Going into the reading, the idea of the garden as a “co-teacher” made a certain kind of sense, at least as a way to notice how abstractions often start from contact with the world. Framed that way, the design question shifts a bit—from simply moving the same lesson outside to asking what could plausibly happen because we’re in that space. I can imagine some light-lift connections that don’t fight the content too much: timing shadow lengths before talking rates of change, noticing standing waves on a branch before formalizing boundary conditions, or using a magnifier and sunlight to nudge a quick chat about focal length. If a space like this is going to last, looping it into assessment, research, and scheduling would probably help it feel less like an add-on.
The class’s hours in the garden gave that theory a bit of texture. The sound-drawing task, which I thought would be too abstract, ended up being a simple perceive-and-represent loop that felt close to modeling. Apple picking and just paying attention to small details worked as a reset after a busy week. I can see why shorter, routine “micro-labs” might lower the barrier for some students and open a few more sensory entry points into ideas we usually meet through notes and formulas. That said, I still suspect most of the heavy lifting with math and physics happens when we’re back at a desk with time, tools, and a board.
If I try this again, I’d keep it practical and site-dependent so it doesn’t turn into a garden-shaped classroom. A quick sit-spot map using a chosen sense, a few days of vine-length measurements before a slope discussion, a brief wave demo on a line or branch—small things that are easy to pivot if the weather turns. Paperwork and buy-in are real, but standing permission, a short safety routine, and a rain plan would smooth the edges. Overall, I’m open to using the space when it actually carries some of the load, and then letting the more formal work do what it does best once we’re back inside.
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