What a broken heart reminded me about teaching, learning and inquiry

In early June this year, my healthy, vibrant, eldest daughter contracted a serious (and mysterious) infection that left her gravely ill and with a damaged heart.  I managed to get to London within 24 hours of her being admitted to hospital. Little did I know we would not be leaving for three months, 6 weeks of which would be in hospital.  We are back in Australia now for continued treatment and I am gradually back working in schools. While my sole focus at the time was on caring for my sick child, this rather personal post (a few months down the track) is a reflection on some of the ways this traumatic experience got me thinking about our work as teachers.  Writing is my main ‘meaning making’ strategy … I hope some of that meaning making resonates with you.

 So. What did I learn (or understand more deeply?)

Fear is the mind-killer. (Frank Herbert)

Never has this famous phrase (attributed to Frank Herbert) resonated with me as much as it has over the last three months.  The intense, all-encompassing fear that drenched my body on hearing bad news, on being told of possible consequences of infection, or the side effects of a procedure walked with me every day. And what I noticed, of course, was that when it was strongest, my mind would go blank. There was no room for anything else. No rational, considered thought – just a jangle of internal panic made worse by having to ‘put on a brave face’.  Doctors would be explaining something to me and I simply could not take it in.  Schools are not hospitals, but for too many children, schools can be a place in which fear dwells. Whether it be fear of not getting it right, fear of being ‘cold called’, fear of separation, fear of not belonging … And when fear enters our body, our minds shut down. Fear is indeed the mind killer, and classrooms must be safe places for our learners to flourish, to take risks, to think and to struggle productively.

Being comfortable with uncertainty is easier said than done

I have been banging on about living with uncertainty for decades. It’s one of the catch cries of those of us who champion more progressive ways of approaching teaching and learning.  Over the last three months I have lived with more uncertainty than I can remember ever having experienced before.  For weeks, we dwelt in a sea of unanswered questions and were adrift in the unknown.  There was nothing edifying about that state – it was completely enervating. When I reflect on it in terms of classroom cultures, I am reminded of the paradox of uncertainty.  That in order to live well and comfortably with uncertainty– we need some certainty. Dependable routines, predictable parts of the day and week and other known elements provide anchors that allow the unexpected to delight rather than derail. Our children are better equipped to manage the unknown when there is plenty of ‘known’ to lean on. 

Questions get better over time

Many of us see questions as the jewel in the crown of inquiry – and indeed, it is hard to imagine an inquiry classroom without them.  Questions were certainly an important part of this experience but, as is the case with so many journeys of inquiry in the classroom,  the more we learned, the more helpful and considered our questions became. Life brought us a terrifying and unexpected ‘provocation’ but in the absence of information and in a state of ignorance (and fear) the journey began with experience and listening rather than a surge of questions.  When the questions did start to bubble up, I found myself monitoring them, withholding some, choosing the ones that felt the most important at the time.  I also recognised the power of the pause: the space between the intense and constant discourse. As an inquirer, sometimes NOT asking questions but simply learning to accept what was, felt more helpful than endless probing.  I have seen it over and over again in classrooms – questions being asked for their own sake rather than questions being thoughtfully formulated for genuine purposes.  I still have lists of questions in my journal that I decided not to ask.  

Our whole body teaches and learns

There is nothing like a traumatic experience to remind us of the connection between the mind and the body. Typically, schools are places that have privileged the cerebral over the manual, thinking over doing and the rational over the emotional.  In the throes of a challenging, confronting, high-stakes experience one is quickly reminded that the body is responding and anticipating. It was my gut – not my head – that told me, at times what my daughter needed or that decisions being made felt wrong (and turned out to be).  It was helpful that I had read Guy Claxton’s book “Intelligence in the flesh” , reminding me that emotions and all the physical manifestations of them are part of our” intelligent equipment.”    I needed to listen to my body, to think of it as an ally to my mind, as did my daughter - even when infection had ravaged hers.  Classrooms are places where children are so often taught to ignore their bodies, to still and tame them. We talk so much about thinking - but less about feeling. We ask them to listen to us  - but we need also need to ask them to listen to their body. AND we need to be more attuned to what their bodies tell us.

Inquiry is indeed a cyclical process

The journey of inquiry begins with a purpose.  Whether it be pure curiosity, a desire to make or create something, a longing to understand something more deeply or, as in my case, a desperate need to find out and understand. On revisiting my journal, I can clearly see the spiralling, cyclical nature of a journey of inquiry. As we gather in new information (from experience, from experts, from reading, from viewing, from experimenting and exploring) along the way, we try to sort it all out and make meaning …and new seeds are planted for new lines of investigation.  New questions evolve and so we continue to explore. There is nothing linear about it, although each time we cycle through that process we do take our learning deeper. We change our minds, we broaden our perspectives and the unknown becomes known. As a journey of inquiry unfolds, it can be a challenge to remain open minded and even more of a challenge to change one’s mind.  And yet this is what we must be prepared to do in order to grow and understand something more deeply. Over the course of six weeks there were numerous times where we received either conflicting information or at least different perspectives and opinions in response to the same question.  This is the nature of most research journeys. The terrain is not smooth and the answers are not consistent across sources. And, as more evidence is gathered theories are refined, new possibilities and pathways present themselves.  From gastroenteritis, to a bad migraine, to meningitis to infective endocarditis … new evidence shifted thinking. Our doctors needed to stay open and curious – and so did we. Helping our children understand the gift of changing one’s mind and staying open to the perspectives new information brings is one of the fundamental elements of a true inquiry process.

