Ruminating on educating

As it's the beginning of a new academic term, my thoughts have naturally turned to our own educational arrangements. A couple of friends are facing those big decisions about whether to go mainstream or seek alternatives and our conversations have touched on the home education option. It seems like a good moment to look back at our first term and share some thoughts and observations about the business.

It's probably too much waffling for one post, so I imagine I'll spin it out a bit - by which time I'll hopefully have got back into the swing of blogging a bit more regularly.

The decision to home educate is not made lightly. Even I, who had decided almost from Eli's first month that he would not be entrusted to the state for his upbringing, felt some self-doubt creep in when it came to the end of his short time at the local Steiner kindergarten. I hadn't ever properly taken on board the very obvious fact that almost everyone sends their children to school. It is not only expected, it is largely unquestioned.

It seems that the general consensus is that school, whilst not necessarily the ideal option, is the safest. The practical considerations alone give rise to enough consternation to prevent treading another path - bringing in enough money whilst having children at home; not feeling that one has enough resources of energy to be around ones offspring constantly; not having the requisite support network and so on and so on. I am familiar with these anxieties, it can seem logistically impossible before you even get to the education bit.

I think our real fears kick in when we get to our children's well-being and future prospects. Will our children learn all they need to know from primarily being with one person, perhaps two at the most? Will they need more social contact than we can provide for them? How will they learn to read????

These questions and worries are valid and real. A certain amount of self-confidence and a sizeable rebellious streak are useful when contemplating them. I cannot speak for others or offer any sureties but I can share our experience and add to the growing numbers of people who say that school doesn't have to be the only way.

Knowing the territory

Ever since I was a girl I've enjoyed being able to name things in the natural world. Walking the woods and waste grounds of my childhood I would feel a flush of recognition and pride if I came across a tree or a wild flower that I knew. I don't know that there were a huge number that I recognised -  wild garlic in the spring, the oak tree and the bluebell were perhaps the only names that came easily to mind - but even this basic knowledge helped me feel part of that landscape. I felt I knew my neighbours.

There were all the usual special places and secret spots - up in the trees or in tangled dens beneath them - long summers were lived in these semi-wilds. I loved them without thinking and when one little patch of woodland was threatened by someone extending their garden, I was angry and grieved for the lost trees when they were gone.

In his book Last Child in the Woods, Richard Louv talks about the need for children to be familiar with their own natural neighbourhood and the occupants of it before they can be expected to care about the earth on a grander, more abstract scale. Faced with the entire planet to worry about, we can be forgiven for feeling overwhelmed. When so much of our natural world faces extinction it makes sense to start with what we know and can name; learning to care about 'the environment' comes as a result of learning to care about our own backyard.

All this feels particularly pertinent in the light of the threat to ash trees. Having read this heartbreaking piece about ash die back, in which the writer gives the bleak view that most people are oblivious to the tragedy happening in our woodlands, this seems more true than ever. If it is the case that 'many people couldn't identify an ash' then what hope is there that they would feel any sadness for its loss? If the general feeling is that one tree is after all much like another, how can we hope to truly be of use to our ailing planet? Diversity is what makes this world go round. The exquisite uniqueness of literally every living thing on or under the surface of this spinning rock is what provides the wonder and magic of our existence.

My naturalist knowledge hasn't improved a massive amount since my early days scrabbling through tatty woods, but I continue to be an earnest learner and I'm trying to encourage a similar curiosity in my children.

This year, as Monty's legs have grown a little longer, we have spent more time walking, looking and gathering than ever before. Eli has become a keen spotter of wild foods and ash saplings and Monty has fully immersed himself in any berry-picking activities he's been involved in. They have become connoisseurs of dramatic skies and Eli often urges me to 'take a picture!' of a lovely view or a striking flower.

Helping them to know and love the play of light in the woodland, the eerie silence and bleak beauty of the moor, the brooding Pennine skies and the capricious moods of our Northern weather is a constant pleasure. Forging a connection with this place is the key to connection with all natural places, helping us to understand that 'the environment' is something immediate and necessary. No need for worksheets, a pair of sturdy shoes is all that's required. Together we map the seasons of our own backyard,

The Big Smoke

There's something about the idea of so many people living in one place, closely packed together but largely unconnected, that makes me feel overwhelmed. Just the logistics of how all of those people move around the city every day without large amounts of disaster and trauma baffles me.

