Citizen Scientists

I have loved nature and the natural world for as long as I can remember. My parents nurtured my various fads and interests, from fossils to minerals to flora and fauna. I loved to observe, and even to this day get really excited by things like the annual monarch butterfly migration (as you can see in the picture I took of the very first monarch caterpillar I saw this season!).

I love the idea of the 18th- and 19th-century "Naturalist," the educated gentlemen (and gentlewomen!) who spent their days on long walks, observing nature. I realize I'm romanticizing this (I mean, really, all they had to do all day was wander around?), but I still think it's important to pass on that enjoyment of observing the natural world to our students today.

There are some great websites and tools out there to help. One that I've used with my students is Project Noah, which according to their website is "a tool to explore and document wildlife and a platform to harness the power of citizen scientists everywhere." I love their extensive area for educators, which includes lesson plans as well as places to start your own exploring "missions."

Another favorite is Journey North, a website that brings together citizen scientists to study migrations worldwide. At the risk of sounding too nerdy ('cause y'all haven't figured that out already!), I myself have been uploading my own sightings of monarch butterflies and caterpillars this spring. 

If you're looking for a fabulous book study for your kids, which combines history, nature and gender equality issues, I would suggest "The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate." This young lady learns a lot from her naturalist grandfather, including a passion for science that clashes with her Victorian upbringing.

If you have any suggestions of your own, please leave them in comments below! And don't forget to keep an eye out during your next walk -- who knows what you'll find!

I Just Can't Do It...Yet

I am not good at math.

Or organized sports.

Or physical activity in general.

I'm not terribly good at drawing, or singing, or dancing.

I can create quite a long list of things I'm not good at, and I'm sure you can, too.

So can our students.

If you think about it, it's the perfect "out."  It's defense of self. "You can't be mad at me if I'm not good at this thing," the reasoning goes, "because I already told you I'm no good at it."

Even (or especially) among my gifted students, I hear it all the time.

"I'm not good at reading."

"I'm not good at writing."

"I'm not good at spelling."

"I'm not good at technology."

It would drive me nuts. How can you acknowledge their fear (they really weren't all that great at those things), while still providing support to make it better -- when they're fighting against you the whole way?

This week, I added a powerful weapon to my toolbox, courtesy of Class Dojo:

"It's not that you're not good at it. You're just not good at it...yet."

Who would have thought those three letters would have made such a huge difference? And yet, isn't that exactly what we needed? An acknowledgement of the truth -- "Nope, you're not good at it." But encouragement at the same time: "Yet."

I was so excited by this ridiculously easy, yet revolutionary breakthrough, that I shared it with the Hubby (a 10th-grade English teacher).  He found out quickly that it works just as well on the big kids.

"Sir, I'm not good at reading," one of his students informed him, a few minutes into a new short story.

"That's ok," Hubby replied. "You're just not good at reading...yet. But stick with me -- we're going to keep working on it, and you'll get better."

Kid grumbled...but went back to his seat, and read.

So...I may not be very good at math, or singing, or sports...yet.

Designing Experiments

I never really played with Hot Wheels growing up -- I was much more into unicorns than cars. After this last month, though, I have to say that these speedy little toys are definitely at the top of my to-give-to-nieces-and-nephews list.

Right before Christmas, a huge box of cars, ramps, loops and connectors showed up at my door, courtesy of their Speedometry curriculum. I figured it'd be good for a challenge or two, a nice break from the routine, but nothing serious.

Boy, was I wrong.

My second-graders have been experimenting with Hot Wheels for the past month -- first designing tracks to see how far they could make one go, then following the Speedometry curriculum's lesson on potential and kinetic energy. Their theme for the year is "change," so I introduced the idea of "variables" -- the parts of an experiment that can change. We did Speedometry's book/ramp experiment -- then branched out to our own.

I created this experiment design page, and my kids have been designing their own experiments with their own identified variables. Questions included "How does the number of tracks in the loop affect the car's ability to go around it?" And "Does the type of car determine the success of the loop?" (As you can probably tell, my second-graders are really into loops!) 