Without meaning making, information is of little value.

For the first time in a long time, I experienced what it was like to have to take in what were huge amounts of complex information on an almost daily basis - much like our children are often expected to do.  Unlike some of our children, I was anxious to learn, I wanted to understand, I wanted to find out as much as I could.  I felt like my daughter’s life depended on it. But even with that – even with that intense purpose, the information itself was rarely sufficient. Here’s what I noticed: I noticed that when the doctors left the room after answering our questions and sharing information with us, we needed two things. We needed to talk and to check our understanding with each other. We needed to ‘co construct’ meaning together and to make sense of it all as best we could.  And sometimes all that talk needed to wait. We needed to pause. To walk slowly around the hospital foyer, to sit in quiet stillness and watch the clouds out the window before we could speak. We needed to give our addled minds a rest before the meaning making began.  Classrooms are often busy, fast moving and intense environments that provide insufficient time for processing and meaning making.  We all need time. Time to talk with others AND time to process things quietly, and the permission to stare vacantly out a window and allow our thoughts to meander as we gradually build meaning.

Explanation, and demonstration are necessary elements of inquiry.

Just as we can overstate the importance of questions, we can underplay the importance of direct explanation. Of course, I did some of my own independent research – in fact I was in constant inquiry mode not just about my daughter’s grave illness but about how to get around London, where to stay, etc. But when it came to the information I needed about Gretta’s illness, I needed to hear it from the expert. And I needed it explained carefully, slowly and simply. Often several times.  Yes, I read information, studied diagrams and even let myself google some things while deliberately staying away from others … but I needed direct explanation from those with the knowledge and experience. In our zest to engage children as inquirers, it can be easy to dismiss the power of a well-placed, well executed moment of direct instruction and explanation.  Explaining, demonstrating, modelling are vital ingredients in our pedagogy and need to be intentionally woven into the fabric of inquiry.

Teaching is strengthened by the team

When I wasn’t overly anxious, I became fascinated by the constant collaboration I observed between various medical staff we would encounter each day. Doctors rarely did a round on their own. Nurses, students and other colleagues would come into the room, clearly having had discussions with each other. Gretta was seen as the patient of the team - not of one single doctor. There were numerous times when her case was taken to a multidisciplinary team’ for discussion. This was a moment when the vocabulary of our two worlds - medicine and education were one and the same! These multidisciplinary meetings provided doctors with specific expertise to be informed by the expertise and insights of others. Decisions were never made by an individual but rather through dialogue within and across teams. This collaboration was incredibly reassuring. We all have blindspots and we can all benefit from the perspectives and specific skill sets of our colleagues. Great teachers see themselves as team players too - seeking out the insights of others, collaborating routinely as they plan. It’s we over me.

The physical environment matters.

We all know our surrounding environment impacts the way we feel and think and hospitals are a profound reminder of this. The lighting, the noise, the lack of fresh air, the lack of privacy, the comfort (or discomfort) of the beds, the space or lack of space to move … I could go on. There are reasons why some of the more clinical elements of hospitals need to be the way they are, but we have no such excuse in the classroom. When we were moved from a busy, chaotic, ward with no windows and an incredibly noisy atmosphere to the quiet of a single room with a view - the impact on our mood was immediate and dramatic. The simple joy of being able to look out a window, to watch birds circling or study the shape of clouds over the endless days made such a difference. I could see the anxiety in my daughter fall away - the calm around us helped create calm within us. Our wellbeing is bound to our environment in ways we are not always conscious of until that environment changes. The same is true for classrooms. As someone who visits many, many classrooms over a year I can attest to the direct relationship between the way the space is curated and the culture of the learners in the space. Consideration, in particular of the quality of light and sound should be on every teachers’ mind as they think about their learning space. And beauty. Please consider beauty. There was a wall of art works in the foyer of the hospital to which we gravitated over and over again. I can still see them in my minds eye now. An aesthetic balm to the struggle we were in.

Relationships are, indeed, everything.

Like classrooms, hospitals are places in which rank and power are dominant forces. I don’t think it is too far a stretch to say that being a patient in hospital can at times be like  being a child in a classroom. Like a school uniform, the hospital gown itself seems to represent a kind of vulnerability and powerlessness. Being in a hospital (even as a carer not a patient) for 6 weeks reminded me of the concept of institutionalisation and its impact on agency.  By far, the key ingredient in nurturing both my and my daughter’s sense of agency was the way individual staff communicated with us.  It was pretty simple really.  Staff who genuinely listened, used our names, were encouraging, showed empathy, took a little time to learn something about my daughter as a person – not just a patient, who smiled, enjoyed a laugh and, despite working in the most horrendous conditions at times, remained kind and professional … these people were gold. They made ALL the difference. They had every reason to be jaded and grumpy. The abuse they received from many patients made the average classroom pale by comparison. And yet, for the most part, they remained positive and professional. Feeling heard and valued has enormous benefits on wellbeing and on our sense of self. Agency flourishes when we trust ourselves, and the way others choose to treat us has a huge impact on that trust.  While tests, scans, medications and the incredible knowledge of doctors saved my daughter, it was the quality of daily human interaction that sustained both her and my resilience for the long haul. And so, it is in the classroom. In the end, systems, policies, programs, pedagogies and resources are significant but not sufficient. Like health professionals, educators are part of a service profession. I was reminded that, for me anyway, teaching is a vocation that requires a commitment to being of service to children and their families.  In an age of vapid teacher-tok reels and Instagram awash with egos and Edu-influencers, it can be easy to forget what we are fundamentally here to do. It is our relationship with the children that must sit at the heart of it all.

