Though I promised myself I would not take anything new on, in my heart, I have adopted the 1000 Hours Outside Challenge (not to be confused with the Outdoor Hour Challenges). Trying to get the children outside developing a relationship with the wilderness is not really a new thing at all, anyway. I fantasize about it. I outsource it, sending boys to a weekly wilderness day with a local educator, dropping them at the edge of the woods at 9am on Wednesdays, picking them up there again at 4pm. I have seen my sons grow stronger, kinder, calmer, wiser, and ineffably more alive or something, on those days. It is always a goal, always a thing on my to-do list, but I have never been able to pull off doing such a thing myself.
A few times a year, I re-read the various websites about Forest Kindergartens, watching which ones close and where new ones are starting, daydreaming. This last time, killing a few minutes online while I waited between tasks, I went so far as to download the Parent Handbook for one such school. The handbook emphasized to parents that children must have waterproof pants and tall wellies every single day no matter the season. I felt a little lightbulb go off in my head. That one little item -- waterproof pants! -- made the whole notion of being in the forest with the children all day long suddenly seem much more feasible. Had I been, on every outing, subconsciously counting down the minutes to, and then the minutes from, the first leap into a wet, muddy spot? That always determined how long we could, and would, stay out there, and how hard it would be to get anyone to think straight while we were out there.
Later the same week, I chanced across the 1000 Hours Outside website. The idea is simple. "The average American kid watches 12 hours of television every year. Let’s try and match it with fresh air time." The social media impression is of a flurry of Instagram photos of children outside, a weekly number and an annual cumulative total added in a pretty white font over the colorful wellies and glorious mud.
At first it seemed wrong for us. One mom talked about sending her children outdoors first thing in the morning, which wouldn't work here. Having been in both situations as a child myself, I know that bored children set wild and free on city streets are going to find completely different sorts of things to occupy themselves with, not what bored child in a large, woodsy preserve or surrounded by farms would find.
But I kept reading, and I'm glad I did. As I took in more of the site, I recognized a mom who had found a place where she could just sit because the place would occupy the children by itself. This is much more my style: set up the environment and encourage the children to be independent within it. I believe in being an intentionally idle parent, sinking in to the walls and letting them forget I am there.
For years I've been trying to do nature study as a mom-directed activity with children who really prefer to stay inside and build robots. No amount of modeling the keeping of a nature journal has convinced my children to keep one. But reading about how the moms at 1000 Hours do it -- inviting a friend to chat with while the children play -- I realized it was okay if I just brought the children there and let them do what they wanted. No need to carry the journals. No need to have a field guide on hand. Questions that ferment grow stronger. Anyway, maybe they needed a few twenty-hour weeks in the woods before questions would even occur to them.
That was my epiphany. Of course they needed a few twenty-hour weeks of just goofing off, just being in the woods, before questions would even occur to them. No one notices details when the whole entire place is still a rarity.
Maybe.
Well, I can facilitate free play. I know how to look busy and keep an ear out at the same time. So I would do that. If the children weren't going to get wet and cold and miserable, if I didn't have to get them to produce nature journal entries, then I could do this.
I am suddenly abuzz with the sense that I can do this. We can just be there and see what will happen.
A few times a year, I re-read the various websites about Forest Kindergartens, watching which ones close and where new ones are starting, daydreaming. This last time, killing a few minutes online while I waited between tasks, I went so far as to download the Parent Handbook for one such school. The handbook emphasized to parents that children must have waterproof pants and tall wellies every single day no matter the season. I felt a little lightbulb go off in my head. That one little item -- waterproof pants! -- made the whole notion of being in the forest with the children all day long suddenly seem much more feasible. Had I been, on every outing, subconsciously counting down the minutes to, and then the minutes from, the first leap into a wet, muddy spot? That always determined how long we could, and would, stay out there, and how hard it would be to get anyone to think straight while we were out there.
Later the same week, I chanced across the 1000 Hours Outside website. The idea is simple. "The average American kid watches 12 hours of television every year. Let’s try and match it with fresh air time." The social media impression is of a flurry of Instagram photos of children outside, a weekly number and an annual cumulative total added in a pretty white font over the colorful wellies and glorious mud.
At first it seemed wrong for us. One mom talked about sending her children outdoors first thing in the morning, which wouldn't work here. Having been in both situations as a child myself, I know that bored children set wild and free on city streets are going to find completely different sorts of things to occupy themselves with, not what bored child in a large, woodsy preserve or surrounded by farms would find.
But I kept reading, and I'm glad I did. As I took in more of the site, I recognized a mom who had found a place where she could just sit because the place would occupy the children by itself. This is much more my style: set up the environment and encourage the children to be independent within it. I believe in being an intentionally idle parent, sinking in to the walls and letting them forget I am there.
For years I've been trying to do nature study as a mom-directed activity with children who really prefer to stay inside and build robots. No amount of modeling the keeping of a nature journal has convinced my children to keep one. But reading about how the moms at 1000 Hours do it -- inviting a friend to chat with while the children play -- I realized it was okay if I just brought the children there and let them do what they wanted. No need to carry the journals. No need to have a field guide on hand. Questions that ferment grow stronger. Anyway, maybe they needed a few twenty-hour weeks in the woods before questions would even occur to them.
That was my epiphany. Of course they needed a few twenty-hour weeks of just goofing off, just being in the woods, before questions would even occur to them. No one notices details when the whole entire place is still a rarity.
Maybe.
Well, I can facilitate free play. I know how to look busy and keep an ear out at the same time. So I would do that. If the children weren't going to get wet and cold and miserable, if I didn't have to get them to produce nature journal entries, then I could do this.
I am suddenly abuzz with the sense that I can do this. We can just be there and see what will happen.