In Montessori and Reggio philosophies, the classroom environment is often referred to as “the third teacher.” This means that the physical space and the materials we work with are just as vital to the education of the children as the teachers themselves. We take great care to design the environment, and treat it with the utmost respect. We intentionally teach the children lessons in “grace and courtesy,” or ways in which we can be respectful, courteous and kind. The children learn how to treat the materials carefully, walk slowly in the classroom, and speak softly and politely. This year, for the first time, I’ve entered into a co-teaching relationship with a new environment - The Forest.  This has made me curious and wonder, “How can I show respect and care for this great teacher? What does Grace and Courtesy look like in the Forest?”

To help us answer this question, we have been reading Braiding Sweetgrass, by Robin Kimmerer, a botanist and member of the Citizen Potawatomi Nation. It has given me invaluable direction and inspiration that has guided my own interactions and relationship with the Forest as we enter into our co-teaching relationship. I would like to share with you some of the class practices that are intended to model and teach a respect for the Forest, our beloved “third teacher.”

Knocking

“What do you do before you enter someone's home?” we ask the class one day. “We knock!” the class answers. “That’s right! It would be rude to enter someone's home without knocking first! We want to show respect to people, and we want them to feel safe. The forest is home to many plants and animals. We want to show them respect and to help them feel safe. So we are going to ask permission to enter first, by knocking.”  We clap 3 times with the children (since there is no door to knock on) and say our greeting “Hello great trees! Hello small friends! We’re asking please, may we come in?” We stand, and listen, and feel with our hearts. One child says “It feels peaceful.” Another says, “I heard the birds chirping! I think we can play here.”

Within this small ritual is a small but important message: The forest, and indeed the Earth, is not just an empty, inanimate place we can thoughtlessly barge into. It is not our house. We are guests here, and we want to be good guests. The non-human persons that live here have rights too, and we have obligations to them. The very least of which is to be respectful, kind, and courteous.

The Honorable Harvest

In the summer and fall we are lucky enough to enjoy sweet blackberries and other treats the forest offers. If you ran into us in the forest you may hear us saying. “Hello Blackberries! May we have some fruit?” We then look around to see if there’s enough to take a few without leaving the bush bare.  The teacher asks “How much do you need to take?” One child says “3!” another “2!”. We talk about the birds and animals, and the other people in the park who may want a juicy blackberry too.  Afterwards, you can hear the children shout as they wave goodbye “Thank you Blackberry Bush!”

In Braiding Sweetgrass, Kimmerer shares the philosophy of the ‘Honorable Harvest’, which we have used to create our expectations for our foraging practices.. She says:
“Introduce yourself. Be accountable as the one who comes asking for life. Ask permission before taking. Abide by the answer. Never take the first. Never take the last. Take only what you need. Take only that which is given. Never take more than half. Leave some for others. Harvest in a way that minimizes harm. Use it respectfully. Never waste what you have taken. Share. Give thanks for what you have been given. Give a gift, in reciprocity for what you have taken. Sustain the ones who sustain you and the earth will last forever."

The Grammar of Animacy

Grace and Courtesy in the Montessori classroom is intended to teach children respectful and kind ways of talking to each other. As mentioned above, we talk a lot to the forest. The way in which we talk to, and talk about our surroundings profoundly shapes our thinking about those surroundings. It is a powerful prism through which our view of the world is shaped. In the language of many indigenous people, living things are not nouns, but verbs. For example in English it is ”a tree”. But in Potawatomi, they say that is “being a tree.” Kimmerer explains,

“A bay is a noun only if water is dead...But the verb wiikwegamaa—to be a bay—releases the water from bondage and lets it live. ‘To be a bay’ holds the wonder that, for this moment, the living water has decided to shelter itself between these shores, conversing with cedar roots and a flock of baby mergansers. Because it could do otherwise—become a stream or an ocean or a waterfall, and there are verbs for that, too. To be a hill, to be a sandy beach, to be a Saturday, all are possible verbs in a world where everything is alive. Water, land, and even a day, the language a mirror for seeing the animacy of the world, the life that pulses through all things, through pines and nuthatches and mushrooms. This is the language I hear in the woods; This is the grammar of animacy". 

I considered this passage when one day, while discussing the wind, a student said “The wind is invisible, because it is alive!” I think previously I would have been quick to correct them, and point out that no, in fact, the wind is not alive. But I stopped myself. This child is using the grammar of animacy; they are seeing all things as animate, “alive,” even if it’s not in the same way we typically see "aliveness".

This shift in thinking is not just grammatical. It’s philosophical. Kimmerer says “When we see a bird or butterfly or tree or rock whose name we don’t know, we ‘it’ it. I would never point to you and call you ‘it.’ It would steal your personhood “‘It-ing’ turns gifts into natural resources. It gives us permission to see the land as an inanimate object. These beings are not ‘it,’ they are our relatives.” 

We strive to extend personhood to the plants and animals and even the weather as we speak to the children about our surroundings. During our morning meeting, we greet each child by name in our song, and we always include the forest. Lately, the children have been wanting to sing good morning to the clouds, the sky, and the sun as well. 

As we hike through the trails you might hear us say “Who is this?” as we crouch low to inspect an unfamiliar flower. “Oh look at all these apples she’s grown!” I say as we approach Big Betty. “What a beautiful tree, look how high he goes!” we say in wonder with our necks craned upwards at the base of a cedar. At first, I wondered if the children would find this funny or try to correct me. In fact, not one child has. It turns out I'm speaking their native language. A child looks up at a tree. “You’re skinny, like me! One day, you’ll get big like I’ll get big. Ms. Harmoni, have you hugged her yet?”  Kimmerer writes, "Our toddlers speak of plants and animals as if they were people, extending to them self and intention and compassion---until we teach them not to."  In fact, the more I talk like this, the more it feels like I’m coming home to my native language too.