I'm not sure how much longer we'll be working with the Hot Wheels, but I definitely give them two-thumbs up as classroom supplies.

Celebrating a Day of Play

Once again, my classroom is a wreck -- and I couldn't be happier. This all started with the video below. If you haven't heard of Caine's Arcade, you really need to watch it.

I watched this video a few years ago, then remembered it again lately when I heard about the Global Cardboard Challenge. A day of play? Creativity? Innovation? It was an activity designed for my kids.

After watching this amazing video about the power of imagination (and a little packing tape), my fourth graders went all out with their version of cardboard arcade games. For the past few weeks, they've designed, cut out, failed, redesigned, stuck with it, and created some great games.

  It may look like a pile of boxes held together with duct tape (and, well, it is), but when you get close, the detail and ingenuity really come through. One child made his own bean bags, another figured out how to harness gravity to create a working ball return. This is the type of hands-on engineering that gets kids hooked into science and math.

Fourth grade's S.A.G.E. Arcade

Next week, we've invited the entire school to come play in their Arcade. If you have a few boxes and some packing tape lying around, I encourage you to unleash your imagination (and your kids), and create your own Day of Play.

"Seeing" Writing

For my whole life, the written word has been like breathing to me. Reading and writing are something I could just do -- they made sense. 

This probably had something to do with my parents, who love to tell how they had to hide my books from my toddler self, who would insist that they read all six of them -- in order -- and who would get really, really grumpy if pages were skipped. (Yes, I am the oldest and a little spoiled.)

With this natural affinity, it's been one of my biggest challenges as a teacher to help my kids write. For a lot of people -- particularly those who are visual/spatial thinkers -- there is a huge disconnect between the stories they tell, the stories they experience, and then turning around and putting those stories on paper. 

With 80% of my students qualifying for the gifted program nonverbally, I needed to step up my game. 

So this summer, I started reading an amazing book by Betty Maxwell and Crystal Punch called Picture It! Teaching Visual-Spatial Learners. They have an abundance of tips and tricks to help visual learners connect in every subject.

I've also turned my hand to co-teaching.

Last year, I wrote about breaking through one of my student's writer's block . This led to some great conversations with our fourth-grade team (the year of the...duh duh DUH...writing test!). And as a result, we've created "Writing Workshop Wednesdays," where I'm coming in and teaching writing in a more visual/spatial way.

Our first lesson (inspired by the Maxwell/Punch book), had kids visualize an expository composition as a tree. The central idea -- like the trunk of the tree -- had to be nice and strong. The main ideas are the branches, and they come from the central idea. The details are the leaves and birds' nests and acorns that make the tree interesting. 

They drew their writing tree into their journals, then created a field of "idea flowers" -- topics that they may want to write about someday. Then they "picked" an "idea flower" and did a quick write -- trying to incorporate their central idea, at least one main idea and some great details.

It went great. EVERY student, no matter their ability level or learning style, wrote successfully.

As this year of writing continues, I'll keep sharing what we've done -- and if you have any great visual/spatial writing ideas, feel free to shoot them my way. I could use them!

An Open Letter to Brian Mendler

Dear Brian,

I heard you speak this week. You were funny, and gripping, and you spoke truth. 

You had me nodding when you talked about fairness: "Every child gets what he needs to succeed."

When you talked about privacy: "I will talk to you about your child. And only your child."

When you railed against the "everybody doing it the same way" mentality, when you ranted about behavior charts and behaviors that set kids up for failure, I nodded along. I teared up when you spoke about your fourth-grade teacher -- no kid deserves that experience, and far too many have it.

For almost five hours straight, I listened intently. And believe me, that is not something I do very easily.

You had me laughing, and in tears. But in the last 10 minutes of your presentation, you lost me. Not just gone, but completely furious.

Here's why.

You were in the middle of a riff on things you hated in schools. Teacher of the Month. Student of the Month. Things that inherently set staff and students against one another, instead of bringing them together. Ok, I get that.

"But what I really hate," you said. "What I really hate in school, are the words gifted and talented."

