Natural learning through writing

First, let's start with some inspiring quotes...

Julie Bogart's Bravewriter blog is one of many sources that has helped me keep homeschooling in perspective. Jody recently redirected to me to a set of posts from 2007 on Julie's "One thing" concept. They've been such a help that I'd like to elaborate a little on how some quotes from the series apply to our family's learning. I'd come to these conclusions independently before I read the series, but it always gives me a nice feeling of confirmation when someone so articulately states something I was working out by experience.

The first quote is about how deep interests led to well-rounded learning in Julie's home:

"By allowing my kids to wallow in Greek mythology for two years, they discovered a way into history that helped them imagine other times and places...'One thing' implies trusting that the immersion in one topic that really interests will lead to all the learning necessary."

The second is a set of three short pointers about writing:

"We start with the writer, not writing forms or skills...

Fluency comes before competence...

Direct experience adds depth and insight to writing..."

And the third quote is about the academic stress that creeps up on homeschooling parents in junior high. I've been thinking a lot about that this year, as the rubber meets the road: 

"Cozy learning...is that wonderful intersection of real studies combined with natural lifstyle...

By junior high, the coziness starts to disappear...This odd notion called, 'now it really counts' moves in and takes the learner hostage...panic and doubt ensue.

[The moms of junior high students] take a look at the college admissions list, remember their own high school days and immediately lost all the love of learning they've cultivated for the last eight years."

After this third quote, Julie described how she dealt with anxiety creep in her own family.  I thought Julie's story was particularly interesting because she jettisoned a program that would probably have been the envy of many academically-oriented homeschooling parents.  Why? Because her teens were unhappy while carrying it out. 

Since I started writing this post (I've actually tried and ditched several attempts over that past two weeks), I've discovered that Julie has added a new "One Thing" post entitled, "How do you fit it all in, one thing at a time?"  This new one is well worth reading, too, because it explains that "One thing" at a time is how adults learn naturally.  She describes the exhaustion that can result from years of school.  

"The freedom to think and do and be what you want are intoxicating and produce the best conditions for learning. You find yourself motivated by your own hunger, not by someone controlling what you do.  And in fact, there is brain research that supports your adult style of learning.  Apparently our brains do best when we have the opportunity to focus intently, allowing the greatest interconnection of ideas to occur simultaneously...and sequentially."

And now, let's move to the application...

C.Z. has been writing a short story lately.  I really hope she keeps at it, because it's one of the longest and most ambitious pieces of writing she's ever attempted.  It's a sort of dystopian comedy about an enormous school, set in the latter part of this century. The descriptive details seem natural even though the subject is conjectural, and the story is quirky in a particularly C.Z sort of way.  

Yesterday she got to a point where she realized that in order to describe the school accurately, she had to work out plausible details about its size, shape, and design.  She started sketching, quickly ran into some design problems she had to work out, and started doing some research.  

Before the hour was out, she was making calculations based on the number of students currently enrolled in U.S. high schools, recommended square footage per student, typical library sizes and number of volumes (because she doesn't like Kindle and thinks it won't succeed), cafeteria sizes, plausible numbers of floors, typical high-rise building infrastructure, and logistical problems that might be presented by such a large building.  She even found an architectural model for the type of building she was trying to design (partly Hartsfield Airport, but also a hotel that I remembered from childhood because it fit her description so well). The result of all this research was a set of ridiculously large numbers, but they were consciously ridiculous in a way that bolstered the point of the story. When you read the result, the casual way she mentions the large numbers involved in the building makes the story funnier.  

In the process of figuring out this building, C.Z. started doing square footage calculations based on typical room sizes, subtracting out the outer classrooms from the inner ones the way one subtracts a frame from the area of a picture.  There were conversions from miles (!) to feet, sometimes in three dimensions. At one point, she made a calculation error, but didn't realize it for quite some time, by which point it had affected several other calculations. In the end, she fixed the problem by changing the building's trolley system to a moving sidewalk.

This one example illustrates many things that Julie was talking about in her "One thing" series:

C.Z. focused intently, allowing for interconnections to form between new information and things she'd previously learned, powered by her own hunger.  One topic, pursued intently, led to any number of other topics.