I can get quite anxious when I start to think about the consumption that happens here. I don't just mean the unrelenting temptation to spend money, but the simple things like a carton of milk...how on earth are dairy farmers managing to produce enough milk for all those millions of people? What is happening to all that plastic? Is it even possible to feed this many people ethically? My ideas and beliefs about how we need to live smaller, closer to the land and to each other seem somewhat naive in the face of such complexity and scale.

Because of this, I generally approach visits to London with some trepidation. One of my oldest friends lives here with her family and seeing them is reason enough to brave the journey but since having children I have found little pleasure in the city's other offerings. It always seems to take an age to get anywhere, a long walk at best, an assortment of buses and undergrounds at worst. The boys are usually exhausted and emotional before lunchtime, and by the end of the day I've joined them in a chorus of despair.

But this time, something different happened. Something surprising and affirming. Maybe it was because the boys were a little older; maybe it was because they had their scooters so that long walks became fast and fun; maybe it was managing a significant trip across town with the boys on my own with no tears; maybe it was the sunshine; or perhaps it was just a growing sense of familiarity...but I genuinely enjoyed my stay.

I'm starting to understand that without big cities, there's no big architecture, big mass gatherings of people, or really big ambitious, seemingly impossible, ideas. It's been said before but London really is the universe in a nutshell; pavements full of the pounding feet of people from all nationalities, ages and social backgrounds, buildings that beggar belief, movement and action, history and knowledge. I am so grateful that my children will be familiar with this place, confident with the mayhem and the scale

And this time, on the way to Highbury play park - I realised that London's parks are everywhere. From the wide sweeping vistas of Hyde Park to the little greens hidden at the hearts of the various villages that make up this city. These parks are full of incredibly old and noble trees; their branches filling the sky whilst their relinquished leaves fill up the pavements. Places to stop and breath, to rest the eyes and restore the spirit.

As my two very energetic children will also attest, London's parks surely contain the very best play equipment in the land.

I have a feeling this could be the start of a beautiful friendship.

Education otherwise...

I've been asked on a few occasions about how we're all doing with our adventures in home education, so a few weeks into Eli's full-time 'unschooling', I thought I'd offer a report of how we're getting on. 

On the whole it has been great, spending time with Eli on his own has been a real gift. In our first week there was a real skip in his step and we enjoyed some perfect golden moments when everything felt just right.

Since that first week challenges have crept in, as they will, but nothing that some thought and good management couldn't put right. It's sometimes hard to get the balance right between social engagements and quiet time at home, and of course, having Eli with me all the time means there isn't much chance for me to switch off.

There's plenty to feel good about however; Eli has started reading which is a great relief for me. I've been trying to hold onto the wisdom that all children surrounded by books will learn to read in their own time, but I knew I'd be nervous until he actually started being able to put letters together. I was never totally relaxed about just leaving him to it, so I've put various things in his path like a Letterland book and a Montessori moveable alphabet, but mostly it's been his own motivation and enquiry that has lead us to this point. He's been enjoying writing for a while, asking us how to spell out various words and I think again the Letterland book really helped us with that - if he didn't know what a letter was we could refer to the corresponding character and this prompted his memory. 

I have no idea how they teach reading in schools so my approach has been mostly based on instinct and knowing Eli's moods and preferences. The real breakthrough only happened because he decided, very definitely, that he wanted to read. I've been enjoying his triumphant exclamations when he manages to read a word totally without help, it's an amazing thing to witness. 

Other than reading, we've been drawing, cycling, shopping, talking, climbing, swimming, cooking, having fun in the woods, meeting up with friends, and all the bits in between. I think I'm learning to relax a little and trust in his own innate ability to learn. I know there will be tough times, when I worry about how differently we're doing things, when I feel weary and low on resources; but I can't help feeling that for as long as it lasts, this is a special way to live.

Recently, on a bike ride, as we were zooming down a hill beside a river, Eli shouted at the top of his lungs 'I'm free!'. How wonderful it was to hear it.

Flowers and firearms

Our week has been a little wobbly. Tiredness and the realisation for Monty that he is is really away from me when he goes to Kindergarten has left us more emotional than usual. We're trying to be gentle with ourselves, but it isn't easy with two boys who find it hard to be anything other than maximum strength. 

