More Than Plants

It was cold and windy in Grandma's Garden today.  When the clouds were blocking the sun, the scholars in sleeveless shirts were clutching their arms around their bodies, seeking comfort.  My arms were only long enough to enfold three or four of them at a time.  A serious distraction was needed.

I found paint pouches in the storage bench.  There was no paper except for a brown bag from the grocery store.  There were no paint brushes.  There were lots of children clamoring for something to do.  I looked around the garden for a solution.

The bigger kids have been stripping the stump of its bark, leaving a smooth surface behind. 

We've been saving the bark in a big planter, with no particular plan for its use.  Today, I found one.

I gave the scholars large strips of bark and told them to consider them paper.  Small pieces of bark made useful brushes.  I dropped dollops of paint, one color at a time, onto the grocery bag 

and the kids got to work.

There were rocks to be painted or used as applicators.  There were grooves in the bark to fill and smoother surfaces to color. 

As the grades changed during recess, Garden Leaders took charge of adding paint and explaining the weirdness of it all.

Meanwhile, I harvested broccoli and shared it with three simple commands: Open wide; Close; Chew.  It's a measure of the trust they have in me that no one wondered aloud if it was safe to eat.  They opened and shut and chewed and generally agreed that broccoli is sweet and growing it ourselves makes it even tastier.

We dug up a carrot, which was too skinny to be called mature.  We washed it off anyway and three of us shared it.  Victoria's face scrunched up first, with Romero's and mine following closely behind.  We spit it out in unison, then whined about the bad taste in our mouths.  Broccoli bites didn't help the situation at all.

Not everyone was interested in painting, though.  These two sang a new-to-me clapping song as their hands made intricated patterns in the air.

There's always something to amuse the scholars who visit the garden, even if it has nothing to do with plants.