Also, this kind of writing is very much about starting with the writer. Though it might not seem like C.Z. is writing about something she knows (school), she actually is, because this has been a whole year of learning about school, from involvement in her music program to watching most of her homeschooled friends apply to high school (you apply to public school here). And as with many things C.Z. does, there is a lighthearted undercurrent of social protest throughout the story.

In fact, and lastly, this year has at times seemed like one huge assault on what Julie calls the "coziness factor." Not only does school touch our lives increasingly through our social networks, but I realized yesterday that I was evaluating no fewer than fourteen outside classes for next year's homeschool. At that rate, there wouldn't be any home left!  Obviously, we'll say no to many of these, but it illustrates the insidiousness of high school anxiety and academic creep. In light of all these temptations, I admire C.Z.'s consistent adherence to the spirit of independent learning.

Natural learning for older students doesn't really have to be different in kind from natural learning for younger students. The learning is more in depth, of course, because older students have more mature minds, and more experience. They're making connections and they can come up with insights that will sometimes surprise you. But it doesn't necessarily have to involve slavish adherence to textbooks, externally imposed "rigor" to make sure the student does high school level work, or sophisticated organizational tools that keep all your teen's classes straight.  

If the atmosphere in your home all along has made love of learning a priority, I'm convinced that there's no need to panic in the eighth grade. Each family looks different, of course. But I am convinced that deep and natural interest has a way of creating learning that is as "rigorous" as any high school.*  And often it comes about because you have the luxury of doing one thing for a while.

***

*End note: Another way I've seen the advantages of deep learning illustrated lately is via the NYCHEA ROV team.  They're a local homeschooled robotics team who won an international competition last year.  They beat out institutional high school teams who had much higher budgets and professional mentors.  

After listening to one of the team members talk about the competition last week, I asked whether perhaps the team's low budget may have made them rely more on ingenuity, and whether the judges may have liked that.  He said that it definitely had been a factor.  Some of the other teams had more expensive and sophisticated robots, but since the NYCHEA team didn't have these advantages, they had to do more to build their own understanding, and this led to a better robot.  

I might add, of course, that I framed the question that way on a hunch that it might be the case. The young man was very gracious, and even pointed out that every competition is a close one!

Greetings from the newly refurbished American Past...

This friendly shepherdess is one of several examples of framed embroidery in the newly refurbished American wing. She's actually waving at a shepherd.  

Yesterday was shaping up to be a very noisy day in our neighborhood, and Bob had to work all morning, so C.Z. and I decided to escape to the newly refurbished American Wing at the Metropolitan Museum, which re-opened this week.  The part that opened this week was the sculpture courtyard, with its new pottery mezzanine, and the period rooms.  The paintings, for now, remain either in the 19th Century European Paintings section on the other side of the museum, or in storage.

Above are some of the ceramics on display in the new glass mezzanine.  Even the stairs are glass! I'm fond of these minimalist-looking vases and have one in celadon green that I bought from the museum shop.  (It's a copy, of course, and the neck is not so graceful, but I still like it.)

The main entrance to the period rooms downstairs an old bank facade, but inside, it looks like an old Georgian dining room. Many Southerners still decorate their homes this way, so it reminds me of the small town in Virginia where my parents lived until a few years ago. (I was born there, but then we moved to Georgia and they moved back when I was in college.) When I'd take walks at dusk, the large entrances with fan lights would be lit up, often revealing chandeliers and Chinese-inspired wallpaper.  

One of the relocated Georgian period rooms in this section of the museum includes a window from the original house with names scratched into the glass.  For some reason, I think I've heard that girls scratched their names with their rings, and I think it used to be a common practice.  At least, I've seen other windows etched with names as well, including one in a private home in Virginia. The home was built on a hill and surrounded by large trees so that it caught summer breezes, and I imagined the occupant, perhaps a teenage girl, daydreaming as she looked out the upstair window over the valley below. Was she waiting for company to arrive? 

