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A reflection on wonder, discovery and the joy of helping students become careful noticers of the natural world

By Annie Collins, Lower School Science Teacher

When I was a kid, I went through a manatee phase. Of course, I had never actually seen one. I spent my childhood in rural New Hampshire — most certainly a different type of paradise than the one where manatees live. My front yard was a spring-fed lake where bald eagles, frogs, loons, salamanders and trout also call home. In the warmer months, I water-skied at least once a day, and I had neighbors who took me four-wheeling and were my companions during frequent overnight campouts on the nearby island.

Those neighbors also had cousins who visited each summer from southern Florida. They lived on a houseboat and were homeschooled, which may have been the most exotic thing I could imagine at 9 years old. They hoped I could get them an iconic New Hampshire “Brake For Moose” bumper sticker for their houseboat, and in exchange offered me a “Slow for Manatees” bumper sticker to attach to our Boston Whaler, ironically. 

Two years ago, when my family was visiting my in-laws in the Florida Keys, my 9-year-old self’s dreams came true. My father-in-law and his wife live in Marathon Key, Florida, and their front yard is a canal that leads out to the Atlantic Ocean. Every morning, apparently, manatees swim by, in search of a drink of brackish water. One morning, as I sipped my coffee, a manatee slowly approached the dock, smartly hoping I would turn on the hose. I barked orders at my daughter, Kit ’34, “Go ask Grammy for lettuce!” Moments later, I was feeding a manatee.

And I could not wait to tell my students about it. I could not wait to show off photos and videos of this experience that brought me back to the awe and wonder of childhood adventures. I could not wait to model the way this deep connection with nature can move us. 

I feel so fortunate to work at a school where students and their families come from near and far to be Raiders. Many of my students are already world travelers. A big part of my job, then, is to model curiosity, awe and wonder. My job is to inspire “noticers” — students who fall in love with their natural world and use empathy and problem-solving skills to protect it.

When I became the lower school science teacher 15 years ago, I brought with me units I developed working with students in California. I took graduate-level physics demonstrations I practiced and honed as leader of UCSB’s Physics Circus and stretched them into units about kinematics, electricity, magnetism, light and sound. I also adopted practices from teachers who came before me, such as “Take Apart,” made legendary by Shirley Cullen — a nod to the value of reverse engineering to appreciate and understand the design of things. 

My favorite units, though, are the ones that I developed — and continue to develop — in collaboration with my brilliant colleagues representing a range of academic expertise. Earlier this year, the first grade teaching team added a field trip to an urban farm as part of students’ research into neighborhood jobs and community helpers. Hopeful and inspired, they wondered if we could grow food in science class to be used in our school cafeteria. 

One email request and many months later, in the Ferro Greenhouse, first graders are growing tomatoes, garlic, onions and herbs hydroponically. This sustainable farming method opens the door to discussions about basic botany but also the practicality and cost of different farming methods. We learn that agriculture is one of the most wasteful industries since most of the water distributed on crops evaporates before it reaches the plant roots. What’s more, as roots search for water in the soil, plants expend energy that could otherwise go toward growth. 

Because our plants grow directly in water, students can apply measurement and literacy skills as they document and compare their progress. In my classroom, second grade partners help maintain our aquaponic growing system, where Suni the goldfish — named for my favorite astronaut — provides nutrient-rich waste that makes up for lack of soil, allowing leafy greens we planted from seed to grow rapidly, and deliciously. Taste tests confirm that our basil tastes better than the store-bought kind. 

My students and colleagues keep me present with my childlike curiosity. They offer me opportunities to continue drawing inspiration from where I’ve been while looking ahead to new connections — intellectual, human and natural — near and far.