We want students to be makers and designers. But there’s a surprising source of inspiration for design: the natural world. As we think about moving toward a low-tech approach, we need something better than desks in rows with students doing worksheets.
A Moment I’ll Never Forget
We gather outside on a worn-out blanket strewn over the hot cul-de-sac pavement. No handouts. No close reading exercises. Just a bunch of families in the neighborhood breaking bread, eating bacon, and talking about life – except the lone vegan in our group. She skipped out on the bacon.
The morning progresses with small talk and banter and impromptu games of catch. Occasionally, we put on our dark solar eclipse glasses and glance at the slight circle covering part of the sun. Eventually, the shadows change. The light grows dimmer as we make finger puppets that feel out of this world. And yet, it remains uneventful.
Finally, it starts feeling real. For the next few minutes, we watch as the world feels slightly sepia-toned. My wife and kids gather close as the countdown begins.
All at once, it happens. The stars appear and the temperature drops. Unreal. I stare out at the total eclipse, the bright white circle enveloping the sky. It’s breathtaking. It’s beautiful.
I squeeze my wife’s hand. We know we are witnessing something magical. But the real magic isn’t just the eclipse. It’s the look on our kids’ faces, consumed with awe and wonder— a certain kind that can only occur when we are truly able to observe the beauty of our universe.
Over a decade later, we still talk about this very moment. My kids are adults. Well, almost adults. But this moment watching the total eclipse is etched into our memory.
Our World Is Too Compressed
We live in an increasingly virtual world, with a barrage of text and moving images and noise at the click of a button. I can binge-watch my favorite shows and instantly access my favorite music. I can tap an icon and talk with friends all over the world. Anytime. Anywhere. We inhabit these virtual spaces, the abstract third space between two locations, without giving it much thought. Instinctively, when I’m bored, I hop onto Instagram. If I’m a passenger in a car, I nearly always check if there’s a Pokémon hanging out nearby. It’s become so normal it almost feels invisible.
After awhile, it can feel as if the whole world has been condensed into the palm of our hands. Case in point, over two years ago, I watched a cringe-worthy Apple commercial. Like many viewers, I had a visceral reaction to the message because it created this false dichotomy between the digital and the physical, the technological and the human, the compressed and the expansive. I immediately sat down and sketched out a video and then used my trusty Macbook to turn it into a video.
If you’re not familiar with the Apple commercial a few years ago, there is a house full of colorful, vibrant, idiosyncratic objects that are then crushed by a giant industrial machine. The iPad lives. It’s so thin. So compressed. So sexy and skinny. It’s also breakable. Drop it down a set of stairs and you get a spiderwebbed screen, but let’s not look at that.
The message was clear. Why bother with the clunky, the human, the messy, the colorful, the vibrant? Just opt for an iPad. Why strum your fingers on an acoustic guitar learning the chord progression to “Stairway to Heaven” like your father did (and maybe grandpa?) when there’s GarageBand? Why spend hours playing Space Invaders with your friends at the arcade if the App Store can get you it so much cheaper and faster? Why embrace the memory of emptying your spit valve in the marching band as you look up, embarrassed at your crush staring back at you; if you could just stare at the likes on your latest social media update?
It’s so inefficient to hold onto the tangible in an age of automation.
I get it.
I love tech.
I’ve been using a Mac since my childhood. The Apple Ecosystem is how I do so much of my creative work, like crafting videos, making podcasts, and creating books.
And yet . . .
I don’t want more compression.
Give me a can of spray paint so Micah and I can make art in the garage. Give me an acoustic guitar and see if I can play “New Kid in Town” and feel the memories of my dad singing that song to me while I feel asleep. Give me a whole truck load of hardback books, covered with annotations, that are passports to all kinds of worlds.
Forget compression. I want duct tape. I want cardboard. Give me a makerspace full of random objects that can’t be digitized. I want an acoustic guitar next to a campfire while we have another IPA. Life is short. We don’t need to compress it any more than it already is.
In a world of automation, I don’t want to crush creativity.
Of course we should enjoy the tech. It’s amazing. But also . . . let’s embrace the lo-fi, the vintage, the tangible, the messy, the human. I share this because I keep seeing the message that AI will spark all kinds of amazing innovations in education. But I worry that if we center innovation on machine learning, we run the risk of chasing the fleeting novelty of techno-futurism instead of preparing students for the deeply human skills they will need in a changing world.
And if we want to offer students something more meaningful and expansive, one of the ways to do it is with nature.
We Need Nature More Than Ever
As schools and districts begin to embrace low-tech learning, I think we need to ask, “What is the best alternative?” It’s easy to get nostalgic and jump toward desks in rows and students completing worksheets. But I actually think part of what we need to recover is our connection to the natural world (we’ll be exploring outdoor education in a future article and podcast).
There is also a transformative element to nature that makes us more creative. If you ask some of the most innovative artists, engineers, and entrepreneurs, you might be surprised by how often they go hiking or take long walks. There’s something powerful about slowing down and taking in the beauty of our universe. These moments actually increase divergent thinking and improve our ability to problem-solve.
And yet . . the natural world can feel like a luxury for teachers. We inhabit a world of buzzing fluorescent lights and industrial carpet. We deal with the incessant pressures of the standardized tests and the push to make kids future-ready. Gardens and nature walks can feel hippity-dippity. Like, “that’s a cute idea but I actually have a curriculum map I need to follow.”
In my latest article, I explore some of the advantages of nature.
Read the Full Article
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Listen to the Podcast
You can also listen to my latest podcast episode by subscribing to the Creative Classroom Podcast on Apple Podcasts or Spotify. The feed might take a moment to update, so if this episode isn't showing up, I promise it will!
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Let's Work Together!
I would love to work with your school, district, or conference! You might be interested in keynotes or workshops on intentional AI, deeper learning, PBL, and empowering students. I've also been doing some work connected to this latest series on Low Tech Learning and intentional tech integration.
I still have some availability in September and October. I'd also love to do something more in-depth throughout the school year. My workshops include access to my self-paced courses so participants can continue their professional learning after the day's event.
Please reach out to me at john@spencereducation.com or fill out the form on my speaking page, and I'll get back to you as soon as possible. I can send you a PD catalog with all the details.