The next photos (above and below) are from the Early American (17th Century) collection, housed off by itself in a small third-storey nook not accessible from any other part of the museum. For the first couple of years we explored the museum, we didn't even know it existed. But the MMA is so large that it's fun to wander around in it much the same way that C.S. Lewis wandered down long hallways as a child. So I used to let C.Z. guide me around by the hand.  It made the grandmas smile, and one day we found a small staircase. At the top was a Puritan meetinghouse surrounded by little Early American period rooms, which we could explore all by ourselves!

Now that the American Wing has been renovated, these period rooms have been mostly dismantled and made into display rooms for casework, and they are made more accessible via a new glass elevator.  Some of the old architectural elements remain, but several of the rooms no longer look like someone could live there. 

I remember how enchanted C.Z. was with these rooms as a child, when we'd go in and pretend for a few minutes that we lived in them.  The new arrangement looks like it would be interesting for Antiques Road Show buffs, but less so for children.  Still, many period rooms remain downstairs and in other parts of the museum.  And now that the ones upstairs are more accessible, maybe they'll be open more often.

This Shaker period room on the lowest level (19th Century) hasn't changed. I've always liked it. My own bedroom furniture is Shaker style. I'm not sure Shaker furniture quite works in an Arts and Crafts era New York City apartment, either, but I like to pretend it does!

Most of the American artworks are still housed in the study collection. For one thing, the American Painting galleries are still closed, with highlights on display until 2011 in the European collection. The study collection looks like a grocery store for art--many narrow aisles of glass cases, with masterpieces inside.  Even before the renovation C.Z. and I were often surprised to find paintings by Mary Cassatt or John Singer Sargent crammed into these glass cases.  Many of the artworks do get rotated into the galleries now and then, though.

While exploring the study collection, we were sometimes amused by the curators' sense of humor. Some of the pieces looked as though they were bored or wanted to escape.  The woman above appears to be peeking behind the bust next to her. 

And among many expressions of placid Victorian calm, and even resignation, we found this fellow (above center). Whatever could he be so indignant about?  We turned around in the aisle, following his gaze exactly, and saw...

Clearly the feeling is mutual.  

A little bit of lovage...

What's cooking right now:  Chicken stock, with lovage

...goes a long way.  That's what every cookbook I have says.  One said, "A single plant supplies a neighborhood."  But I bought a bunch at the farmers' market last Friday, and I've been trying to coordinate some food around it.  

Lovage is an herb that looks a little like parsley, but more like celery leaves.  That's because I think that's basically what it is--wild celery.  C.Z. and I read that is has an intense celery flavor. After that, she had to try a bite for herself, of course, "They're not kidding!" she exclaimed.

On Saturday, I tried out Halibut Baked with Leeks, Apple and Lovage, from Jerry Traunfeld's The Herbfarm Cookbook.  The lovage certainly doesn't overwhelm this one.  I'd type out the recipe, but it's a page and a half long, in small print.  Basically, you make a ragout of sauteed leeks cut up like matchsticks, add 3/4 c. white wine, reduce it, add 1 1/2 c. apple cider, reduce that, then add 1 T. lovage, 2. T sherry vinegar, and a diced tart apple.  

Then you put this leek ragout in a baking dish as a bed for the halibut, butter a piece of parchment paper, cover the dish, and bake for 10 minutes at 425.  Bob's comment:  "It's like dessert without the sugar!"

Sauteeing the leeks for the leek/apple/lovage ragout

Still, there was a lot of lovage left.  (Do you know how hard it is to resist making bad puns when writing about lovage?)  Not to mention most of a bottle of white wine, and some asparagus that was in season at the farmer's market.  I happen to have a recipe for a good risotto that involves wine and asparagus, and calls for some homemade chicken stock.  And for once we didn't have to go to physical therapy today, so I had the time to let something simmer.

Into the pot went a Tello chicken (notice the feet, Jody!), a few carrots, parsnips and onions, various spices that I had tied into a bouquet garni (I substituted fennel for dill, because that's what I had), garlic, salt, pepper, and instead of celery--a bundle of lovage.  Oh, yes, and a veal knuckle from a previous stock, because I'm not convinced it's used up yet. This is not a "by the book" recipe, so I'm not sure how it will turn out.  Could be I've broken the first rule of lovage (use sparingly), but at any rate, it smells great in my kitchen right now, and it's going into tonight's risotto.  Will it be an asparagus risotto or a LOVAGE risotto?  Only time will tell!

