deeper, sustained conceptual understanding over time.
Experiencing a journey of inquiry is only partly supported by process and the right ‘encounters’. It is the attitude we bring to these encounters that makes the difference. Curiosity, optimism, open mindedness, persistence and patience were pivotal to the ‘success’ of my experience. In short – it was having an inquiry stance or ‘way of being’ that allowed me to be fully engaged. These are dispositions nurtured in me from childhood but also those I have learned and grown through the years.
And the very best teacher has always been nature itself.
When did you last experience your OWN journey of inquiry? How might this help you understand the process more deeply? How can we use our own experience of deep awe, wonder and joy to provide the same opportunities for children?