Every child has gifts, you said. Every child has talents. You invited the crowd to cheer and hoot and whistle.

I was dumbfounded.

How could you? How could you? A man who just spent five hours preaching "fairness" and "doing what's right for kids" and "giving kids what they need to succeed" -- how could you turn that exact same thing into a laugh line? And worse yet, for an audience of people who -- let's face it -- probably have some issues doing the fair thing in their classrooms. Why else would we be here?

I get it -- you're probably talking about the label. Gifted and talented. And believe me -- I hate that label, too. I hate it for what it implies about kids who aren't "GT." And I hate it for what it does to my students who are. Gifted and talented? What does that mean? What more do these people want from me?

I, like you, believe that every child has gifts, or talents -- something they are amazing at, or passionate about, or very special about just them. Sometimes those gifts are things schools traditionally value, and sometimes -- like your humor and public speaking -- not so much.

So, what's with my objection? Because you didn't clarify, Brian. You didn't say you hated the label, but understand the program. You didn't say that it was something created to help kids get what they need to succeed. Not all kids are created equally, Brian -- didn't you teach me that? And some are created with gifts and talents so advanced for their age that a regular classroom teacher needs help in meeting their needs.

And, unfortunately -- you know that word, the one that means "I hate that this bad thing is going to happen but I know that sometimes it will" -- unfortunately, there are some teachers who, unless that label is in place, will do nothing extra for that child. 

Gifted and Talented is not a pedestal -- it's a protection. I don't like the words either, but they're the ones we are stuck with, because they are the ones protected by law. The law in most states says if a child is identified as gifted and talented, they deserve some sort of special education to meet their needs. They deserve teachers to differentiate, to do what is necessary to help them succeed in school -- and not be bored to tears by content and material they've had under control since the first grade.

You know, to be fair.

Learning to Facilitate

You know you've done something right as a teacher when seven 8-year-old boys come into your room right after recess, see a stack of books and say "ooooh, research!"

My second graders have officially begun work on their LEGO robot dinosaur project. I introduced them to robotics using LEGO's WeDo robots. They took to it like little ducks to water -- or rather, like little pterosaurs to the sky.

To help the project along, I asked our librarian for any books she had on the subject. This being an elementary school, she provided us with a pile of dinosaur books. I spread them out on the table, and had planned to have the kids look at the pictures, pick out the dinosaur they wanted to build, and move on from there.

Here's where the magic happened.

First, they each grabbed a book or two, and curled up somewhere quiet. (A bookworm myself, I have lots of reading nooks around my room in the form of carpets, floor pillows and a big comfy papasan chair.) Then one of them says, "Mrs. Z, can I get some Post-its to take notes on what I'm reading?"

Well, if you must.

He passed sticky notes out to all the rest, and I set the timer for 15 minutes, figuring they'd be ready to move on after that. 

The timer went off, and a collective groan went around the room. "We need more time! Please!" 

Well, ok then.

They started to get excited about what they were reading, and began pointing it out to the other boys. "Did you know dinosaurs are still alive today? Birds are living dinosaurs!"

Then my chattiest one piped up -- "Guys! Guys! We need to be quiet, and take our notes so we can read as much as possible, and we'll share it after!" 

"Oh, yeah yeah yeah." And they settled down.

Well, alrighty then.

Seven boys. After recess. My squirlliest group every week. 

Silent. Reading. Taking notes.

Because they got to choose. They own this project in a way that makes them intrinsically motivated to do their very best on it.

Sometimes, as a teacher, your job is to teach. But sometimes, you get to learn. And today, I learned a very big lesson in facilitation. Over the last few years, I had given my boys the tools -- they knew how to take notes, and group them afterwards into categories. And they had the confidence to look at a pile of books and decide what they wanted to do with it. 

They didn't need me to be the boss today.

So I stepped back, mentally chucked my lesson plans out the window, and curled up with a dinosaur book myself.

"Did you know....?"

Sure, Guys, We Can Make a Robot Dinosaur Out of LEGOs...