Meanwhile, the risotto calls for a 1/3 c. of of mascarpone.  What to do with the rest of that? How about...tiramisu?  I love it when things come together in the kitchen!

Paying attention

I was much amused by an article I read yesterday in the NY Times called Ear Plugs to Lasers: The Science of Paying Attention.  The ostensible reason for the article was a bit of new research on the role of gamma waves in the brain. But I liked the practical hints the article included about attention and modern life. 

I've always considered myself a bit attention-challenged. Maybe I think that because I tend to be a bit absent-minded and forgetful (this was true even when I was young), or perhaps because I just plain hate being interrupted, which I suppose isn't much of a virtue when you're a mom. Once interrupted, I can't pick up the train of thought where I got off.  It's long departed. Others seem to be able to field multiple requests and switch topics on a dime. I'm a deer in the headlights.  I hope there's some corresponding virtue on the other side of this coin (which is apparently not a dime).

So, what I like about this article is that it frankly admits some things I've been thinking for a long time, along two lines:

Limit distractions

First of all, that Twitter, Facebook, blogs, and yes, those annoying TV screens in cabs (I suspect that ours isn't the only family that makes a game of seeing how fast we can turn them off), are fracturing our attention.  Use if you like, but in moderation.

Secondly, that it takes the brain about twenty minutes to reboot after an interruption.  I think most homeschoolers must know this instinctively, but that's why our family tries to be really careful about taking on activities that require that we drop what we're doing and leave home.  We also find that we can only do a few things really well on any given day.  

And here's a useful quote from the article: "Multitasking is a myth," Ms. Gallagher said. "You cannot do two things at once."  Thank you, Ms. Gallagher!  Now I can admit my limits and stop trying to do the impossible.

The article also recommends that you spend the first ninety minutes of each day concentrating on your most important task.  That must be why I get up, look out the window, read my Bible, and write in my journal.  It's my favorite time of day.

Don't worry

But there was another major point to this article:  You can waste your life worrying.  Ms. Gallagher of the article has had ample motivation to gain control of her attention to worry.  She's had cancer.  The article states that she remained relatively cheerful during her treatment by (among other things) keeping in mind this line from Milton: "The mind is its own place, and in itself/ Can make a heav'n of hell, a hell of heav'n." I think that's a very useful thing to learn, and though the article made no mention of Ms. Gallagher's faith, how much more should Christians learn it!

Ms. Gallagher also noted that the typical person's brain can process 173 billion bits of information over the course of a lifetime, so we should prioritize what we spend them on.  One thing that I resolve not to worry about is how many of my bits I've already used up.  And what is a bit, in terms of the human brain, anyway?

Sometimes it doesn't take much to encourage us, just a tiny acknowledgment that we can live peacefully within our limitations.  I know that isn't always the most popular message on the block, but the older I get, the more I like it.

Italian night on the roofdeck

Roberto's almost-flourless chocolate cakes, signs of cross-cultural friendship

Last night we had dinner on our roof for several friends, all of whom spoke some measure of Italian and some measure of English. Most were lawyers, but that was only important because it's how they met. One person was going back to Italy this week. So we decided to get together for an evening of conversation in both languages.

I have been cooking lots of Italian dishes lately, but I didn't want to cook them for people who know the food much better than I do, so I decided to serve Susan's salmon and asparagus instead. Asparagus just went on sale at the farmers' market this week, so that was excuse enough. To lend a theme, we served the salmon with Pinot Noir and called it Oregonian cuisine. Then we added some challah from Silver Moon for a New York twist.

But ah, the desserts! Roberto brought two low-flour chocolate cakes, translated from the metric just for the occasion, and sprinkled with powdered sugar so that one read "USA" and the other "Italy." Vera brought the best tiramisu I have ever eaten, and I was already a big fan of tiramisu. And Silvia brought Prosecco. That wasn't for dessert, of course; I just mentioned it because it fits in with the Italian tradition of hospitality.

The weather had been iffy all day, but the rain held off and the weather was warm, so we enjoyed a good three hours around our outdoor meal, Italian style. Since Vera's English was somewhat limited and our family's Italian was even more limited, the languages switched freely back and forth throughout the evening. I was surprised at how much Italian I understood, considering that I hadn't even studied it in a long time. And Vera didn't seem to have any trouble understanding our English.