Despite our disarray we did manage to visit a little local museum this week. I'd spotted in a flyer that Bankfield museum in Halifax was holding an exhibition of textiles on the theme of gardens which I was keen to see. I imagined conversations with Eli about the artist's processes; materials and techniques used. I thought we might marvel together at the stitches used liked brush strokes and hoped it  would inspire us to run home and start our own creative project...

I pointed out the journey from photographs, to sketches and finally stitches. We looked at how some of the pieces were layered with sewn fabrics behind screen printed transparent cloth. I enthused over the botanical motifs and impressionistic effects...

Meanwhile, Eli was tugging on my arm, desperately trying to stay patient...because what he was interested in,  what he really wanted to look at...was the Duke of Wellington's regiment museum.

Dutifully, and with little enthusiasm I allowed myself to be lead to look at cases filled with uniforms and weaponry. Along with my discomfort at us being surrounded by the apparel and apparatus of war, I realised my knowledge of battle history was severely lacking. Now I was on shaky ground. I didn't have answers to the questions being asked of me. Waterloo? What was all that about again? American wars? Erm...let me see...

I did manage some vague mutterings about the trenches and we both enjoyed looking at various soldier's personal effects - what they ate from, the bags they carried - the everyday objects that remind us of their humanity rather than the violence they were embroiled in.

Learning together may not always be what I expect it to be. Although I set the agenda for our museum visit, and had my own expectations about what we might explore together, Eli had his own ideas. Those ideas meant that I looked at things I wouldn't otherwise have looked at. I found I was interested in some of those things and I found that when it comes to history I am pretty much clueless.

Time for a trip to the library I think...

Sylvan wanderings

On last week's walk to and from Kindergarten we noticed an Autumnal nip in the air, enough for Monty to put on his hat. A few fallen birch leaves on the pavement inspired some early season kicking and scrunching. The sun cast its light in the spaces between shadows and the boys ran eagerly into the morning. Instead of taking our usual path across the field and alongside the river Monty asked if we could go on an adventure through the beech wood. The trees on this hillside are tall and bewitching, I am hushed each time I wander beneath their dark boughs.

On this day I noticed nature's details: the colours of decay amongst the green, criss-crossed threads of a spider's silky den and diaphanous canopies high above

After dropping off a confident and happy youngest son, Eli and I carried on our quiet way, stopping off at deserted tennis courts once part of the Cragg Hall estate, their overgrown and crumbling grandeur at odds with the little clubhouse kitchen.

We meandered down to the river where Eli climbed across branchess that hung over the river while I sat with the late summer sun on my eyelids and wondered at this tiny window of harmony we had stumbled upon.

Summer is heaving her last sigh, may we all hold on tightly to these final golden days.

First days and compost bins

Yesterday was a strange sort of a day for me, my youngest went off to be away from for the first time ever, at the local Steiner kindergarten, and my eldest stayed home. Monty was really excited and very ready to go off on a new adventure but I hadn't expected to feel so emotional. I had a very real ache in my chest as I said goodbye that didn't go until I had him back in my arms at the end of his big first day.

I decided that as the weather was perfect for a spot of sawing and hammering, Eli and I should get cracking with the planned compost bin.

Recycling facilities in Calderdale are pretty good I think, with collections for glass, paper, plastic and food waste it doesn't leave too much recyclable material left over. As a household however we still don't manage to deal with all of our compostable waste. I've had intentions to build a compost bin for some time without actually just getting on with it so Zero Waste Week has already been a great motivator!

Eli and I used bits of wood that had been lying around for ages; the remnants of an old Ikea child's table and some old skirting board that I'd been hoarding. We also had some really thick planks that we split down the middle to make two of the uprights. Now, I'm fully aware that this construction of ours is not going to win any prizes for looks, but as it will mostly be full of decaying matter I don't think that's too important.

We've just put it together with nails for now - hammering in nails is much more fun than screwing for a five year old - and we'll get some screws in it before we put it to work.

I think Eli was fairly proud of his first joinery efforts (as you can see from the cheesy expression) and I'm hoping he continues to be interested in the whole business of filling up the bin and watching the decomposition process. I'm also fairly proud that I finally did something I've been talking about doing for at least a couple of years!

There are so many things like this, that as individuals and families we know we be should be doing. Life is busy and time is short, but I'm already feeling better for doing my 'one more thing'. Thanks Rachelle for giving us the push we needed.