Schoolless

Light show

Yesterday we completed our routine tasks (yes, we have a few of those), and were at a bit of a loss. It was only 10:30. We needed something to do.

Peter assumed a bored expression, and browsed through "How Science Works" from DK.

"Perhaps we could try one of the activities?" I offered timidly, knowing that the DK books are marvelous to look at, but the projects tend to fall a little short in the execution.
"Nah, I'll just read," he yawned.

That seemed good enough for the moment. I turned away to shine my sink (more on that later), when suddenly my son announced:
"I might be interested in doing this one."

To an unschooling parent this is as good a hint as any. I sprung into action. Naturally, my son selected the most complicated activity  in the chapter on light: the light ray box. It involved drafting, cutting and gluing a little cardboard house, meticulously cutting out precise little slits, connecting batteries to lightbulbs with little alligator clips, and other annoying steps that unnecessarily complicate the project and do not add to its ultimate enjoyment.

I stood in thought in the middle of the kitchen for several minutes, and then raced up to the attic, returning with a cardboard gift box, packing tape, a craft knife, and one of those electrical cord things you can screw a lightbulb into to make a Chinese lantern. We were set.

The kids went about the house looking for glass containers, mirrors and magnifying lenses to use in the project, and I tried to think of an alternative to cutting out narrow slits in a cardboard box. In the end, I got Nadia, who was dying to use the razor knife (affectionately referred to as the "laser knife"), cutting out small openings in the cardboard, while Peter taped together toothpicks, picket-fence style, which we then placed inside those openings to create a slit pattern.

Then, we went down to the laundry room, the only space in the house that could be completely darkened, and played with light.

Blinded with science

So maybe I'm a glutton for punishment.
Or maybe I just like having a lot of kids around my house.

Blindfolded piano playing

One of the questions homeschoolers hear a lot, of course, is the one about socialization. Socialization isn't a big problem in our house. We find ourselves surrounded by families whose company we enjoy, and we are blessed with two kids who developed good social skills long before they parted ways with their diapers.

So our problem is a little diffrent. Whenever we do "learny" things at home, we do them alone. And sometimes we do feel the satisfaction of completing a task, or finishing a book, or moving to the "next level". But sometimes it just gets a little boring. Some learning is more fun in a group.

How'd they get their edges so straight?

I'm not quite sure how we stumbled into doing a segment on vision. It may have been simply that we were doing the chapters in Gee Wiz in order, and one on vision came up. Because Peter and Nadia were into it, I went on a hunt for more activities we could do, and it occurred to me that as long as I am setting it up for my own kids, I might as well invite some others to join us. So I sent and email to some friends announcing "Science Friday".

Awaiting the arrival of the scientists

As is usual with adults, I think, my plans were a little too ambitious. All these experiments looked so cool! Let's just try them all! I prepared everything meticulously, and an orderly table with neatly organized stations greeted the guests as they arrived. At the last moment, I realized that the perfect accompaniment to the occasion would be Thomas Dolby's "She Blinded Me With Science!" And, thanks to the miracle of iTunes, the musical selection became available with a click.

Watch that pupil grow!

As kids gathered around the table, it became clear that they cared not a whit for my plans or preparation. Although at first, I tried to direct their activities, I abandoned that approach fairly quickly, and let them simply plunge into whatever interested them. The much-anticipated vision meter proved too complex to be truly engaging. However, optical spinners of all kind were an instant hit.

Suddenly everyone wanted a piece of string to thread through holes in a cardboard circle, and watch a fish appear in a bowl of water, a butterfly hover over a flower, or colored rods meld into a constantly changing rainbow. "Ooooh, this one is cool! Try this one!" With very little adult guidance (usually only to solve technical difficulties), the young participants found their way through most of the activities laid out on the table.

Mirror maze

But was it science? There was no method in their madness. Their observations were not tabulated and analyzed. No hypotheses were posed. There is a part of me that wants that level of organization. But I'm not sure I can have it all at once.

