Academic Focus in the Classroom Courtesy & Copyright Joseph Kozlowski, PhotographerAcademic Focus in the Outdoors Courtesy & Copyright Joseph Kozlowski, PhotographerA recent educational outdoor experience (I’ll call field experience) with a homeschooled family, prompted me to reflect on the balance between academic focus and student-exploration when teaching outdoors. Yes, some balance of the two is necessary. In the extreme case of too explicit of academic focus, why be outdoors at all and not just at school in desks? Why all the logistics and planning to transport kids to some outdoor location then sit them at a picnic table to complete worksheets about some science-based academic standard, when you could do that all at school? In the other extreme, if you ‘let kids run free’ for the entirety of the field experience, they’ll have fun and make discoveries, but they will likely miss the intentional connections to curriculum that made the trip academically justifiable. So, when you take kids to learn outdoors, what is the right balance between academic focus and student-exploration and how can the instructor support such a balance?
In my experience, the way to think about this balance isn’t so much as a mixing of the two, but more of a time sequence. Here’s what I’ve found works well.
Prior to the field experience, formal academic focus should be the priority. Students should engage in academic activities that set them up to make explicit academic connections when they go to the field.
Then, when in the field, emphasis should be on student-exploration, and priority should be given to fostering children’s wonder, discovery, and inquiry about nature. Importantly, the instructor plays a vital role in in the field in helping refine student-exploration so it leads to academic connections. One major role of the instructor in the field is to arrange an outdoor experience that will likely lead to an encounter with the academic material that was previously focused on. For example, if you had academically focused on animals taking advantage of their habitats to survive, you may want to take children to a specific area that might have downed trees from a gnawing beaver so as to naturally lead kids to make their own nature to academic connections. Another major role of the instructor in the field needs to be expertly observing the kids engaging in the environment and noticing when there is an opportunity to highlight a child’s nature-to-academic connection, or prompt children to make such connections.
Finally, after the field experience, attention should shift back to academic focus in the form of documentation, which will help children formally connect their experiences in the outdoors to the academic topic they are learning about.
So, whether you’re a homeschooled family, related to the public- or private-school sector, or even just a parent considering how to make the most of an outdoor opportunity, consider this balance between formal academic focus and student-centered exploration in the wild Utah outdoors.
This is Dr. Joseph Kozlowski and I am Wild about Outdoor Education in Utah!
Seedling Courtesy Pixabay Lukas Johnns, ContributorThe perfume of gasping stomata begins my morning as I walk outside to greet the day. Inhale, exhale. It is that greatest of olfactory medicinals that suddenly wakes my mind, like a winterworn cabin whose windows and doors are flung open with abandon on its first day of spring. Fresh air pools in the hidden nooks, waking joy, gratefulness, and a new awareness of how many dog turds are still hidden in the yard, waiting for the right moment to let slip.
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When cool wind turns to warm breeze, my bones smile and the instinct to bundle and shy slowly melts away to the instinct of heliotropic embrace. The pigeon of spring comes by wing, always knowing its way, homing home. That’s pretty coo.
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As midday crests, the sun’s rays pull blood to the surface of my skin; a solar tide upon my iron waters. My face warms and toasts, my nostrils flare, and the robin’s randy hollers turns to but a bard’s flitting ballad in my ear. The romance of hope becomes assumed as spring supplants the desperation of hungry winter.
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The days are long and the season is short, but it is in the shoulders of reckoning that I am reminded of why this time of year brings me so much joy. Spring is a season of moments. Summer is the antithesis of winter’s torpor, in which we hum with consistency and labor, ourselves bumbling away with carefree speed. Fall does not counter spring, but I feel is instead the days contrarianist of long tooth. Days shorten yet time waxes poetic. We catch our cool breezes and prepare for the winter slumber. It is the deserved nightcap at the end of a day fulfilled. Winter does slow us, but moreso is our dream season. The world changes shapes and forms to alien familiarity, like seeing a dear cousin after many years, grown haggard by way of smiling crows feet.