   A few months ago, I was having lunch with my second graders (I do this with every GT group, every other week). 
   And I asked them, "What ideas do you have for our next project?"
   "Oooh! We should do dinosaurs!"
   "Robots!"
   "Learn to blow stuff up!"
   "Basketball -- we should learn about basketball!"
   "LEGOs! I love to make stuff with LEGOs!"
   I took a deep breath, preparing to settle them down a bit, when one of the boys (it's an all-boys group), piped up. "Guys, guys -- we can make this a win/win."
I sat back in my chair and listened as this 7-year-old negotiated a project that every single kid was on board with.
   "We can make a robot, out of LEGOs, in the shape of a dinosaur -- and it can throw a basketball!" he said. (You will notice that even the 7-year-old knew the blowing-stuff-up option was a no-go.)
   "Yeah!" "Yeah!"
   Then seven sets of big eyes turned to me. "Can we do that, Mrs. Zepeda?"
   And I was so impressed at the level of conversation, and their use of Covey's 7 Habits to listen and negotiate with each other, that I said,

   "Sure, guys, we can make a robot dinosaur out of LEGOs."

   Now, to figure out how...

Breaking Writer's Block

The week before Spring Break, I was in tears. So was one of my fourth-graders.

“Just write it! It doesn’t have to be perfect – it just has to be there,” I said, trying again – unsuccessfully – to break through his block.

“I CAN’T,” he said back. “I CAN’T put that sentence in my story. It’s BORING.”

“But it doesn’t matter,” I replied. “It doesn’t matter if it’s boring, it’d be done – and you can move on.”

“I CAN’T,” he insisted, tears leaking down his cheeks.

Frustrated, tired, heartbroken for this kid, I let it go. At least I could tell his teacher he tried, that he wanted to write – he just couldn’t get out of his own head long enough to get it on the paper.

I went home that day feeling like a failure. I had tried every trick I knew – thinking maps, foldables, graphic organizers – and they hadn’t worked.  Oh, they’d worked a bit – he had a paper, but it wasn’t finished. And it wouldn’t be. And the state test in writing was in a week.

Over dinner, I asked my husband – a high-school English teacher – for advice.

First, he called me stupid – “Not you,” he insisted. “Your approach. Don’t you think every other teacher has already told him that?”

“Ok, dear,” I said, my teeth a little gritted. “What would you do?”

He talked about sculpting, and about appreciating writing – even state-test-practice-so-boring-I-want-to-poke-my-eyes-out-with-a-spork writing – as art.

“You have to appreciate that to him, he’s making art. So you talk about art. A sculptor doesn’t make a statue right away – he has to work with the clay. Pinch it, scrape it, carve it, until it’s finally a beautiful sculpture. Writing is the same – he has to understand that he will never get the story out of his head perfectly. He has to get clay on the page, take the words out, then work with them until it’s right. But he can’t work with them until they’re on the paper – he has to put clay on the page.”

I nodded, but was skeptical. This made sense to me, but would the analogy click with a 9-year-old?

I figured I’d try, so last week – three days before the big test – I talked to my student. I talked about sculpting, and working with clay.

It was classic.

His eyes widened, his eyebrows went up. “Oooooooooh,” he said. “You’re talking about my writing.”

“What connection did you just make?” I asked (it’s best to check with GT kids – they can make some extremely…interesting…connections).

“You mean, I have to plan, then write my rough draft, then my final draft. And I can keep working on it – that it doesn’t have to be perfect right away.”

I nodded. “You’re putting clay on the page,” I said.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Clay on the page.”

Then a day later he wrote – a full page – on his own. In one sitting.

“This,” he said, after proudly marching down to my room to share, “is just my ROUGH draft.”

Eh...Maybe I'll Write This Tomorrow

Hello, folks. My name is Jennine, and I'm a procrastinator.

This is a long-standing habit, and I believe it may be genetic. I come from a family of procrastinators,  and if I had children, I'm sure I would be raising little procrastinators, too.

I once spoke to a class of middle-school-aged gifted students about procrastination, because the truth is, when you're a highly capable person, you really can get away with it -- a lot. "Look, guys, I understand leaving things until the last minute. It just can't LOOK like it was left until the last minute."

