The Center for Learning in Action (CLiA) runs an outdoor education program that allows for Williams students to develop field trip curricula and host field trips for local elementary school students alongside the Hopkins Memorial Forest Manager. We are sharing two reflections from students involved in the program in the Fall ‘24 semester:
It’s the first cold morning of autumn. The drop in temperature has coincided with a mass falling of leaves, and th e trees now stand in stoic vigil, waiting for snow. Leaves crinkle underfoot as I lead a group of energetic fifth graders along the trail at Hopkins Memorial Forest. Our frozen breaths form a collective cloud, hovering like the steam of an impatient train. Usually, the grade schoolers engage easily with the program content for our geology unit— there’s a universal amazement which surrounds the idea of huge ice rivers pushing rocks around. Today, however, my lectures on the boulders and gullies and streams of the forest fail to capture their interest. All the kids want to do is run.
Leading the charge are two young girls, both professed soccer players. Little legs scurrying to overtake my large stride, they shoot me furtive glances as they subtly pick up the pace until our group blazes uphill. Wrangling them proves difficult, even when I warn them that I will hold their hands (a tried-and-true technique of public humiliation) for the rest of the day if they don’t heed my request to move slower. After ten minutes of struggle, I remembered what Elise– the Hopkins Forest manager– told us at the very beginning of our time together this semester. All that truly matters is forming joyful connections between the kids and the outdoors. With these words in mind, I let my usual lesson plan slip from mind, instead pointing out geologically relevant landmarks and cha
llenging the students to race between them. One of my favorite parts of my job as a Hopkins ForestEducator is I never know what hat I will have to wear going to work that day. Will I be a coach? A historian? A stand-up comedian? A soil scientist, a botanist, a geologist? All are possible within my four-hour shift as an outdoor educator. Working outside encourages this kind of diversification. Although I have a lesson plan in mind, it is not the pre-approved curriculum but the organic rhythms of nature which decide how I teach my classes. I have noticed that this practice of flexibility, of tailoring lessons to the environment around me, extends beyond the physical and in
to the way I interact with students. Much like I survey the forest before deciding how to structure that day’s lesson, I also consider my group of kids. What is their energy like today? What do they profess interest in? Locating sites of learning outside allows for children to take up more space, to be energetic and curious in bold ways which classrooms often curb. On days like this one, where students are jittery and entirely unimpressed by my lectures on erosion, I need to take a breath and remember this. Watching the kids gallop between water bars and old stone walls, glacial erratics and gravel pits, I can’t help but laugh along with them. When they think back on their trip to Hopkins Memorial Forest, I hope they retain some of the concepts and vocabulary I mentioned during our time together. However, more than that, I hope they carry the feeling of running freely through the trees, and that the forest imprinted on them a love for nature that no lesson plan could teach.
- Written by Elsa Martin ‘25
Working with local 4th and 5th graders as an outdoor educator is incredibly rewarding. This is not only because the kids are funny, bright, and—best of all—genuinely ecstatic about exploring nature, but also because it’s fascinating to watch their personalities take form. I came into my job at CLiA with an understanding of children that was dubious at best. I am the second-to-youngest in my whole extended family, and I’ve never had much of a chance to interact with children. Consequently, what little I knew about kids was based on stereotypes and my own hazy memories of youth. Before my first day, I was genuinely concerned about what I would need to do if the kids started revolting, running off, arguing; even hurting themselves or one another. It sounds silly now, and I’m admittedly an anxious person, but it’s nevertheless true. Empathy isn’t something we’re born with—it’s a skill people develop gradually, which is why early childhood education emphasizes lessons like: “don’t push,” “say you’re sorry,” and above all, “be kind.”
Be that as it may, the elementary schoolers visiting Hopkins Forest seem to have empathy in spades. A perfect example is that of a 5th-grader whom I’ll call Meera for the purposes of this article. Meera had an outgoing, playful personality—a contrast to the majority of her classmates, who often held back and let their more boisterous peers take up most of the opportunities for participation. I trusted Meera and her classmates to split themselves up into groups for an activity in which the kids hunt around the woods for producers, consumers, and decomposers. Meera quickly found friends to pair up with, then—tactfully, not bossily—facilitated the rest of her friends’ pairing up so that nobody was excluded. When I permitted Meera’s group to add an extra member, Meera lit up with joy. Then throughout the activity, Meera remained highly attentive to her peers. She was constantly drawing people into conversation and made sure all of her classmates had a chance to see the newt she uncovered. And speaking of newts, Meera’s empathy extended to even the most maligned creepy-crawlies. She treated a spider with remarkable sweetness and gentleness, and for a later activity even drew the spider—endowing her illustration with a spiffing top hat. While Meera stood out to me—her kindness and consideration went beyond that of most adults—I am constantly noting instances of students being kind to one another in Hopkins Forest. They help each other up steep hills, they pass along rocks and leaves and caterpillars so that everyone can get a chance to see; they encourage their less forthcoming classmates to participate in discussion. The kids are still learning, and I’m still quick to offer a chiding look when they boss each other around or are otherwise disrespectful. But ultimately, working with local elementary schoolers taught me that people, particularly children, have so much more capacity for empathy than I had previously given them credit for.
I have to imagine that part of why their kindness is so distinct during these field trips is the fact that this all takes place outdoors. Hopkins Forest is a learning environment, but one much less structured and much more playful than a traditional classroom. As students figure out how to play and complete activities together in a novel environment, they are incentivized to work together. The “success” of a visit to the forest is not a function of how many organisms they can individually find, or how many facts they know about local flora and fauna. Such things are rewarded, but truly, the thing they get most out of their field trip to Hopkins Forest is quality time spent, a function of exploring, playing, and working with friends.
- Written by Naomi Ross ‘25