Spring, though, again, is the moments. When our eyes flutter awake with birdsong; when light comes before alarms; when we begin to manifest all we longed for during the dreamt night. We finish planning our gardens, mapping our adventures, and listing our chores across the land. We dot our teas and cross our eyes as theory blossoms to reality and all its unexpected bliss. We prepare and deliver the gift of dirty hands to the world, to our home, to our other living neighbors. We smile inadvertently at ladybirds as our winter beaks creak, and joy finds us in the family reunion of shared coexistence.
So this spring, don’t forget to let the moments find you, and when they do, take a second of your own to appreciate this one and only shared world. Smell the hope of longer days, and fulfill the promised smile of chores well-laid and well-done. Get dirty, smelly, tore up, and tired. Scoop poop. Plant seeds. Watch the world’s moments become memories, and memories become you.
Members of the 10th Mountain Division at Camp Hale, Colorado. Left -to- right: Clare Symonds, Elton Beard, Vincent Dalzell, Francis or Roger Duchesneau, Clifford Perkins. image c.a. 1940-1944. Members of what was then called the 10th Light Division (Alpine) were recruited by the National Ski Patrol, which was directed by Charles Minot “Minnie” Dole. Applicants had to prove their ability to ski. (Unit History Collection) Courtesy US Army, The Denver Public Library ArchivesSpace and WikipediaSkiing up our lovely canyon yesterday, enjoying American dipper and stream music, occasional king fisher chatter, Townsend’s solitaire melodies, I began ruminating on my ski equipment while watching their effortless glide through snow.
A few weeks earlier, I had donated a pair of WWII 10th Mountain Division US military issue skies to the Stokes Nature Center for their “History of Skiing” program. Seven feet long with leather and steel bindings, each weighing near 10 pounds. The Division trained at Camp Hale, Colorado with 60-90-pound packs, leather boots strapped onto seven-foot long wooden skis with thick cable bindings. Casualties in the winter of 1945 were staggering, but when the ski troops returned home they poured their heart and soul into the newly-evolving ski industry, opening ski resorts, managing ski schools and influencing innovation.
Compare this to my skies made of plastic materials with aluminum alloy bindings weighing in at 3 pounds each, my boots various synthetic materials, light and durable, and a minuscule day pack attached to my back.
When I began Nordic skiing some 40 years ago, my Bonna laminated wood skies were coveted. I miss their natural beauty and high performance. Now, they sit in a corner, replaced by a light weight, wax free pair. Somethings lost, something’s gained.
From there it went on to my backpacking equipment from boots, backpack with contents, and my clothing attire. All synthetics with the exception of RMI type, super light weight dehydrated space/military evolved food and equipment.
Looking back to my early Scouting days, our tents were heavy canvas, backpacks with heavy metal alloy frame and canvas fabric, clunky leather boots, wool and cotton clothing, and beefy cooking pots and pans, metal canteen, and several pounds of canned food.
We were tough then. My Scouts grew blisters on shoulders and feet. A few tears were shed from the arduous hike up a mountain or across hot desert, near collapse, sure they couldn’t take another step. Now, as middle aged adults, their fondest memories were from those crazy days of long suffering. Many survival stories came later of their intrepid accomplishments.
We have evolved to a plastic, synthetic culture replacing canvas, cotten, wool, wood, and heavy metals. How soft, comparatively effortless, and efficient we have become. No longer from a farm of hard work in extremes of hot and cold. Something lost, something gained. Nostalgia. Longing.
Do I wish to return to those days? Back then, we never foresaw an easier way in the offing. We just endured the pain and moved on, as did the mountain troops with their giant skis and heaving loads. I admire us as we were.
USU has a new major in Outdoor Product Design & Development to further design new, light weight convenient gear. “Master the design process, user research, idea visualization, and CAD modeling techniques to develop products conceptually and as producible prototypes.”
One thing that hasn’t changed appreciably are the natural wonders that surround us. Birds and flowers, butterflies, bees, and rushing streams are still with us. Challenging steep trails, scorching desert paths still challenge us, as are natures fickle atmospheric moods.