The "last-minute" and I are on rather intimate terms. He attends our birthday parties, I send him cards on Christmas (well, usually around the first of the year...or perhaps March).

I bring this up because I have not posted a single thing since November.

Oh, I've had thousands of ideas. My kids are doing amazing things in class -- building robots, creating Leprechaun Traps, even launching "Genius Hour,"....but somehow, I just could not gather the gumption to sit down and write about them.

I could make excuses, and some of them may even be legit. But the honest truth is I did not set a deadline, I did not have anybody to hold me accountable, and even though this blog is a personal Wildly Important Goal -- without accountability, it's a goal that just didn't happen.

So today, I am setting a deadline: Every Saturday, I will post some fun, creative or interesting ideas for teachers. There. It's official -- I can't back out now.

I may be writing late Friday night (or even in the wee hours of Saturday morning), but it will be on time, every time. On my honor as a procrastinator.

Negotiating a Win/Win in Class

I’ve been pondering the idea of win/win situations lately, and their application in the classroom. In my work, I hear a lot from teachers frustrated with their GT students who are refusing to perform assignments to their high ability. This ranges from reading logs to projects to daily classwork to homework – it’s not getting done, and the teacher is at the end of her rope with explaining, cajoling, calling parents, giving “working lunches” – nothing is working.

And I’m beginning to think, “Well, yeah – you’ve created, at best, a win/lose relationship.” But, how can I spread this message with diplomacy, without making it seem like an attack on a teacher but an observation of the situation from somebody who sees both sides?

Covey’s relationships, from his 7 Habits series:

Win/win – everybody comes away with the feeling that their opinion has been valued, and their needs are being met.

Win/lose – one person comes away with their needs being met; the other person is doing all the “giving” in the relationship.

Lose/lose – neither party is satisfied with the outcome of this situation.

To examine these relationships in a typical classroom setting:

Student X never finishes classroom assignments (let alone projects or homework!). If he does finish something, he will usually be the last one done. However, what has been finished shows high mastery of skill.

A lose/lose outcome: X’s teacher insists on him doing the same work as everybody else, regardless of mastery shown. It’s only fair – if the rest of the class has to do 15 problems, then so does X. His folder is full of messages to his parents about incomplete assignments, and his grades are terrible. He has shut down emotionally in class, to the point where even the bare minimum is not being met. X’s teacher is frustrated – she can’t get him to do anything. X is frustrated – school is not meeting his needs at all, and he’d really rather not be there.

A win/lose outcome: X’s teacher insists on him doing the same work as everybody else, regardless of mastery shown. It’s only fair – if the rest of the class has to do 15 problems, then so does X. If he doesn’t get it done in class, then he is made to work during lunch or other “down” time in the day. X complies, and the work is “completed.” The quality, however, is fairly poor, and does not show his true capability. The teacher has “won” – her needs are being met (mostly) with his completed assignments and compliance. X, however, has gained little from this interaction other than an understanding of “how to play the (school) game.”

A win/win outcome: X’s teacher determines her non-negotiables for an assignment. It must be high quality; it must show mastery of the work. However, she allows room for negotiation. Instead of completing the entire worksheet, perhaps X can get a “quality discount.” If, say, he can choose which 6 problems to complete, and completes them without error, then he doesn’t have to finish the rest of the assignment, and is graded on what he has done.  But that’s not fair! Everybody else has to complete the assignment! Well, then why not offer this to everybody in the class? If the majority are showing mastery of a subject after only completing half of the practice…then perhaps they are all ready to move on, and insisting on finishing a page for the sake of finishing it is a waste of the teacher’s time as well as the students’. The teacher gets what she needs – an assessment of what the student is capable of doing. And X gets what he needs – some choice over how his time will be used.

It seems, as we get further into the school year and the stresses of planning, grading, state assessments and the like begin to mount, the willingness to negotiate with students becomes less and less. What students need – and GT students need in particular – is some choice and control over what they do and how they do it. I don’t mean letting a student get away with not working at all – that is still a win/lose relationship, although the student in that case is the victor, and the teacher the losing party. 