For almost three months I was completely disconnected from my life as an educator. But, with 40 years of teaching under my belt, it is impossible not to see even the most traumatic of experiences, at least in part, through the lens of my educator identity.  As Victor Frankl famously reminded us, we can’t choose what happens to us, but we can choose our responses. One of my responses has been to reflect on the lessons I learned - perhaps in an effort to salvage some meaning and growth from the trauma of it all.

 Our learning, as teachers, does not and should not exist within the vacuum of the classroom, school or ‘workshop’ room.  Indeed, I wonder whether experiences that take us outside of our education bubble can teach us more than those within it? At the very least, being removed from that context can give us new perspectives and remind us of old truths. For my daughter and our family, the journey continues – and with it, no doubt, the learning.

What can life (both the challenges and the joys) outside of schools teach us about our work?

Just wondering

Environmental Education: re-kindling and re-imagining.

I recently had the pleasure of listening to an episode of ‘Recess Duty’ – a new podcast from Levi Allison (you can listen to the episode here.) His guest was Kevin O’Shae who has a passion for Environmental Education. It was a great conversation, and a timely one. I listened to it while the Glasgow Climate Change conference was winding up, the reports from which left me feeling that all too familiar sense of disappointment, frustration and fear. I listened to it as I walked beside my local Merri Creek, a place that became such a source of calm and beauty during Melbourne’s endless lockdown.  Here I was, immersed IN the natural environment, listening to someone talking ABOUT it and worrying that it was all too little, too late to do anything FOR it.  

 In, about, for

This mantra was such a big part of my life in the 80’s and early 90’s when I was so actively involved in the environmental education movement here in Victoria. I was an enthusiastic member of the national and state associations, went to conferences, ran weekend workshops – I even wrote books about it “Springboards to Environmental Education” and  “Integrating Naturally” and helped launch a beautiful Environmental Education Theatre Company – Vox Bandicoot, into schools. I introduced Environmental Education as an elective in the then diploma of primary teaching course at the University of Melbourne and sitting rather forlornly on a shelf in my study is a dusty, framed certificate with my name on it “Environmental Educator of the Year.”  

 So it was with a strange sense of shame that I listened to this podcast. The environmental education movement has been with us for decades. Why am I not as active in the field as I once was? Why have I let it slip? Why am I not using every opportunity I can to bring this work to teachers?  

 And, more profoundly, why have we not made more progress?  

These days, the concept of sustainability is widely explored and often used as a driving concept for inquiries. Generally speaking, however, the inquiries that link to this concept focus on things like recycling, deforestation, climate….all vitally important issues but simply learning ABOUT these things is insufficient.  In this post, I want to revisit the essence of a simple framework and share two additional elements I have been pondering.  I hope this might form the basis of a conversation with your team about your inclusion of environmental education in your work. And I hope it will help me strengthen my own efforts to do the same.

 When thinking about the environment in education, consider teaching and learning in, about, for, through and from …. 

IN the environment

 Many of us have discovered the joy being and indeed of teaching outdoors as a result of COVID.  There is little point in learning about the environment if you are not going to spend time in it. That is where the emotional connection happens. That is where the caring grows. Forest kindergartens and nature play do appear to be having a renaissance, but we all need to commit to giving learners time to simply be IN nature with no other agenda than the feeling of connection and joy that brings.  Get out there!! 

ABOUT the environment

The big issues matter. And our kids want and deserve to know about them. But sitting beneath those issues are some critical concepts that help us all understand them better. Decades ago, the Earth Education Institute recommended these simple concepts as critical to our understanding:  energy, cycles, diversity ,change, interrelationships, connection and adaptation.  A concept-based approach to inquiring into the environment helps build a more robust understanding of the issues at stake.  And parallel to this big picture thinking, let’s not neglect the importance of knowledge building. Here in Australia, the work of the Gould League founded by the wonderful Alan Reid played a pivotal role in the education of so many young people by helping them learn about the plants and animals of their local area. Some of my very, VERY best teaching moments have been in the context of a school yard bird study, ponding, locating and learning about the insects in the school garden. Nature offers us such powerful provocations for inquiry if only we stop to notice.  I still have (and use!) my invertebrate identification cards and many other amazing resources from that time. Get to know your local animal and plant species. Learn their names and their role in the habitats around you. Knowledge is power.

FOR the environment

Ultimately, change happens not because of what we learn but because of what we dowith what we learn. Inquiry approaches have always championed action and environmental education depends on it.  Learning IN and ABOUT the environment motivates us to want to protect and care for it.  Working with schools like Howrah Primary school in Tasmania has reminded me of the empowering experience taking action brings to children. Throughout the year the children have been actively involved in taking action for a range of local, threatened species. You can read about it on their facebook page.  Find out about the local environmental projects and issues you can get your kids involved in.   

