But First, the Roots

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
- Joyce Kilmer


My belief about kindergarten is rooted in my belief about the sanctity of childhood; it is not a time to rush, not a time for grown-ups to yank and pull impatiently at tender sprouts, stretching them to weak-kneed, spindly heights before they are ready. Nor is it a time to dig them up, anxiously examining and testing to see if they are growing, thereby disturbing the very growth process. Rather, childhood is a time for aerating the surrounding earth, watering and fertilizing, patience and trust.

Childhood is a time of roots.

As a kindergarten teacher I am the master gardener, reassuring the eager caretakers of these sprouts, the ones who ask: “Will there be reading groups?” “Where are the desks and worksheets?” “When will my child read?”

“Kindergarten is a foundational year,” I assert. “It is a time to play with words and language, to talk and explore, to create and wonder, to fall in love with books . . .” Slow down. Look at your miraculous seedling. Sit beside it and watch the leaves slowly uncurl. Guard that the earth around it is rich and fertile. Give the roots time to grow deeper and stronger. The stronger the roots, the more magnificent the tree.

If it is true that my task is to nurture and encourage the roots, then I must ask what is at the root of learning and knowledge. Here are some of the ever-evolving beliefs of this arboriculturist:

At the root of reading? Oral language, word play, conversations, books.
At the root of science? Questions, messing around, observation and wonder.
At the root of art? Exploration and experience with the possibilities of paint, clay, wire, paper . . . .

The Roots of Writing
The question that hangs in the air this summer: What is at the root of writing? For this is the summer that I signed up to participate in the Oregon Writing Project, a month-long class for teachers in grades kindergarten through twelve. Signing up for the class was a risk from two standpoints: 1)I suspected that most people do not have much regard for kindergartners as writers and, 2)I did not consider myself a writer.

Kindergartners as Writers
Going into the class, I already had some beliefs in place about writing in kindergarten. I believe that the foundation of writing - the roots - are intertwined with those of reading: oral language, word play, conversations and books. I thought that my beliefs might be challenged in OWP; would teachers and participants in this class, like much of our society, think that kindergartners should be doing more actual “work” - more writing? Given my firm stance, I wondered whether I would learn anything (that I could let in) about kindergartners as writers.

Myself as Writer
I believe that a teacher who feels competent and passionate about a particular topic or field is a better teacher and, for the most part, this is why I signed up for this class. Although the roots may begin in early childhood, it is never too late to develop deeper roots, as well as additional branches and even a flower or two. I knew that it might be an uncomfortable stretch, but my goal was to deepen my own writing roots and, possibly, to branch out a bit.

Branching Out
What did I learn in this class, about children as writers? Much of what I already believe about the beginnings of writing - the importance of oral language, the importance of valuing and recording a child’s words and stories - was affirmed. There was talk of student centered learning, integrated curriculum, and allowing children to make choices about their writing topics. Yes! Yes! And yes! And now, after my weeks with OWP, I see that there is more to be done, changes to be made in the kindergarten. What’s this? you ask. The vigilant gardener has let an outsider slip in through the orchard gate??

No, no - not an outsider but an old friend: poetry. Of course I had dabbled in poetry. I have always included plenty of chants and singsong poems, chosen mainly for their strong rhythms, rhymes and predictable qualities but we had never read poetry sans rhyming patterns, let alone try to write it. I had mistaken this type of poetry to be the branches and flowers of the tree, not the rooty work of kindergarten. But a reformed gardener am I for I see that early, appropriate exposure to poetry can send roots careening thirstily, deeper and broader.

And I? My roots have been tapped with each passing week of reading, writing and discourse. The same poetry that inspired me as a teacher also inspired me as a writer. I loved - actually loved - reading the beautiful poems brought to us by a visiting teacher from Portland (“a gift” for us she called it). Too, it was satisfying to write my stories down, valued and recorded like the words and stories of my students. The writing was like a Rubics Cube for my brain and my heart. Branchlets sprouted. Buds appeared.

But it seems that I am left a confused metaphor - gardener or tree? Of course I must be both . . . but now I think a tree, foremost. Yes, I think the best gardener is a tree at heart.