Snapshot of a work week, continued...

Let's see, where were we? Wednesday morning? Again, after dropping off four kids (first Sophie at the Y, then the two boys and their nearly live-in friend at school) I head for work, arriving at around 8:45. I have to look around for a set of geography cards for the ranger hike I have planned. A ranger hike means that my class gets to break into five groups, each of which will interpret something interesting along a trail. I usually have the kids teach about trees and what uses the Ohlone Indians put them to, but I've decided to have the focus of this ranger hike be plate tectonics.
I finally find the cards (they were in a coworker's backpack) and the bell rings for field class. The day is gray and a heavy mist drifts down, dampening the ground. Rain is expected for the next couple of days. Most of the kids have dressed accordingly. I grab some raincoats out of the aptly named raincoat room for the rest.
Once in the forest, I have the kids circle up in a Redwood circle, or faerie ring. I tell them that wood faerie built it, and with a straight face launch into an in-depth explanation about wood faerie. After awhile, I ask if any of the class has a more plausible explanation for the perfect circle of trees. Some do, but nobody quite arrives at the truth. We discuss Redwood adaptations for a few minutes, and then the kids get their journals. I break them into groups and explain how the ranger hike will work. I take the first group down the trail with me while Terra occupies the rest of the class with a game of Chief. Once group one is set up with their cards (information on plate tectonics), I tell them to howl like coyotes as a signal for Terra to send the next group. They do, and I move down the trail to scope out a location for group two. Group one teaches group two, and then sends them my way, howling for group three as they do so. I set up group two with some more geology information, and tell them to point out some Poison Oak vines climbing the Redwoods. Group three is walking towards us, so I move further down the trail to wait for them. When group three, after being taught by group two, reaches me, I point out a nearby Wood rat nest, and show them the non-native Periwinkle growing along the trail. I instruct them to pull periwinkle and to tell the other kids to do so as well. I also tell them to oversee the gathering of Madrone bark for the afternoon's leaf mounting project. And, if that wasn't enough, they get some geology cards as well. The next group just gets some geology cards. I tell them to point out the small Turret spider homes nearby. Can you guess what Turret spider homes look like? The fifth and final group gets to stand between a couple of huge, off kilter Douglas Firs. The Firs are leaning over the trail, and if one looks up, one can see that as they grew, the angle is corrected towards the vertical. More shifting due to the fault zone? Most likely. After everybody has taught everybody else, and everybody has tried eating Douglas Fir needles, we gather together again and I make the kids do page 4 in their journals - nutrient cycle/food chain. Basic stuff, but some of the kids have a bit of trouble. On the way back to camp, one of the girls almost steps on a newt. Inspecting it more closely, I notice that it has no eyes. I take some pictures and launch into a short lecture on amphibian mutations and what an indicator species is. I bring up miner's canaries. I ask the kids what they would do if they knew that a sensitive class of animals like amphibians were disappearing? I make the point that miners could get out of a mine if they knew there were dangerous gases, but we can't leave the Earth if a global "miner's canary", like the amphibian population, were to die off. I end by telling them that the amphibian population is dying off. Kind of a downer, but the truth.

But hey, it's lunch time now.

For the afternoon hike, Terra goes on break and three of the kids from Squirrel's group join us - the girl with a broken foot, the girl with spinibifida, and the boy with no lower legs. Squirrel is going up the creek with his group this afternoon, so I volunteered to take the kids in his group who need wheelchairs to get around. All I have planned is an activity called Rikers (leaf mounting and labeling) and a visit to the nature lab (one room nature museum down by the staff house), with the possibility of a visit to the pond if we get the other stuff done.
Rikers goes smoothly. Butterfly, the girl with Spinibifida, has an aide along. Rat, the boy with no legs, is very mobile, hopping in and out of his wheelchair. He has just arrived at camp today because he was sick. The girl with the broken foot is riding in one of the camp's off-road wheelchairs (actually a jogging stroller), as is Butterfly.
The object of Rikers is to mount and label examples of plants the Ohlone people used. The four examples we use are California Bay Laurel, Redwood, Tan Oak, and Madrone bark. We get throught the project assembly line style. The only part that the kids have a problem with is wrapping the project in cellophane. This requires a level of dexterity not yet attained by some sixth graders.
Outside, it is raining.
After we finish Rikers, we visit the nature lab, home of various taxidermied animals, bones, educational posters, microscopes (including a video microscope), two red-eared sliders (a new addition, thanks to Squirrel), Orange-head and Hissing cockroaches (mine), two snakes (Gopher and California King), and for today only, my Flat Rock scorpion. I let the kids have some time checking the place out on their own, and then teach a quick lesson on scientific classification. Afterwards, I get out the cockroaches. I don't think I've ever seen a group as nervous about cockroaches as this one. Some of the kids touch them anyway. Discussion ensues - why is it that all of the animals we consider "dirty" are ones that live near humans? Next, I get out the scorpion and hold it under a black light so people can see it glow green. That gets lots of ooohs and aaaahs. I tell them that the scorpion has been on Earth for about 400 million years. Talk about having some highly successful adaptations. Soon it's snake time. I get out the California King snake. The kids are interested and ask lots and lots of questions. Some kids hold the snake. Some just touch it. Some back away. More questions get asked. The clock ticks away, accompanied by the sound of rain. Soon it's time to get back to camp for recess. No pond today.

I don't have to oversee recess today, so I have some down time. I spend it doing various, rather forgettable things. For dinner there is spaghetti. Water continues to drift down from the darkening sky.

The night hike starts late. Rain (the hub host, not precipitation) has gone home sick, so Squirrel fills in. By the time we get our kids, it's nearly 7:30. We're missing Redwood, who has a slight fever. Terra is back. It is really dark. I ask the kids if they're nervous. About ten hands go up. I do my best to allay their fears, ending by having them "throw" their fears into a piece of flash paper and lighting it on fire. We leave our meeting spot in a single file, centipede style (each body segment on a centipede has two legs and is by nature forced to follow the one directly in front) line. Once under the Redwoods, I realize that this is one of the darkest night hikes I've ever led. Usually clouds reflect nearby city lights, but they don't seem to be doing their job tonight. There is no moon either. We circle up at the junction of two trails, and test our night vision with a candle. We all close one eye and stare into the candle flame. After I snuff the candle, we blink, alternating eyes to see the difference in vision. Everybody sees a difference. Before we move on, I mix some luminol and bleach water to together so they can see the resulting glowing liquid.
The next section of trail is the darkest, and coincidentally, the rockiest. I have the kids hold on to each other's shoulders. The going is slow. We pass the big Redwood stump that I often fill with kids on night hikes, but since we've gotten a late start, we pass it. Around the corner, in a different Redwood grove, I tell them a detailed story about glow worms, culminating in having them eat a "freeze dried glow worm" which throws of sparks when bitten. Most of the kids fall for it. I'm helped by Terra playing along so well that I think I've fooled her too. Of course, they have actually each eaten a section of a Wint-o-green lifesaver, the breaking of which results in a phenomenon called triboluminescence - something to do with sugar and nitrogen electrons interacting with oxygen molecules. A few kids are so fooled by the story that they don't eat one. Pretty much the same thing happens every week. By this time, I notice that we're due back in camp in less than ten minutes, so we head downhill. I had planned to hike them through the chaparral, but it is just as well I didn't because I'm sure we would have been slowed down by all of the newts brought out by the rain.
Back at camp, I dismiss the kids to their cabins, check in at the staff room to say goodnight and drop off my radio, and walk out to my car for the drive home.

More to come...