There is a natural curiosity and exuberance in kids that makes them just want to make that interesting thing happen over and over again. I know this from my own school experience, and also from working with my own kids alone. The interesting part of the experiment is the doing. Discussion is fun too, as long as it's fairly spontaneous. Writing? Eh... that's not so much fun. Then we are getting "schooly".

So, first, I want to get them hooked working on these fun projects, and on working together. I want to give them the time and the space to explore "what happens, if", and to draw one another from one fascinating discovery to the next. Only after they do it enough times they may want to change some of the variables and note the differences. Who knows? Perhaps then the desire to monitor their findings will emerge.

Will work for food

Nadia and I were dragging our feet returning home from a walk along the stony beach of Boblo Island. The boys ran ahead with my friend Mary, and I fell even further behind than my daughter, as I scanned the ground for the perfect letter-shaped stones to spell a message to our island neighbors.

I heard Nadia yell for her brother, but he was too far ahead to hear her over the hum of the waves. I ran up to her, but before I could say anything, she put her finger on her mouth: "ssshh.... snake!..."

No, it wasn't the one pictured above. That's a rattlesnake. Yes, they have them on Boblo. But for this experience, I was again caught without my camera. Nadia and I gave up trying to call the boys back, and gave our full attention to the snake. He was probably a common garter snake, with a beautiful, velvety black on its back, and two yellow stripes along the sides. His head and neck were about the size of my thumb, and bright orangey-yellow. He was less than two feet long.

We watched as he deliberately made his way up the stony beach. He swayed his head side to side, and every so often flickered his tongue, using his unique snake organs to sense some prey that we knew from his behavior had to be there. We looked around, but couldn't see anything obvious. We saw a few small hollows in the ground that we thought might have harbored some insects, but the snake slithered right over them, and continued doggedly on his way. In twenty minutes, he traversed about seven feet of beach, sensing his way with patience, and assurance. He did not seem bothered by our presence.

When he crested the ridge of rocks, there was a small mossy area, and Nadia observed that some of the moss was slightly disturbed in a couple of spots. The snake made his way to this opening, and plunged his head under the moss. We held our breaths. The snake emerged.

"Froggy!" yelled Nadia, hid her head in my shirt, and burst into tears.
"Sweetie, you knew he was hunting!"
"But I thought it was going to be an insect"
"Oh, honey, you don't have to watch this if you don't want to, but the snake has to eat"

In the end, she elected to run and join the boys. I determined to see the spectacle through to the end. I squatted in an awkward position on the stony bank, and watched, transfixed, a scene that I had only read about in books. The snake's head, as I said, was roughly the size of my thumb. The frog, or toad, most likely, was the size of a small chicken egg. The snake clasped its head in his jaws, as it pulled it out of the burrow. Though the frog twitched somewhat, it put up surprisingly little struggle. I don't know if this particular type of snake used any kind of venom, or if the prey simply asphyxiated.

I expected I don't know what. That the snake's jaws would open like the gates of hell, and swallow the toad in one giant gulp? In fact, the bulk of the toad passed through the snake's gullet extremely slowly, and the effort the predator had to make to earn his meal was palpable. He paused frequently, uncoiled and contracted his body drawing the meal in very gradually. It did not pass through the snake's body as a big, round lump, but rather was formed into an elongated thickening as the snake worked to engulf it. There was also surprisingly little gore. However, there was an element of the macabre, as the snake finished drawing in the body of the toad, and rested a spell with the grotesque handlebar mustache of frog legs sticking out of its mouth.

Although the snake was the predator, it occurred to me how extremely vulnerable he was at a moment like this. Whatever ability he had to move with a large prey slipping slowly though his throat was further impeded by the prey's large limbs getting in the way of escape from a potential larger predator.

I further wondered whether, if such a predator came along, would it be getting two meals for the price of one. The toad, after all, was still very much in evidence as a separate entity. When would the prey cease to have an identity of its own, and become fully a part of the snake?

Bowling for evolution

Cruising down route 23 along the scenic Lake Huron coastline, we came upon this arresting sight:

"Jesus-themed bowling alley! COOL!!"