But please, as you plan, identify areas where student choice can be implemented. If you find yourself in a win/lose or lose/lose relationship, consider stepping back and talking to your student.

“What is it about this assignment that keeps you from completing it? This is why I gave you the assignment, and what I need you to show me through it. How can we rework this so we both feel as if we’re getting what we need from it?”

With a little bit of flexibility, you may just save yourself – and your students – a lot of frustration and wasted time.

Putting the "F-word" Back in School

"Oh, your kids really have fun, don't they?"

I've been asked this question, or versions of it, more times than I can count over the past year as a GT facilitator, in tones ranging from wistfulness to sneer. And I reply, "Yes, they do -- and they think hard, too."

Because really, people, what's wrong with a little fun in school?

I'm thinking of this after spending an hour watching my fifth graders just have fun today. We were supposed to teleconference with NASA, but due to technological difficulties, had to reschedule. Which left me a classroom of fifth graders and an unscheduled hour.

Pentago

"Free choice!" I called out, deciding to give them their Christmas present early. They scattered -- LEGOs, chess, marble runs. Some chose new challenges, like Pentago or In a Pickle. Others went to old favorites -- Quoridor and Quirkle.

To be honest, I struggled with this decision -- was I wasting an hour? What would their teachers -- strapped for time with the stress of state testing in three subjects -- say if they found out?

Then I stepped back and just watched. Part of our district's mission statement reads: "...ISD,where we encourage collaboration and communication, [and] promote critical thinking..."

In their play, my students were embracing all three of those district goals. So yes, they were having fun. And thinking -- a lot.

Managing Overload

Do you ever feel like you're on information overload? That so many good ideas have come your way that you just don't know where to look or what to do next?

That's where I am right now.

I work with some amazingly talented, creative, passionate people, who follow the blogs and read the books of other amazingly talented, creative, passionate people.

That much creativity has left my head spinning this week.  I am full of questions: What should I do next with my students?  Am I doing enough? Is that creative enough? Is that really reaching them the way I want it to? Is there enough depth to that assignment? Will that prepare them for life in our fast-paced, changing society? Will they enjoy it? Will I enjoy it? Is this important? Am I doing the important things with them?

I have these precious butterflies (I know, old, tired, rather melodramatic metaphor, but still appropriate), and I don't want to waste a second of the time we spend together.

So, what to do next?

Here are just a few of the ideas that have come my way this week.

From colleagues: Genius Hour, Engineering Mystery Bags, and the most intriguing, Traveling Differentiation Suitcases. (The suitcases are the creation of a fellow GT facilitator. Made from MacBook boxes -- our district has a surplus of the boxes at the moment following computer upgrades -- the suitcases include everything necessary for an advanced lesson for a small number of students. Novel, handouts, instructions, etc. Genius!)

From the web: Coding for kids, books clubs for GT parents, and really, anything that Terry Eichholz writes about.

I'm glad I have a weekend to ponder and digest these ideas...I'm sure something great will come out of the mix.

Facilitating Failure

This week, I posted about a cool LEGO math activity I did recently with my first graders. One of my kids -- a first-grader determined to learn square roots, as he believes himself to already be the master of lesser maths -- was not satisfied with a two- or three-digit number. Nope -- he wanted to go to five digits.

So, I let him. Did I know it would be nearly impossible to do in our limited time, with our limited number of LEGOs? Of course. And I didn't say yes because I wanted him to fail at his choice -- this wasn't a cheap opportunity to tell him "I told you so -- now, learn what I tell you."

Instead, I figured it would be a great "teaching moment" for him to really understand the idea of exponential growth behind place values.

First, he picked a number in the 50,000s. He quickly revised that downward to 10,000 -- still quite the feat to accomplish with LEGO studs.

We added. We skip-counted and multiplied (he is gifted at math). We never made it to five digits, but I think, using the available base plates, that we made it to around 2,000 studs before he had to go back to class.

Sure, he failed at his original task -- building a five-digit number. But he and the two girls with him all left with a great understanding of just how huge a number 10,000 is.