THROUGH the environment

By situating journeys of inquiry in the context of the natural world, the door to a meaningfully integrated curriculum opens wide. A group of teachers shared with me recently that the discovery of a tawny frogmouth chick who had fallen from its nest in the school yard led to an inquiry that naturally connected science, geography, maths, English, design and digital technologies!  Use the environment as a context for inquiring  across the curriculum 

FROM the environment

Last weekend, I had an amazing walk along the Barwon river in Geelong, here in Victoria.  At one point I noticed a ‘teenage’ magpie doing what they do at this time of year, nagging their mum to give them food (they even sound like they are saying muuuuuuum! MUUUUUUUM!).  I stopped to watch them for a while, fascinated by the interactions between them, curious about what almost looked like a tantrum as the young magpie momentarily lay on its back (!), wondering what they were eating, where their nest was and allowing my thoughts to drift to the parenting of my own children and the relationships all living things have with their offspring. I was watching, listening, wondering, theorising, connecting, questioning … I was doing exactly what I would want children to do in an inquiry classroom. And here I was sitting by a river with not another human in sight. Nature, it seems, is a gifted inquiry teacher herself from which we can learn so much.  When you take learners into the environment, don’t feel you need to teach/tell them too much. They will learn so much simply by being there and being encouraged to notice.

Environmental Education has been part of the learning landscape for decades. In the early 1800’s  Jean-Jacques Rousseau urged us to ‘study nature, not books’ since then there have been many, many movements, programs and resources dedicated to the cause. 

 And yet here we are – our precious planet in such dire trouble.

Maybe that’s why I have ‘dropped the ball” in recent times. After all this time, all this work, all these incredible, passionate devoted environmental educators I have worked with for nearly 40 years … what can we show for our efforts?  It is hard not to be despondent.  BUT I take heart. Greta Thunberg gives me heart. My own children and their passionate, informed friends give me heart. Schools like Howrah Primary school give me heart, amazing brave schools like https://www.thenatureschool.org.au  give me heart, the native regeneration acres of once industrial wasteland in my own suburb gives me heart. And listening to podcasts with teachers like Kevin give me heart. The work continues.

 The recent UNESCO report “Reimagining our Futures” is blunt in its call to action: 

 “We  need  to  take  urgent  action  to  change  course,  because the future of people depends on the future of the planet, and both are at risk. The report proposes a new social contract for education – one that aims to rebuild our relationships with each other, with the planet, and with technology.”

 It is nearing the end of the school year here in Australia. A time for reimagining. For me, it feels like a time for rekindling the fire I had let cool.  My passion for inquiry has no better home than learning in, about, for, through and from the environment. Time to take a deep breath and step, once more into the breach. I hope you will join me in thinking about your own connection to nature and the responsibility we all have to keep our children connected to the planet on which we all depend.

Surely as educators there is no greater moral purpose. 

How do you help build your children’s relationship with the natural world?

Children at Auburn South getting curious in the amazing vegetable garden!

Just wondering …

What will we build? An inquiry into culture building inspired by Oliver Jeffers.

AS I write, teachers around my home country of Australia are preparing to begin the school year. Others are returning after their winter break or perhaps after a prolonged period of remote learning. Regardless of the reason, returning to school is an opportunity to ‘reboot’ and refresh - to ask ourselves and our students important questions about the kind of learners we want to be and the kind of learning community we want to build. 

 ‘Building’, ‘constructing’, ‘growing’, ‘creating’ … these are all words that align beautifully with the ethos of inquiry.   As inquirers, we value the process as much as the content or product we might be working towards. As inquiry teachers we see learning as a process of construction, building on prior learning through investigation, analysis and reflection  And we relish that building process in collaboration with our students.  

 So, as we begin the new school year or return after a break, we might ask ourselves and our students ‘What will we build together?’ 

 When I came across Oliver Jeffer’s new book ”What We’ll Build” late last year, I was immediately captivated by it as an allegory for the collaborative journeys of inquiry we take with our students.  It is a book about parenting – a loving letter to Jeffer’s daughter and has all of his wonderful hallmarks – gentle prose, symbolism, glorious illustrations, humour and big ideas.  

As a full-time classroom teacher, I ALWAYS made sure that on our first day together, we connected through at least one really sensational book.  I know of no better way than to commune with children than through powerful literature. If I were starting the year now, I think this is the book I would choose.  Revisiting it yesterday, I imagined the questions it might prompt me to ask myself, my team and my kids. I imagined how it might help us “make plans for our future together”. I imagined , perhaps returning to the book each day. Page by page, question by question. 

 Because that is the way classroom culture is built. Word by word, action by action, minute by minute , day by day.  As teachers, we are culture builders. And this culture determines the way our children come to see themselves as learners and how they see learning itself. If we truly want to build a culture that nurtures curiosity, agency, courage and compassion – we have some important questions to explore from day one. And this beautiful book might help you get the ball rolling. Here are the questions I played with, in response to the text… 

What shall we build, you and I? 

 Take time to ask your learners what they hope and indeed IMAGINE their classroom community will look and feel like. How might the physical space be arranged? What kind of space will support learning? What kind of relationships do students hope to have with each other? With their teachers? What is your vision for your team?  How will you build a wonderful, collaborative team this year? 

Let’s gather all our tools for a start

 What skills and disposition will help us learn together?  What is already in our toolkit as learners? Do we have the tools to manage ourselves, communicate, collaborate, think and be awesome researchers?  What do effective learners DO? What dispositions or attitudes can we cultivate? Do we have the language to talk about these tools for learning? 

 For putting together – and taking apart

How will we help ourselves stay resilient and strong?  How will we view mistakes and failures?  Are we willing to take things apart and start again?  What might we want to ‘take apart’ from the past and put back together in new ways? What might we let go of this year? What needs to change? 