There were, of course, lots of conversational tidbits about both languages, and plenty of humor. Bob confessed his inability to properly roll an "r" (in Italian), and Silvia confessed that her use of the English "h" comes and goes. The three Italians showed their regional differences when Bob asked for a word that apparently has three different translations depending on whether you are from Venice, Como, or Ferrara.

Some of the talk was about the two cultures. Vera is homesick (I would be too if I lived on a lake that looks like something on the Riviera!), but Roberto likes the US so well that he married an American. Or perhaps, he likes the US so well because he married an American.

Today we received an e-mail from Vera with a recipe for her homemade tiramisu--in Italian! I'll let you know how it goes once I make a proper translation of both the measurements and ingredients and try it out. So far I've at least figured out what she was referring to last night when she said she mixed the "reds" with sugar. Egg yolks in Italian are rossi delle uova--"egg reds."

Buon appetite!

"We're in a Drippy world!"

--C.Z., one day years ago while we were taking a walk in the rain.

Worm-eating Warbler (image from Wikipedia Commons)

Cute bird despite the name, isn't it?

The past week has been so rainy that it's gotten to be sort of a joke among New Yorkers.  It's been cold and rainy, warm and rainy.  It's drizzled.  It's misted.  It's poured.  It's thundered.  Every now and then the weather clears up just enough to tease people into going outside, but at this point we've all wised up, and we take umbrellas.  And we aren't sorry!

It was during one of these short breaks yesterday that C.Z. and I made a dash for the Drip.  After all, it is the height of warbler migration. In this weather it's harder to find one favored spot for birds because all Riverside Park is one big Drip.  But we walked along the park wall in that general direction anyway.  

Once we arrived we found park birding expert Jeff Nulle keeping an eye out at the fence. Sometimes on nice days, the Riverside Park birders will even bring out chairs and watch for a couple of hours.  I'm starting to recognize people and learn their names, although birders are by and large not a chatty group--they're all about spotting passerines, and you might miss the birds if you talk too much.

Jeff was watching a Swainson's Thrush which was so red that I would have taken it for a Hermit Thrush if he hadn't told me otherwise.  He told me that a woman had accosted him that morning, alarmed that a pair of Mallards had taken up residence in a large puddle nearby. She seemed to be afraid that, like fish, they wouldn't be able to breathe once the water dried up.  New Yorkers are very concerned about nature--in theory.  But their experience is a bit limited sometimes!

Hermit Thrush (from Wikipedia)

The Drip being a bit slow due to the rain, C.Z. and I did a circuit of the bird sanctuary and spotted a Worm-eating Warbler gleaning from a tree.  It was the first one we'd ever seen (birders call them "life birds"), so we watched it for several minutes, which is an eternity in wiggly warbler world.  Finally it disappeared into the trees, and we went on to watch some of the usual Yellow-Rumped Warblers, a Black-and-white Warbler, a female Common Yellowthroat, a Goldfinch, and a Redstart.  

The migrating warblers were about as shy and soggy as our fellow Upper West Siders, so we didn't see as many as we'd have liked, but we enjoyed the walk immensely.  During this week of rain, a lovely green canopy of leaves has emerged on all the trees, their fresh light green contrasting with the wet charcoal gray trunks.  In the bird sanctuary, which is purposely not trimmed like the rest of the Park, giant weeds have sprouted up, giving the woods an almost prehistoric look.  It was 70 and humid, so we could really smell the soil, too. I love this weather! It reminds me of Georgia.

C.Z. and I spent about ten minutes watching a squirrel systematically strip the leaves from an entire branch of a young tree.  It was making a nest in the trunk of a larger tree a couple of feet away.  With admirable efficiency, it would bite off a twig at its base for maximum leaf harvest, jump into the nearby hole, pat down the new find, test it out for softness (or perhaps dryness), peek back out with both arms clinging to the side of the hole, and perform an amazing backwards leap with a twist to land on the dizzily swaying branch once again. Since the hole was at eye level and the squirrel wasn't shy (New York squirrels are extroverts), we could easily have taken a photo if we'd had our camera. I wonder whether he'll still be there the next time we go to the park?