Sometimes we learn more by failing than succeeding -- an important lesson I try to teach my GT kids, and one I often need to remember myself.

Down the (Glowing) Rabbit Hole

Did you know that scientists have learned how to splice jellyfish DNA into furry creatures' DNA to make glow-in-the-dark critters? I had no idea, until my fourth graders started researching DNA this fall. And oh, what a fascinating, complex study it has become.

I envisioned this project oh-so-simply. The yearly theme for my fourth-grade GT class is "structure." Of course, we will do the toothpick bridges and famous buildings, but how interesting to add a biological component to this theme. And what is more integral to living creatures' structure than DNA?

I figured we'd do a little research, present what we learned with a PowerPoint, Keynote, maybe a sculpture or two...and move on.

Not so much.

This is the joy and difficulty of teaching a GT class. As we delved into this fascinating topic, my students' paths shot out like the tentacles of that glowing jellyfish. Suddenly, we're looking at DNA, RNA, cloning, mutations, GMOs, genetic engineering...and on and on and on. By our second day of research, I realized a quickie presentation was not going to cut it.

"How would you guys feel about making this our semester project -- and creating a DNA museum?" I asked them. Cheers! Excitement! And so it begins...

We used a Circle Map to define a quality museum exhibit.

"Digging" Science

Yes, ok, the title is a little punny -- but if you've ever met my dad, you know I couldn't resist a good (or bad) pun. My second-graders are in the middle helping to build a school garden. We've been doing research on plants, but I knew if I didn't get their hands dirty soon, there would be issues.

The big garden is not quite ready yet, but I figured a window herb garden would be just the ticket -- and if I could mix in some scientific methodology, even better.

I started with plastic cups, dirt (just a bag from the local box store -- nothing fancy), some seeds and some water. I also put together these gardening journal pages so they could document the process -- just like scientists do.

They had to measure, in grams, the amount of soil they added to their cups. They had to measure the depth they planted their seeds (in centimeters), and they had to measure, in milliliters, how much water they gave their plants. They loved it!

Plus, they will come every day to document their plants' progress -- because this is what scientists do. They measure. They observe. They document.

When their plants start to (hopefully) grow, we will work together to draw conclusions about what worked, what didn't, and what we may do the next time.

Their Directions

Soil Measuring Station

Seed-planting Station 

Watering Station 

Stealing Ideas

I played a really mean trick on my students recently -- but for a good reason.

As they walked in the door, I told them, very excitedly, that we were going to have a drawing contest. Being the competitive GT kids that they are, they were all super excited, and immediately got to work drawing the best space-scape, plant or structural drawing they could. They were really into it -- hunched over, shielding their amazing, winning drawings from prying eyes.

They had five minutes -- timed. Then I had them trade their drawings with another person, put their names on that person's drawing, and hand them in. This is where it got a little mean.

"Oh, John!" I exclaimed, looking at Stephanie's drawing. "What color! What imagination!"

"Oh, Gina! What beautifully rendered leaves!" while looking at Maria's drawing.

This garnered predictable results.

"That's not hers -- that's mine!" "I don't like this!" "But, that's mine!"

"But...it has their name on it," I'd reply every time, then picked a "winner." Inevitably the winners felt guilty for being recognized over a picture they hadn't really drawn, and the real "winner" felt extremely irritated.

I debriefed with every group afterwards -- a necessity, because confusion and hurt feelings happened in every class. I apologized, but explained that this was the point -- that your brain is much more likely to remember something it learns when there is a strong emotion attached, and this was a lesson I never wanted them to forget.

Plagiarism -- the bane of every teacher who teaches resarch, from first grade through post-graduate studies. Now my students from ages 7 through 10 have an extremely clear understanding of the issue. We followed up this activity (which I learned from a training this summer in the IIM research method), with a Brainpop video and circle map about plagiarism.


We began with the end in mind. I want them to be good researchers for life -- which means confronting the issue of plagiarism now, before bad habits form. A little mean? Yes. Are they better researchers for it? Absolutely.