Let’s build a door where there was none

We’ll build a house to be our home

 How might we create a safe and supportive community where we ALL feel we belong?  This is more than a classroom or a school – this is a community. How can we make this a truly inclusive place where each person feels seen? 

I’ll build your future and you will build mine

 What can we offer each other? What are your goals as learners? What are my goals as a teacher? What gifts can we give each other? How can we help each other grow? 

We’ll build a watch to keep our time

 What might our days look like? How can we co construct a routine or timetable to allow for flexibility as well as predictability and routine?  How will we document our journey together? 

We’ll build some love to set aside 

And build a hole where we can hide

 And what about those times when we need to be alone? Is there a space in our classroom that we can go to when we need time with ourselves? What might that look like?  How can we ensure we all get that time out when we need it? 

A fortress to keep our enemies out

And higher walls for when they shout

But you don’t always lose and you don’t always win

So we’ll build a gate to late them in

We’ll build a table to drink our tea and say

“I’m sorry,” “me two”, “me three”

 Conflict is an inevitable part of living and learning with others. We need to be OK with our differences and we know that will help us learn and grow. How might we manage conflict? What do we consider to be our rights and our responsibilities in this learning space? What agreements can we draft to help us learn together? How might this extend to our teaching teams? We need vigorous debate and different perspectives? How will we both ensure and manage that? How can we stay open to new ideas?  Different voices? 

We’ll build a tower to watch the sky

And other worlds to pass us by

 How will we stay connected with what is going on in the world? How can we connect with people and ;places beyond our school? Can we make more use of the outdoors this year?  How will we record and share our wonderings and be relentlessly curious about the world? Let’s make this a place where curiosity is welcome!

Let’s build a tunnel to anywhere

Let’s build a road up to the moon

Let’s imagine where we want to be at the end of this week, this term, this year. What are our goals? How might we help ourselves get there?  How will we stretch and challenge ourselves as learners? 

Let’s build a comfy place to rest

For we’ll be tired soon.

 Rushed, frantic classrooms do not make good learning environments. How will we help ourselves slow down and take more time to notice ourselves and our learning? How will we pay more attention to what’s going on and be more present in our day? What routines will we create to ensure we regularly reflect on what we are learning, doing and feeling? 

Let’s build a boat that can’t be broken

That will not sink, or be cracked open?

 What do we really believe about learning? What do we understand about how we learn?  What are the foundations of this classroom community? What are the things we can all agree are important? What do we value? 

A place to stay when all is lost

To keep the things we love the most

We’ll put these favourite things beside

The earlier love we set aside

 How will we ensure that school is a place where our true passions (as teachers and learners)  and interests are nurtured?  How will we introduce new possibilities and ensure we widen our horizons? What do we want to learn more about? What do we want to learn to make, do and be? 

I think that we might want them later 

When times are hard and needs are greater

 And will the learning that happens this year be the kind of learning that travels with us for life?  What do our students think is important for them to learn? How can we close the gap between school and the world beyond school? 

But first things first, let’s build a fire

For we’ve planned a lot and now we’re tired

It’ll keep us warm like when we’re born

Then we’ll say good night , as all’s all right

 Where will our ‘campfire’ be? Do we have a gathering place? Would rituals and routines might we develop as a class to bring a gentle, connecting rhythm to our days? 

These are the things we will build, you and I

What does it mean to be in true partnership with each other, with learners and with families? 

What will we build? 

Beyond the power of this text to stimulate thinking about building classroom community, this text is about hope and about agency. The agency we all have to  onsciously and thoughtfully build our future together. 

“What We’ll Build” is available here

A trailer for the story is here

You can find out more about the inspiration for this book here

 So….

 What (and how) will YOU build with your students as you create a culture of and for inquiry?

Just wondering…

Making spaces to create: environments for collaborative planning

Of the many roles I play as a consultant supporting teachers and learners in inquiry. – one of my favourites is the opportunity to engage in collaborative design for learning. Effective planning (although I do prefer the word ‘designing’ these days) is an essential skill for teachers who use an inquiry approach. It requires a deft blend of thinking ahead while being responsive to what is happening in the moment. There needs to be just the right balance between elements agreed to by the team and individual freedom to follow the interests and needs of a groups.  Documentation is important for accountability but an over-emphasis on it can detract from the delight of the process and take far too much time.  Increasingly, we understand the importance of inviting the learner’s voice into the planning process, while  attending to curriculum standards and outcomes. Needless to say, true collaborative planning is a complex, multi-layered process.  It is no longer sufficient to simply tweak ‘what we did last year’ nor are we going to foster true inquiry if we studiously plan out 6-10 weeks of detailed learning tasks! 

 The process takes time and a commitment to regular thoughtful, collaborative conversations.  Participating in these conversations can be an incredibly creative experience. In fact, I believe that designing for inquiry learning is one of the most creative elements of our work!   When we truly commit to this approach, we are working with new ideas, multiple elements and authentic contexts. It feels like a combination of choreography and architecture with a generous helping of improvisation thrown in to the mix. 

 Given the significance and artistry of collaborative planning for inquiry, I find myself wondering why we often pay such scant attention to the environments in which these powerful and important conversations take place.  In recent years, many of us have become much more aware of the role that the physical environment plays in supporting learning in the classroom – but do we show the same care and attention to our meeting spaces? 

