I started March 7 of this year as a naturalist intern at the Rancho Alegre Outdoor School. Previously I had taught physics for two years in a public high school, which proved enjoyable but also frustrating for me. Somehow the walls of the classroom served as a metaphor for the rules that clamped down on the students. Teenagers press against anything that feels imprisoning, and if my classroom was a pressure cooker, my squeezing in only increased the heat and intensity of their pushing out. One day I showed nine demonstrations of resonance, including a bridge collapse and musical wine glasses, and the next day most students could not recall the single word “resonance.” I became exhausted each day from the effort of being creative and keeping the “steam” contained in the classroom. Somehow this whole paradigm of education was not working for me. Other teachers were able to enchant the students within this massive building (and institution), under the fluorescent lights and the various administrators, but I found that I couldn’t do it. After my second year, I sadly turned in my resignation, and took a job in the electron optics industry in New Hampshire.
Two years later, I’d done a lot of good work for my company, but something was missing in my career. As I carried cathodes and vacuum chambers from one building to another, I found myself talking back to the birds, imitating the Bobwhite and the Chickadee. My favorite time of day was lying down in the grass for ten minutes after lunch and gazing up through the leaves at the sky. I sometimes acted like a goofball at work, keeping people entertained as we all did our jobs, and occasionally I irritated people with my sound effects. As I plunked away at my computer, my knee bounced up and down. I had too much energy to sit at this desk and analyze temperature curves. I was now the one pressing out against those walls.
For over a year I had known about the Outdoor School internship program, but two doubts kept coming up. For one thing, I didn’t know much about zoology, botany, geology, or Chumash history, the four main things taught in the Outdoor School program. And of course I remembered my feelings of futility and exhaustion as my excitement about physics was met with boredom and cynicism. I didn’t want to go through that again. Finally I decided to give it a shot. I figured nine weeks won’t kill me no matter what happens. I left my financial security, my house, and my time zone.
In the three weeks since I arrived, I have watched children transform in just minutes, from jabbering and inattentive to hanging on each word the naturalist says. I have seen “troublesome” kids, the ones who can’t sit or stand still, suddenly with a creative outlet for all their energy, literally running circles around me, pointing at deer and leaves and animal scat, and demonstrating fantastic scientific reasoning and critical thinking. Their teachers are amazed at the rapt silence during hikes, and the parents are amazed when the children fight for the privilege of washing dishes or taking out the compost. On the last day of each week, they scream for us to autograph their shirts and they press out on the bus windows as we wave goodbye. Last night during a hike discussion a boy raised his hand and said, “Excuse me; I have an announcement to make. My mind is officially blown.” Back at the high school, my students were occasionally inspired with wonder; here it happens every day.
- Aaron Clegg ("Red Tail"), March 23, 2006.