We paid the Mallards a visit, too.  They looked quite happy upending themselves in a puddle which was the size of a small pond and deep enough to swim in.

Anyway, as might be predicted (at a 60% probability, in fact), we felt large drops of rain as we neared our own street again.  Within five minutes of our arrival back home, the bottom dropped out of the sky, complete with a few delighted shrieks from children caught out in the rain.  But by that time, we'd whipped up a couple of chocolate kefir shakes, pulled up some chairs, and were starting up a Teaching Company DVD on rock formations.  

Watching geology lectures always makes us wish we were going hiking in the Pacific Northwest, but for this summer, the glacier-scarred rocks of Central Park will be our mountains.  The weather, however, seems just about right for Portland, Oregon.

Parenting is its own reward

Julie Bogart of Bravewriter posted an excellent article this morning on "Parenting principles that foster happiness."  I've been thinking specifically on this idea for the past week and half or so, so the post was timely.  

Perhaps you too have noticed that sometimes we Christian parents ignore the question of happiness, just because we know that joy does not always equal happiness (which we equate with the easy way out) and because we know that God often sharpens us through suffering. That's true, of course.  But it's a pity when we ignore our need to enjoy our children, because when we do, we lose perspective, and if it goes on for long enough, we risk losing our children's hearts as well. 

Nothing that Julie is talking about in this article is anti-Christian, or "hedonistic," as she says. Nor is she saying to let the kids run the show altogether.  What this article is suggesting is similar to what Charlotte Mason suggested, that children are born persons.  Sure, it's harder sometimes dealing with children minute by minute than implementing a perfect system, but in the long run, creative and individual consideration is what makes kids thrive.

Here's a related quote that I've had in my files for years, and revisit from time to time.  

Are we doing what the Bible commands when we force our children to do something they hate when, with a little creativity, we could make it enjoyable to them?

It's from one of the first homeschooling sites I ever read, back when my teen was a toddler, called "Thoughts on Homeschooling" by Jim Muncy. The article, and Muncy's approach, are refreshingly low tech. We do well to revisit old homeschooling articles now and then, the ones that were written before homeschooling got as competitive and busy as any private school.  They are written by people who have now finished the homeschooling course, and so they help to bring perspective.  

I'm thinking about happiness in the home partly because with the end of this year we only have four more official years of homeschooling left.  And Julie's principles have always resonated in our home.  Here are a few ways we've followed them that I quickly jotted down:

Affirm you child's quirky voice: I kept a journal of things C.Z. said when she was little.  I'd do it still, but I think it would embarrass her! Now I just laugh at her jokes.  And I've looked for years for ways to bring out the creative writer that I know lurks inside.  These two things are both aspects of affirming your child for who she is.  

Pay attention to pain: I wish I could say that I was always attentive to C.Z.'s cries of academic pain, but I've always at least considered alternatives.  I guess this one is a balancing act of having them stick with something for long enough to see if they get over a hump, and finally acknowledging that something just isn't working.  

Discipline is not done to a person: We've always acknowledged the phrase "standing up on the inside" where it applies to discipline, and have tried to reach the heart, not merely modify the behavior.  

Eye contact and physical touch matter:  I'm delighted to still have an affectionate teen!  

Create opportunities for fun: When the going gets dull, we go outside, go to a museum, or cook something.  And we've never been sticklers about using anything for its intended purpose!

***

Today, happiness in our home consists of a big new box of sheet music.  We had a busy weekend, with two final concerts, some class parties, and a visit from Bob's mother.  It was a comfort to C.Z. and me, as we helped Grandmommy into a cab and turned back to an empty home, to be able to bring next year's music out for perusal. So for the next hour, C.Z. sight read Bruch, Kreisler, and Sarasate. 

Apparently five hours of playing on Saturday didn't flare up C.Z.'s shoulder, so it looks like we're going to get to go back to one-hour lessons for her make ups during June. I'm really looking forward to hearing more music, and spending less time in the physical therapist's office. A proper reward for a music well played is, of course, more and better music.  And it looks like C.Z. will be enjoying her reward.