The gardens caught my eye first.
Behind a chainlink fence, I saw turned plots of soil, compost bins, neatly stacked painted wooden signs and small picnic tables. I glanced back at the nearby building before continuing my walk to the coffee shop. On the way back, cup in hand, I lingered. In the corner of the lot, next to the gardening area, was a short, winding trail through what looked to be native grass plantings.
It was pint-sized, a perfect magical path for children, both beautiful and playful. Continuing along the sidewalk, I was surprised to see that this was all part of a school.
In subsequent journeys for morning coffee, I noticed more enticing elements and began looking forward to finding them. I spotted a weather station set up in the garden area, close to the colorful work tables, purple, blue and green. I noticed letters of the alphabet on the side of the play apparatus for the younger students. Large black and white renditions of the phases of the moon were attached to the fencing on a nearby play field where students would see them as they circled the sandy track. Colorful banners designed by the children hung from the posts by the doors.
Then there was the building itself, stately, with tall windows and square towers topped by peaked mosaic roofs. Whimsical balconies graced each tower. From another era, it was unique, beautiful, enticing. I was struck by how this school community engaged the students outside as well as in, and did so by exposure. It is almost as if the school spoke: “Look at this. What do you think?”
Finally one day I saw students. An entire class was fanned out across the raised front lawn, small children armed with rakes. They were giving the grass a working over, picking up sticks and small branches in the process. I stopped to watch them, absorbed in their task. One little boy dropped his rake, deciding to gather sticks by hand.
This beguiling school is Steele Elementary, a public school on South Marion Parkway in Denver. Although I have never ventured through the doors, nor spoken with a principal, teacher or student, I have learned what I know thus far by being lured into noticing. This school community wears its philosophy. And I have learned about it on my journeys for coffee far from my Massachusetts home.
My daughter and grandson walked through the gardens before the start of this school year. They reported back to me about what was growing, and the list was long: heirloom tomatoes, cabbage, broccoli, popcorn, peanuts and medicinal plants. There was also mention of the three sisters: beans, corn and squash.
This school provides rich learning opportunities. The gardens alone present the complexities of earth, water and life. They lend themselves to interdisciplinary lessons involving math, history, art and science. But there is more to contemplate here because of how it happens. In the garden, the students lay their hands on their learning. They observe the plants firsthand as they grow.
They harvest when they return to school, carrying their crops into the building and preparing them for the table. Their learning is so much more than a single written essay or math problem. Their learning is the whole process.
This school serves as a reminder of the importance of how it is done. Despite diverse physical settings, educators share their mission of connecting students to the world. To do so requires the hard work of figuring out how to entice the children into noticing. The subsequent doings will provide the rich experiences and deep understandings.
I’m back in Massachusetts now, but when the school year started, I imagined how the Steele students returned to a bountiful harvest, how small hands held bright tomatoes and eagerly shucked popcorn. I imagine trips out to check on what continues to grow.
I imagine the children remembering how these colorful and tasty fruits and vegetables started out as a handful of seeds in the spring.
I know that this is unforgettable learning.
Louise O. Young lives in Eastham, Mass.