Chris and I apparently both had the same thought.

Alas...

To top off our disappointment, the theme-park was closed, so we could not personally examine the anointed heart of the brontosaurus.

Spying on the life of plants

I'm feeling too lazy to write, so please sit back and enjoy this photo essay of sorts on our exploration of seeds.

We put on fuzzy wool socks and gathered some of last year's seeds. We also gathered seeds by hand.

Here are some examples of the seeds we gathered. Some were neat and tidy like these. The big surprise was the cottonwood seedpod, resembling a small bunch of grapes. We had no idea that's what they look like before they burst open.

Other seeds were less cooperative, and made a tangled, spiky, fluttery, fuzzy and tickly mess.

Like these.

And these.

Some landed where they weren't supposed to.

Here is our dissecting lab.

We were especially proud of this beauty.

Its babies look like little bisons, or perhaps mythical horned slugs.

Here we are making a model seed out of a balloon, strips of newspaper and paste.

Finished seed model. Note that this seed is unusual, as two different plants seem to be growing out of it. This is not a result of a genetic mutation, but rather of having to accommodate two different artists with only one balloon in the house.

The end result of our explorations. Pretty, no? But it was all in the process.

How many steps ago was that?

One of my favorite recent acquisitions is a nearly complete set of Brown Paper School Books. Since the weather was cooperating last week, we did a really fun activity from the Big Beast book of dinosaurs. The cool thing about the Brown Paper books is that while the title suggests you may be learning about one thing (in this case, dinosaurs), you're really learning about a whole bunch of other stuff at the same time. I think in this activity, we were able to combine a little writing, math, crafts, PE, geology, history, a break at the park, and practical skills, like a small grocery shopping trip, using an automated check-out clerk.

We started out making ten signs for pivotal periods in the earth's history, including the present, the appearance of first true humans, last dinosaurs, first dinosaurs, first land animals, etc, etc. Each sign included the name of the period, it's chief characteristic (along with an amusing illustration), and the number of steps we would be taking back in time. Each step was to represent a million years. We had some notion of what a million years looked like, because we had also completed an earlier activity comparing our age, represented by about 1/32" on a ruler, to a million years, represented by a football field. So the steps we would be taking were the equivalent of one football field each, or 1,000,000 years. Got that?

We located a suitable field not too far from our house, and started planting signs. We attracted the attention of a Middle-Eastern grandma with two kids, and a gentleman and his dog, but other than that, no one bothered us.

This is what it looked like after Nadia planted the 7th sign (The first two ones are really close together, so they look like one. Believe it or not, only two measly steps separate the civilized creatures that we are today from our early human ancestors.) We continued to plant signs 8 and 9, and celebrate the milestones along the way.

After sign number 9, we only had one more to plant. But it presented a problem:

To go back to the beginning of time would require us to take an additional 4160 steps (about 2 miles?) for the total 4600 required. So, we decided to cheat a bit. We walked an estimated 1500 steps to the local Jewel, bought some snacks, and supplies for the Jello geology project (there is a bad pun in there somewhere), took a few extra steps around the store for good measure, went outside, and planted our sign.

So the beginning of the earth is now officially at the Jewel-Osco at Foster and Pulaski in Chicago.

Mixing it up

My excuse for blowing seventy bucks on a premium set of Snap Circuits was that it would keep the kids busy in case it rained on our vacation. In reality, I have been lusting after this "toy" for a couple of years. My father, an electrical engineer, pooh-poohed: Just send them down to the garage with me. I'll show'em how to make real circuits!

No doubt he will. But I might as well prep them a little bit with the ready-made stuff they can do without adult supervision. As for myself, I prefer to stay as far away from the soldering iron as possible.

So I parted ways with my seventy dollars, and came home with a large box.

The rainy day activity turned out to be a smashing success, and initially resulted in circuitry components being fought over with some violence among the kids. Everyone wanted to have a turn. The moment of reconciliation arrived upon the completion of the Flying Saucer project, in which a small red propeller levitated over our heads, and all assembled, in unison and amazement said: aaahhhhh!