 Not all schools have (or even want) dedicated meeting/planning areas. For some, classrooms or staff rooms are sufficient or the only option. But many of the schools I work in do set aside a space for teams to meet, plan and evaluate their work. But there are spaces…and there are spaces!  Too often I find myself in ‘meeting rooms’ devoid of anything that might inspire us as we reflect, explore and create.  We’ve all seen them. Boxes of supplies waiting to be opened, redundant resources that are no longer used or available but well past their use by date.  Yellowing notes on a pinboard, dangling by a single pin, last year’s term overview fading on the whiteboard…or nothing at all on the walls.  A mix of furniture crammed in a space that might be too small to accommodate it. Sound familiar?  

 Now of course, great inquiry teachers can plan anytime, anywhere. No one really NEEDS an inspiring environment to design for powerful learning. BUT I wonder what would happen if we did indeed pay a little more attention to the spaces in which we ask teachers to do this important work?  How might it contribute to our wellbeing? Our creative process? 

 One school in Adelaide. – Hawthordene Primary School – recently took up the challenge of re-designing their planning room so that it provided more resources to support the process, offered an aesthetic that was welcoming and inspiring to be In and cultivated curiosity and wonder  - just as we try to do in inquiry classrooms.  Mother Teresa Primary School in Melbourne has long championed the importance of a beautiful, respectful aesthetic for all the learners in its community – children and teachers alike. There are several schools I have the pleasure of working in where attention is paid to the quality of the physical environment to support teacher planning.  Does it make a difference? Well…from my perspective, yes. It feels like it does. It speaks to the importance of the work, encourages creative thinking, supports the conversation through visible reminders of our purposes and pedagogy.  Some of the things I have seen in these schools include:

•  Easily accessible resources to support inquiry teaching and learning – having great teacher resources on display (rather than hidden in library shelves) may encourage more staff to engage in professional reading

• Interesting, relevant articles made available for reading – perhaps an ‘article of the week’ posted on the board

• Art work/objects/photographs that inspire wonder and imagination

• Natural light and flowers/plants! 

• Equipment such as chart paper, markers, post its, index cards , whiteboard etc….while planning may be digitally documented, we find the best conversations actually happen when we record in more fluid, shared way. 

• Access to a smart TV, IWB etc so that we can check out on line resources together

• An active ‘wonderwall ‘ for staff! 

• Visible reminders of some of the elements that are important in our planning – inquiry cycles, school values lists of key concepts, teaching practices, reminders of skills and dispositions (in my partner schools these are the ‘learning assets’). I prefer displays of elements that we always need to refer to when we plan … this can really help keep us focussed and mindful. 

• Some examples of student learning – including photos that showcase some key characteristics of inquiry. 

• A coffee machine and a bowl of the best Swiss chocolate….OK that might be stretching it!!

• Now of course, not everyone has the resources to dedicate to this kind of space…but even a few changes to your meeting room might energise and inspire. 

•  How important is the environment in which you plan/design for learning to you?

 Just wondering…

Wonderings and resources to support planning at Hawthorne PS

The inquiry cycle with conversation prompts at Mother Teresa PS

Keeping it real: inquiry and authenticity

I once spent a year living in the same street as the school in which I was teaching. It was a mixed blessing. One the one hand, I could work late and still be home at a reasonable hour on the other hand I probably worked way too late way too often.  But that’s not the point of this story. 

 Living so close by meant I inevitably bumped into kids from the school over the weekends. At the supermarket, walking my dog, in a café…and the reaction was most often the same - especially from the younger kids:  “Whaaaaat? A teacher? IN THE SUPERMARKET? OUT WITH FRIENDS? etc. I’m sure many of you have had the experience…slightly awkward, a few giggles, the out-of-context encounter that challenged their view of me as ‘the teacher’ whom they assumed probably lived at school (OK - yes, I almost did.)

 Back then, I was ‘Miss Murdoch’.  I referred to the classroom as ‘My Classroom’, the kids had to line up in two straight lines before being allowed to come in to the room after each break. They ate when the bells told them they could, we rarely ventured out of the room unless it was to go to ‘the art room’ or ‘ the gym’ where they would spend 45 minutes learning something that was quite disconnected from anything that happened in the classroom. They sat at little tables in little wooden chairs – occasionally ‘working’ on the floor for a special treat. They did activities that I planned and followed rules I devised for them.  What a strange environment classrooms were (are?) in contrast to the lives lived outside of school.  And what strange beings we teachers were (are?). Is it any wonder they were taken aback to see me doing everyday things that every day people do! 

 Now admittedly, that was a long time ago. Much has changed but I remain curious about the degree to which we allow ourselves to be authentic with our students and why we insist on maintaining some of the routines, rituals and practices that seem so disconnected from life outside of school. I recently heard a teacher in dialogue with her students referring to herself in the third person (‘So what Mrs X wants you to do now is….so Mrs X is showing you how to….’). Strangely inauthentic.  Many of us have a ‘teacher voice’ we put on when we work with children that is quite different to the tone we might use outside of school. We sit on a chair while children sit at our feet (would we ever do that in a non-school context ? We would generally position ourselves alongside others as we talk with them) … there are a myriad of unconscious ways we talk, interact, position ourselves, curate our spaces and organise our days that seem so alien in contrast to the rest of our lives. 

 One of the 10 key practices I advocate for teachers to develop in order to nurture inquiry is the practice I simply call ‘Keep it Real’. It is a plea for authenticity.  

