Awe Filled Wonder: The Rhythm of Nature

"In the darkness something was happening at last. A voice had begun to sing. It was very far away and Digory found it hard to decide from what direction it was coming. Sometimes it seemed to come from all directions at once. Sometimes he almost thought it was coming out of the earth beneath them. Its lower notes were deep enough to be the voice of the earth herself. There were no words. There was hardly even a tune. But it was, beyond comparison, the most beautiful noise he had ever heard. It was so beautiful he could hardly bear it..."

The Magicians Nephew by C.S. Lewis, 1955

Walking on the beach the other day, I couldn't help but notice the patterns in the sand, the way the rocks seemed to fit perfectly, the layers of rock and sand. I couldn't help but hear and feel the rhythm of the ocean as the waves receded from the shore. As the tide rolled out, it left its pattern in its place. It was a rhythm, not a song, but something more.

The whole earth vibrates with this rhythm, this pattern.

I've been thinking about math lately, about patterns and rhythm and how it's all connected, how we're all connected by this. And I've been thinking about the sterile worlds in which we teach and instruct. Maybe the problem with math education as we know it, whether it be the old or the new math, isn't really the math, but the way we deliver it. We have divorced it from its natural element. We've made it sterile when it should be organic.

I've been wondering about teaching patterns with a long term understanding. Beyond red blue red blue, and more about ebbs and flows, the changing of seasons, the feathers on a bird, the stripes on a caterpillar. I've thought about patterns in a wide sense for some time now- taking long amounts of time to delve into the idea of patterns and finding patterns in places outside of "math". I've always wanted my students to have a deeper understanding, which is why I've always taken so long with patterns. But I'm realizing that I have been missing a piece to actually get them deeper.

Going outside, bringing the outdoors in, that's a big part of my classroom. I am a huge believer in learning through nature, but I don't think I've been as intentional as I thought I was. I think it's this intentionality of noticing patterns that I've been missing. It's learning to ask the right questions to get my students to discover their answers that I needed.

The way the waves hit the shore, they way they create patterns in the sand. The rhythm of the seasons and the predictability of nature. Maybe we wouldn't even have a debate on whether climate change is real or not, if we were taught these things as they should be: organically.

Sitting on the shore as the tide comes in, there is a pattern in the waves. They aren't all uniform and perfect, but when you take the time to sit and observe, when you allow your senses to take over and discover, you'll find you know when the big waves will come, it's in a series, a pattern. Over and over it repeats itself. Pull back, crash down. Pull back crash down. Big wave, smaller wave, big wave, smaller wave. Over and over it goes.

Pretty soon, though, you discover that all big waves are not created equal. They build up in a series, then calm down in a series. You'll figure out when it happens, if you allow yourself the space and time.

Maybe that what's missing. Space and time. We have forced our children's learning (which has evolved through nature over millennia) into a box with four walls and a ceiling, meant to divorce us from the natural world. We've told them they must master certain concepts within a certain amount of time, not taking into account that development doesn't always go on schedule. Michael Gurian, in Richard Louvs book "Last Child In The Woods" (and if you've never read this book, it is a must read) says, "Our brains are set up for an agrarian, nature-oriented existence that came into focus five thousand years ago... " (chapter 8, page 9- ebook version).

I know men who never finished the 8th grade but could look at a stack of lumber and tell you how many cords of wood that would make. They received their education in the woods, cutting down trees and planting more. They grew up understanding the cycle of nature. Farmers who care about the balance of the land, because they know it's only as good as the soil. Being a part of nature, they understand patterns. They can tell when it will snow or rain, they know when the sap is ready to start flowing to make syrup. Time after time, in and out, ebb and flow. Patterns and rhythm.

So what does this mean for me? Well, it means outdoor time with my students. It means moving math "instruction" into nature. It means "math" isn't just what we know, but what we feel, smell, touch, taste, hear. It's about our senses, and bringing them back into focus for learning. It means that math will look a bit different in my classroom than the one next door. And I'm OK with that. I'm more than OK with that, actually.

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