concentration

A change comes over a person when attention is focused on one thing.

Today in the garden we explored the compost up close, with a group of 4th and 5th graders. With 3 or 4 children gathered around a tray of compost fresh from the bins, armed with a magnifying glass and a spoon for closer inspections, initial "eww, gross!" comments faded and a look of intense concentration overcame each child. Exclamations of discoveries--"a centipede!" "a worm cocoon!" "what's this?"-- and a general settling down overcame the whole group.

Wandering bodies and minds and eyes gathered themselves to focus on this tiny universe. The group stopped looking at each other, too engrossed in this new way of seeing dirt to be distracted by anything.

The whole body changes at this point. Fidgeting ceases. Eyebrows crease. Worms are brought inches away from the face for observation. Squeamishness is forgotten. This is when questions start to bubble up, and real knowledge begins.

Back inside, we piece together a compost food chain after experiencing many of its links. The invisible ones--bacteria, nematodes, molds--are more easily understood in this context. Relationships are imagined.

Compost now is understood not as a pile of rotting stuff, but as an intricate community with a cast of characters, some of which have been be seen and touched. The compost taught about itself; all that was necessary was to provide the right tools and a little direction. Then the worms and the earwigs, the millipedes and centipedes, the snails and the pillbugs finish the job. They call on our focus and once they have it, our minds and imaginations are activated. We enter a learning dimension. This is my school.