Authenticity is a word we throw around a lot in education and , indeed, has become one of those words that can easily prompt an eye roll due to glib over-use. We talk about ‘authentic inquiry’ and ‘authentic contexts for inquiry’ but what do we really mean?  Some musings on the matter below:

© Kath Murdoch 2019. Keep it Real.

Bridge the divide

There remains a gulf between the lives many children lead outside of school and the lives we have them lead while they are at school. The gulf is much narrower in many early childhood settings and seems to widen as children get older.  What can we do to bridge the strange divide between schools and the wider community? 

BE authentic. You do you. 

If we are going to talk about ‘authentic contexts’ for learning then perhaps we need to think first about how authentic WE are as we engage with learners. Is our ‘teacher identity’ getting in the way of a more powerful, personal connection with our students? How do they see us? How do we see ourselves?  Do we interact with them in the same, respectful, reciprocal way we might with others outside of the school context? How authentic are WE? Don't be afraid to be the vulnerable, imperfect, HUMAN that you are. 

Make the classroom a place that feels good to be in.

Is the environment in which we and students gather each day one that feels ‘authentic’? Does it allow for movement and flexibility? Is it comfortable? Are there places to retreat to as well as interact with others? Can learners choose where they will learn? Have you engaged learners in co-constructing expectations? Is this a room/space that you feel proud of? Like your home, do you enjoy walking into it in the morning because you have taken time to consider the aesthetic of the space? Like a family (ideally!) do you all share the responsibility for caring for this environment? 

Recognise that inquiry opportunities are all around us.

And what about the learning itself? When we talk about ‘authentic contexts’ have we discussed with each other what we actually mean by that? When I think about ‘getting real’ with inquiry, I most often think of the power of purpose.   As communities, schools abound with problems, challenges and opportunities for us to inquire. What can we do about the congestion at pick up time?  How healthy is the food in the canteen? Should our uniforms be gender-neutral? Should we have uniforms? How can we better manage the waste we produce at school? How can we redesign some of the outdoor spaces so we can use them for learning? How can we integrate the art studio/gym/library/music room in a more meaningful/flexible way? Is the design of our learning spaces compatible with what we know about wellbeing?  How might the playground be redesigned to cater for all age groups? The list is endless….By engaging kids in inquiring into real issues/challenges within the school, we immediately enhance the authenticity. The purpose is obvious, the stakes are higher, the audience is real. The challenge is to then see the conceptual connections within that context. (It becomes more than, for example, simply building the playground…it is about design, function, properties, etc) 

Stay awake to possibilities

It seems to me that authenticity is also about our preparedness to ‘let go’ of a plan when a REAL opportunity to investigate something emerges unexpectedly. We have recently had a federal election here in Australia. The perfect context, it would seem, to explore concepts of democracy, power and decision making yet I encountered more than a few teachers who felt pressured to focus on other things that and been planned rather than go with this very natural avenue for inquiry. 

Be the inquirer you are

 The ‘process of inquiry’ is not some discrete, rarefied experience limited to school – we constantly inquire as we live our day to day lives. Whether it is choosing a paint colour, buying a car, wrestling with an ethical dilemma, teaching ourselves to play an instrument, learning a language or planning a holiday, we routinely ask questions, gather information from various sources, sort out and come to some conclusions. Share these authentic inquiries with students so they can see a greater fit between the processes they use to inquire in the classrooms and the ways we inquire every day. 

 Know your why

I know this phrase is becoming somewhat ubiquitous but bear with me. If authenticity is about a sense of purpose, then it really does pay to keep asking WHY.  Powerful learning happens when we ‘know the why’ of what we are learning. Keep asking WHY at the planning table, encourage students to identify the why as they construct their own inquiries. And the ‘why’ must be more than addressing the curriculum – the why needs to connect with our lives beyond school, now and in the future.

No secret teachers’ business

More and more, we are coming to understand the power of inviting the learner in to the decisions we make about and for theirlearning. Sharing intentions (co constructing them), building criteria for assessment together, inviting learners to help design the pathway of inquiry, having the learner curate their portfolios, providing options that allow them to choose workshops/clinics to attend, making the learning as visible as possible in the learning space, student led conferences …these things recognise the learner at the centre and the reality that is this – it is their learning!  Our failure to involve learners in the process of designing for their learning leads to ‘sham’ inquiry.  It can look like inquiry, even sound like inquiry but lacks the authenticity experienced when the learner is in the driver’s seat.   Inquiry - as an approach, IS already authentic. Just watch a young learner trying to figure out how something works or how to fix something they care about. They inquire. Linked to this is, of course the more authentic experience that emerges when we stop trying to map everything out to within an inch of its life and, instead, we are guided by what we notice in and discuss with learners regarding the 'next step’. Being authentic means accepting uncertainty and becoming more responsive to what is needed.

We talk a lot about authenticity - but to what extent do we allow ourselves to ‘get real’ in the classroom. And how ‘real’ can we be when we our schools exist in systems that retain structures and expectations that fly in the face of authenticity? What do you do to keep it real?

Just wondering…

We live in Pinteresting times.....

There are a few eyebrow-raising emails/messages I receive on a fairly regular basis.  One is a request from undergraduate students to help them with assignments (‘just wondering how you would answer this question about inquiry...thanks!’), another is an offer to write a post on my blog...except that the post has nothing to do with education(!) And the third is a request for information about where to purchase ‘the posters’ about the inquiry cycle...  

What posters?

