Cultivating Community

How did this get here? Something I often think about in the grocery store. I am very interested in food and where it comes from. I am saddened that we've normalized vegetables wrapped in plastic over vegetables covered in dirt, or a worm on a piece of salad. I always say that being really into food eventually leads you to gardening, which eventually leads you to dirt and bugs. When you live in a world that treats capital as the primary value, you end up with really strange outcomes. Like a lemon in BC that travelled from South Africa. Or even more shocking, perhaps, lettuce from BC that was shipped to Mexico for packaging, only to return to be sold in BC. To that end, I wanted to add to what Kallis said on page 21, "Food, clothing and shelter — our primary needs — are now met by someone else doing the grunt work." It feels important to add that this is also a signal of inequality. The reason someone else is doing the work is often because that person's labour is deemed less valuable (i.e. cheaper). Hearing these things can be overwhelming and can make us feel powerless. But there is a remedy to this heartache and it's exactly what this article recommends: investing in your local community.

This reading was very enjoyable to me as it felt like my own thoughts were there in front of me, written on the page. In my own life I've been lucky enough to develop a strong community of friends where we share skills with one another. Cooking and sharing food with others is a value for me, and I have taught friends how to make bread, croissants, pasta, etc. My friends have taught me to sew, make rugs, play music. These interactions are a significant way I feel fulfillment in my life.

Braiding is not just for rope! Here is a braided loaf I made recently.

A Rule of Thumb

A rule of thumb, a phrase I've said many times without thinking too much about where it came from. Just like I've felt the contraction and expansion of daylight through the year without thinking about the tilt of the earth, the angle of the sun. Today we looked at things we take for granted and saw them in a different way.

Have you ever thought of your body as a ruler? A compass? A clock? Turns out it can be all three. Together we celebrated the Fall almost-equinox by measuring the height of the sun from the horizon using our fists and arms. Though it was a cloudy day so we couldn't completely confirm that the sun was behind our pointed fingers, we all arced through the sky in the same celestial dance, and the time of year was embodied in each of us. Even more accurately, the position of our precious hurdling rock in relation to our source of life was embodied.

I typically like to celebrate the equinoxes and solstices in some way. Whether it's a small way to mark the day like lighting a candle, or something more deliberate like a dinner with friends. But in the rush of this new program I was swept up in all the work and I completely forgot about the equinox. I was so glad to mark the occasion collectively, all of us small little beings tracing the pattern of our life source in the sky. This exercise reminded me to slow down enough to feel connected with the universe again. After all, that's all we are anyway.

A sunset on Hornby island, featuring my friend's dog Avon

Comfort is in the eye of the beholder

A theme I noticed throughout the paper was just how hard coordinators of campus gardens have to work to convince universities (administrators?) of the benefits of the garden, all while the benefits of the traditional classroom are taken for granted. In general, people are used to being indoors. They've gotten used to the comforts this brings (mostly stable temperature, taditional chair to sit on) while the discomforts are taken for granted or not even noticed (unnatural lighting, uninspiring architecture, and as someone who can't sit still I'll list traditional chairs here too!). When people aren't used to being outside, I think the discomforts can seem glaring (temperature, unexpected noises, wet ground), and it may take awhile for the comforts to be noticed (the birds singing, the sunshine warming your clothes, the smell of soil).

I think people are up for this reframing. After all, we are natural creatures living unnaturally, but teaching in the garden puts us one step closer to our "human nature". Not to mention, the orchard garden provides a particularly significant comfort not often found in a traditional classroom: food. If we're hungry, we can't learn. The garden provides many options to aid hunger and in the moment students can snack if they need (I know I have!).

In coursework as teacher candidates we've learning a lot about the importance of failure in learning. Encouraging effort and strategies rather than "the right answer" so that students will build resilience and confidence. I've always felt that gardening is an exercise in failure. Every year I try new things and some things work, others don't. And each year I adjust based on what I've learned or try something entirely new. It's a slow, iterative, annual learning that means sometimes I get lots of kale and no tomatoes, and other times I'll get one very small proud squash. There is even the added joy of the surprise plants that just pop up in the spring. In class they've told us that we're not just teaching our specialized subject areas, we're teaching how to learn. The way I see it learning in a garden ties you directly to this gardening experience which has so many lessons to share.