Jack Greene for Bridgerland Audubon Society, and I’m Wild About the Joy & Challenge of Utah Wilds!
The Folly Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell, PhotographerKick. Step. Breathe. Kick. Step. Breathe.
Skier John Louviere Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell, Photographer
Skier Eric Newell Courtesy & Copyright John Louviere, PhotographerMiniature pellets of snow swirl past my face, land on the slope we are struggling against, then tumble hundreds of feet down the snow-encased mountain. My friend John Louviere and I have skied the Bear River Range backcountry together since we first met as Utah State University students in 1995.
Today the light is flat, causing both sky and mountain to blend into a single dimension, making it difficult to distinguish snow from clouds. The Dry Canyon slope we are ascending is prominent from nearly everywhere in Cache Valley. Each winter its absolute openness and gentle, seductive rolls tantalize backcountry skiers. For us, it is a blank canvas. We stare at it on our way to and from work, occasionally spotting other skier’s tracks, best highlighted when late evening sunlight turns the mountain hues of pink and orange.
But embedded in the stark beauty of this mountain is a dark past. Backcountry skiers call this slope “The Folly” for good reason: it measures exactly thirty-eight degrees in steepness—precisely the slope angle that produces the most deadly avalanches. Thirty-eight degree slopes are gentle enough to allow dangerous slabs of snow to build, where they can rest precariously without commitment to the mountain. A single skier, snowboarder, snowmobile, or even just one last snowflake can set it all in motion.
Because The Folly faces southwest, prevailing winds tend to transport freshly fallen snow off the slope, over the ridge, and deposit it in Spring Hollow. Afternoon sunshine also welds new layers of snow to old layers rather quickly. Both of these factors combine to stabilize the slope, despite its steepness, but it still shouldn’t be reckoned with unless you know and understand the composition and history of the snowpack. The spring-like conditions present today are exactly what John and I have waited for—everything is frozen firmly in place.
In January of 1997, Karl Mueggler and Max Lyon, who both grew up in Cache Valley, were visiting families for the holidays. The two decided to catch up on old times with Logan resident Keith Maas by ski-camping in Dry Canyon.
They pitched their tents in a stand of aspens interspersed with Englemann spruce at the base of The Folly. Trees generally serve as a good indicator of safety from avalanches since proven slide paths obliterate timber. Had they camped there any other night in a 20-year span, they would have awakened to another memorable ski day.
But while they slept, a foot of new snow fell and the west wind shifted, blowing violently from the northeast, heaping tons of snow from the Spring Hollow side onto The Folly. A week before, unseasonably warm temperatures caused rain to fall on the slope which later froze into a hard, smooth ice crust. All of these factors combined to create the perfect conditions for a spontaneous and catastrophic avalanche.
Despite their years of backcountry experience Karl, Max, and Keith were buried in their tent under five feet of concrete-hard snow. The community was devastated. Though I didn’t know Karl or Keith, I had spent a day skiing with Max only a few weeks before. He embodied the type of person anyone would aspire to become. Excitement for living radiated from his face. He laughed easily and spoke optimistically of the future. The same has been said of Karl and Keith. They were educators, outdoor activists, and advocates for community.
Over the years, I venture up here in the spring to pay tribute to their lives.
At the top of The Folly, still surrounded by thick clouds and meandering snowflakes, we start down, one at a time. Without warning, gracious sunlight bursts through the squall. We accelerate, gliding over the glowing snow, unsure if we are flying or skiing—a truly ethereal moment. The snow beneath our skis is firm and our metal edges cut tight turns with precision as we descend from the clouds, honoring three of Logan’s finest the best way we know how.
“Outdoor Leadership Scholarship The Lyon, Maas, Mueggler Outdoor Leadership Scholarship pays 50% of the tuition for the Desert Mountain Medicine Wilderness First Responder (WFR) certification course.”
Lyon, Maas, Mueggler, Outdoor Leadership Scholarship, Utah State University https://www.usu.edu/campusrec/outdoor/