For years, I have been asked to create posters outlining the phases of the inquiry cycle for people to put on their classroom walls.  And for years I have resisted doing so. Here is why:

1.     We should all acknowledge that the cycle itself is a problematic creature. It is useful– but it is so much more complex, messy and nuanced than it appears on paper. I have always shared it tentatively – as a scaffold for thinking, as a prompt for designing and as a way of providing some common but not fixed language. Publishing books, articles and blog posts about it helps me address some of those complexities whereas a poster/sign/worksheet doesn’t. Most of the posters created about the inquiry cycle present it as a simplistic, linear process, as if each phase is dealt with prior to the next. When teachers and kids work together to visually represent their journey they quickly discover that the process is far from the neat, linear process that a poster often (mis)represents. I have seen some better representations of it but they are usually co-constructed with a community to meet their particular context/purpose. 

2.     In what feels like an increasingly pinterest-centric world, the last thing I want to do is add more shiny, glossy STUFF to put on classroom walls. I have no problem with making the language of the cycle visible to learners – in fact, I recommend it.  However there is something troublingly inauthentic about simply downloading, printing and displaying posters without doing the deeper work of sourcing, reading, thinking about, and creating your own (with acknowledgment of course).

3.     How much stronger would it be if we invited our students to inquire into the way a cycle of inquiry might work and then co construct a way of making that process visible in the learning space?  This is a much better way to help them understand what it might mean to journey through an inquiry than simply popping posters on the wall (and rarely referring to them). Who owns the classroom space? 

4.     While I have chosen and published particular words and phrases to communicate purposes and processes in a cycle of inquiry, the general concept of a ‘cycle’ is not mine - nor is the idea that inquirers often move through phases as they investigate a question/problem/issue.  I am always at pains to explain to people that there are numerous models and ways of describing the process and each has its own emphases.  It is not ‘THE’ inquiry cycle … it is AN inquiry cycle.  Doing the work of investigating a range of interpretations can help teachers and kids devise one that works best for them. 

5.     The ‘cycle’ is only part of the bigger picture the inquiry classroom. It IS very helpful.  I use it all the time for planning/designing and it offers teachers and kids a shared language to talk about how they might proceed through an investigation.  Inquiry is more than this though. It is a culture, a stance and a way of being. So I worry that slapping a poster on the wall makes us feel like we are ‘doing it’.  When it fact, it can be just that. A poster on a wall. 

So….why am I sharing this?   It has recently come to my attention that while I am busy refusing to commercially publish and sell posters  - others are doing it anyway. 

 Colourful posters of ‘the inquiry cycle’  - even ‘Kath Murdoch’s Inquiry cycle’ - are available not just to share with others but for sale.  And it is not only my work. I notice people selling, for example, worksheets depicting  Ron Ritchhart’s visible thinking routines without any acknowledgement and I suspect, without permission.  That these materials are sold in the company of some truly dreadful items purporting to be ‘inquiry based’ makes it worse.  There is an abundance of awful, low level activities (craptivities) presented as worksheets that should never see the light of day in a classroom - let alone be sold for profit (makes me feel the same as I feel when I walk past 'NAPLAN' preparation books in the supermarket!)   To cap it off, there are several that include a © symbol with the creator's name and no acknowledgment of the original source. Now.  I understand that this has always been the case – well before the online world made it more pervasive but it is easier than ever to cut and paste, lift and loot, read and repost. 

As someone noted on my twitter feed – perhaps this is something we should be talking about as a staff?

OK. Rant over. Don't get me wrong. I embrace the opportunities provided by digital media to share and collaborate. I hope this doesn't come across as precious or mean spirited about people using work I have published.  I willingly and regularly share ideas online. I have seen some beautiful representations of ideas I have shared and loved the interpretation. They always acknowledge the source and it feels delightfully collaborative - ideas sparking other ideas in an atmosphere of open, professional connectedness.    And I should say that I get many considered requests to use/adapt more formally published work.  I almost always grant permission and love sharing in this way.  These requests allow me to, at times, address misinterpretation and misrepresentation so that the sharing has integrity.  That's one of the reason the protocol exists.  

Some people have suggested that the best way to manage this might be to relent and do what I have been avoiding all these years: create the posters and sell them as the ‘official’ versions. I won’t do that…for all the reasons I have shared above. 

But what I am putting up on the website are the pages from my recent book ‘The Power of Inquiry’ that provide information about the way I think about the process – at least at this point in time.  This might be a useful guide to developing your own, with your kids. You can have it and share it  - for free. But hey, just take a moment to let people know where it comes from. That way, if they want to dive deeper - learn more about it or even raise questions about it, they can return to the source. 

In the meantime, I see all of this as a valuable conversation to have as a staff.  I guess two issues have emerged for me – one being the problem of posters/displays etc. and the other about the ethics of what we choose to share (and sell) online. 

How do we model ethical use of materials to our students? How much does this matter to us anyway? How freely should materials be shared without consultation or permission? When is it OK to sell our work? What does 'original' mean? If the words are someone else's but we choose the font, colour and images - does that make it original?  What responsibility do we have as producers AND consumers to acknowledge the work done by others?  Who really owns what? What do we know/believe about the thorny issue of intellectual property? AND…. Why do we prefer a glossy, pretty poster over the children's own documentation on our walls? Do our learners USE the stuff we decorate the walls with?  What should be on our walls anyway? Who is it for? 

 I don't claim to have the answers...and I am still pondering it all myself (this post has been simmering in my draft folder for a while...) but I think it is an important conversation to have, don't you?  

Just wondering....