The herb garden at Noma in Copenhagen

(Where I picked a strand of fennel just to say I've eaten at Noma)

An introduction to my sit space

I chose my sit space because of the wild nature of the garden visible from my spot. I have an affinity for gardens that more faithfully reflect the randomness and diversity found in nature. Sketching this garden not only allowed me to appreciate the beauty of the moment, but it was time I got to pause and reflect. I noticed the depth and layers of the garden in front of me and thought about my own learning in this program. It has been a long time since I've been in school, since I've learned something new in such a holistic manner, and it's overwhelming. But at the same time it feels good to stretch my brain and approach school with a fresh openness that I didn't feel when I first went to university.

On my bike ride home I was thinking about the sit spot sketching exercise and the lessons therein. I appreciated the comparison of mathematical generalization to a sketch or image of something found in nature, and how we can find mathematical concepts all around us (for example, angles and shapes). However the lesson that I appreciated most was that many of us were uncomfortable sketching and Susan pointed out that remembering this feeling can help us empathize with our students who feel uncomfortable doing math. Getting us to embody discomfort so we can be more mindful of the discomfort of others was a fantastic lesson, one that I think will stick with me for a long, long time.

Sea buckthorn in the orchard garden

(Not directly visible from my sit space but I was munching on them before class)

Reflective >> Reflexive

On reading Grant and Zeichner's description of the "reflective teacher", it felt remarkably similar to how Skemp described "relational understanding" (for those of us in EDCP 342). Though the former is centered on critically thinking about who we want to be as teachers and the latter is about learning math itself, both emphasize the why behind the how. The way I see it is that by taking the time to examine ones beliefs a priori (especially those we take for granted), we strengthen our intuitions and responses when faced with new scenarios, ensuring that our actions better line up with our values. This could be compared to how when one has a relational understanding of math it becomes easier to transfer knowledge to novel problems, questions, conjectures.

I believe the advice to continue to question and examine our own beliefs as well as the status quo is extremely important as it lays the foundation of our conscious and unconscious actions. For me, almost ironically, this is one belief that will never go stale. This is why the article felt just as relevant today as it would have been in the 80s, and honestly before that too.

By nature teaching is a political career. Who controls information and how it is delivered is political. As the authors say on page 112, "There is no such thing as a neutral educational activity". I am sure we can all think of examples of lessons from our youth that, upon reflecting now, we would have not accepted from our teachers. I grew up in a town where the primary resource was training military personnel and I've now come to see the majority of my history education as government propaganda. As a student I felt there was something off about what we were learning but didn't have the intellectual foundation to push back as I would as an adult. I wonder if the content of our learning would have been different if these teachers were exposed to this article and tried to become reflective teachers themselves? I should hope so.

A very reflective lake somewhere on the island 

that I took while biking from Nanaimo to Bamfield

"Teacher Man" discussion: a case for sincerity

One theme that stood out to me in our class discussion on the movie "Teacher Man" was the emerging theme of sincerity. From my perspective and in my experience, sincerity is the foundation of (healthy) relationship. (Here I mean any relationship between two people, not necessarily in a romantic sense.) When I think back to the many mentors I've had throughout my life, the common thread was that I felt seen as who I was (and in turn felt they were sharing a part of who they were too).

Frank allowed the students to be who they were. As we chatted about in class, he not only allowed them to "hate the book", but was also curious about that response. (In contrast to telling them what they "should" think.) I wonder if they would have felt free to share such a negative perspective on the book if he hadn't first invited them in by sharing his story and being vulnerable?

In the variety of things we do, we wear different skins and choose to show different sides of ourselves. I hope to find that "teacher self" that comes from an authentic place all with the goal of enriching curiosity in math.

A photo I took of one side of Elfin Lakes

Hello (again! (again!))

 Welcome to this blog

Salt spring says hello