OK, I tired and tried, but the picture doesn't quite do it justice. You'll have to use your imagination.

Since the propeller proved to be so fantastically popular with the kids, I decided to adapt a low-tech experiment from another favorite resource of mine: a Brown Paper School Book called Gee, Wiz, on mixing art and science.

Following instructions in the book, we drew a circle incorporating a pattern of primary colors, attached it to the propeller, and put it on the circuit board.

We made predictions about how we would perceive the colors on the circle once the propeller started spinning. Then, we tested our predictions, and, by golly, they turned out to be correct!

I'm looking forward to more fun with these resources. Especially the Brown Paper books, since I recently stumbled upon a full set of them. I can't stop reading them. Chances are I will learn something.

Quick, what is the first word that pops into your head?

I'm willing to bet it wasn't "CRUSTACEAN"!

OK, so perhaps modeling clay is not the best medium for depicting a crayfish, or any creature with an exoskeleton, but he was so darned cute, so much more lovable than the real thing.

Here he is in his full glory.

Aw, shucks! Now you embarrassed me...

No! No more pictures! I beg you!!! STOP!!!!!

(In case you're wondering, ClayCray was created by Peter as part of our ongoing study of animal taxonomy. This is what happens when you give your kids free reign. They have too much fun.
Harrumph.)

Pellet or poo?

A couple of years ago, I didn't even know owl pellets existed, let alone what they were.
Today, I went hunting for them.
Although I purchased a commercial owl pellet lab kit, I felt a little sheepish about spending actual cash on something that should be free for the taking for anyone who cares to look. A nature book helpfully suggested that I could find "piles of them in places where a pellet-producing bird, such as an owl, has roosted." No prob: not fifty paces from my front door is a forest preserve with numerous mature trees, and a large population of small animals and birds: a veritable owl paradise. The website for the forest preserve further assured me that both Eastern Screech Owls and Great Horned Owls are permanent and common residents of these parts.
So, today, I went to find some pellets.
I came home with a pocketful of ... er ... something.

Unless you have a barn, where mice figure regularly on the menu for local barn owls, finding owl pellets is harder than it sounds. From my earlier literary experiences, notably Winnie the Pooh, I believed that owls favored trees with holes in them. Large oak trees with solid, and conveniently perpendicular limbs are a common sight in our woods. Many boast inviting and commodious looking holes. Initially, I got very excited about finding little piles of matter under one such tree. I poked the piles hopefully with a pointed stick, eager to uncover ground animal bones, fur, eyeballs, I dunno.
The piles were quite crumbly, and they did, in fact contain copious quantities of fur.

Unhappily, the piles were made up of remarkably consistent cylindrical shapes that resembled the less crumbly, more glistening, and smellier ones scattered nearby. Upon more thoughtful consideration, I realized that in these woods, large, comfortable oak tree holes are most likely inhabited by raccoons. I further speculated that no self-respecting owl would care to share a perch with a noisy and untidy bunch of masked hoodlums. Therefore, I would have to search for my owl pellets elsewhere.
By that time, I was starting to feel a bit dispirited and cold. I examined the ground beneath some trees with fewer holes and a more upright habit. But these efforts were perfunctory. Why, I thought, was it so hard to find evidence of owls? If only I had been conducting research on the eating, not to mention drinking, habits of humans, I could produce ample evidence. Fast food and candy wrappers, and heaps upon heaps of beverage cans and broken bottles may perhaps excite some future archaeologist.

Fun Guy

Who's the Fun Guy? He's the guy made entirely out of fungi.

As part of our study of fungi and bacteria, we took a walk in the woods to see what we would find. While I am fairly certain that the woods are teeming with bacteria, none of them were immediately visible to the naked eye, so we concentrated on fungi: regular mushrooms, shelf mushrooms, lichen, leaf mold. What we found went into the making of Fun Guy.
Here are all the things we found, including some we couldn't bring home with us: