Entrance Slip: Scientific Language in the Classroom

Reading Kimmerer’s reflection on the “grammar of animacy” made me think deeply about the role of scientific and mathematical language in the classroom. On one hand, I value the precision that terminology brings. Terms like isosceles triangle or photosynthesis allow us to communicate clearly and unambiguously. But as Kimmerer points out, this precision often comes at the cost of distance, the living world simply becomes objects and processes to be studied, rather than relatives to be in relationship with. In math, for example, it can sometimes feel like students are being taught a sterile set of terms and formulas, instead of being invited to see the beauty, creativity, and interconnectedness behind the language.

What struck me most in Kimmerer’s writing was her description of Potawatomi verbs that express aliveness, like wiikwegamaa, which means “to be a bay.” In English, we reduce the bay to a noun, a thing, something static and objectified. But in Potawatomi, the bay is understood as a living process, always moving, always in relationship with its surroundings. This perspective made me reflect on my own teaching: how often do I present math as a fixed set of definitions and objects, instead of as patterns and relationships that are active, dynamic, and continually unfolding?

In thinking about Indigenizing my classroom, Kimmerer’s work challenges me to reconsider the language I use and the ways I frame learning. I want to bring in more opportunities for students to engage with mathematics and science as processes of connection, through story, metaphor, and relational contexts, rather than only through technical terminology. For example, when teaching geometry, I could invite students to see shapes as “figures”, relationships between points, lines, and spaces.

Kimmerer reminds us that language shapes how we see the world, and therefore how we treat it. If my classroom can hold space for both the clarity of scientific/mathematical terminology and the respect inherent in the grammar of animacy, perhaps students will come away knowing the terms and also carrying a deeper sense of responsibility toward the world those terms describe.

 

Exit Slip: Ropes, Colour and Capturing Moments in Time?

After attempting the seven-strand braid, I initially felt discouraged from fiber work. However, I became fascinated with making rope out of grass. This process left me with some lingering questions: does twisting each strand to its maximum have a tipping point where it weakens the rope rather than strengthening it? And while twisting the strands, they naturally wanted to coil together, was the angle they tended toward ideal for overall strength?

Another activity we tried involved color-matching paint chips to objects in nature. I found this surprisingly difficult. Whenever I held a paint chip up to an object, I couldn’t always tell whether the colors didn’t match or if the difference was merely one of saturation. Perhaps the exercise was meant to spark critique of how artificial our modern world has become, or maybe I just lack an eye for distinguishing subtle color differences. I’m leaning toward the latter, since I’ve been told that before.

During a group discussion on how external factors shape our perception of reality, I brought up Huawei’s Moon Mode controversy. Some critics claimed the phone “photoshops” the moon into user photos. While I couldn’t verify the accuracy of this claim, a paper on the controversy raised interesting points: debates about Huawei’s Moon Mode aren’t just about image integrity, but about how societies negotiate new norms for what counts as a “photo” in the age of AI. Photography, traditionally seen as evidentiary, is increasingly a site where politics, technology, and meaning-making intersect. Regardless of the claims’ validity, Samsung has also been accused of reconstructing moon images with AI.

 

https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/full/10.1177/01634437211064964 

 https://www.theverge.com/2023/3/13/23637401/samsung-fake-moon-photos-ai-galaxy-s21-s23-ultra

https://medium.com/adventures-in-consumer-technology/samsungs-moon-photos-are-kinda-fake-but-should-anyone-care-6fbad684ff41

 

Entrance Slip: Braiding is Hard

While reading the excerpt from Kallis’ book, I found myself stopping to marvel at the sheer difficulty of knitting an entire shirt by hand. It made me appreciate the patience, skill, and persistence required. I’ve always wanted to learn how to work with threads, whether crochet, knitting, or weaving, and I carry a huge amount of respect for those who can do these crafts so beautifully.

Alongside the reading, I watched the tutorial on the seven-strand double braid and even tried it myself. I’ve attached a photo below. The process was surprisingly difficult. I kept dropping the strands mid-crossing and lost track of my progress more than once. Still, the challenge gave me a deeper appreciation for the labor and artistry that goes into handwork. What seems simple or decorative on the surface often requires immense focus and practice.

For me, both the reading and the braid practice highlighted an important point:
making with our hands is a form of knowledge. Even small attempts at these skills show how much respect is owed to those who dedicate themselves to traditional crafts and ecological art practices.

I don't think I got very far

Exit Slip: Sept 18 Soundscaping in the Garden

During our lecture in the garden, we revisited our sit spots, this time not to draw what we saw, but to listen. I chose to represent myself at the center of the page, almost like a radar, with icons drawn in the directions I heard sounds. Their sizes reflected the volume: larger for louder noises, smaller for softer ones.

Because my spot was near the road, the sound of cars dominated. At times I could barely distinguish between the whoosh of traffic and the wind moving through the trees. I also caught faint bursts of birdsong, though they felt almost hidden beneath the louder hum of the background.

What struck me most about this exercise was how easy it was to lose the very thing I was trying to focus on. I became so concentrated on how to notate the sounds, what symbol to use, how big to draw it, where to place it, that I realized I had started tuning out the world around me. In trying to capture the soundscape on paper, I unconsciously disengaged from the listening itself. The exercise reminded me that representation and perception can sometimes compete for attention, and that true listening requires letting go of the need to “get it right” on the page.

Learning With, Not From, the Garden

 After reading Susan's chapter on campus teaching and learning gardens, I found myself strongly agreeing with the idea that it is essential to teach students about respecting ecosystems. As the article points out, when we treat the living world as a co-teacher rather than just a resource, it opens the door to new ways of learning and relating. With enough respect, ecosystems can “reward” us, not only with food or materials, but with knowledge, beauty, and deeper understanding.

I connected this idea to my own experience learning in the Orchard Gardens. I still remember how wonderful the fruit tasted and how refreshing it felt to be outside working in the sun. It wasn’t just about the harvest, it was about building a relationship with place. I even learned about the empress tree, something I likely never would have encountered otherwise. That sense of discovery and connection is something I carry with me.

The garden is a space where all of these can come together. My time at the Orchard Gardens showed me that learning doesn’t need to be confined to a single mode. We can be serious while also being playful, we can engage our minds while also engaging our senses and emotions, and we can value both scientific and artistic ways of knowing.

For me, the biggest takeaway is that students need a wide breadth of experiences to see themselves in relation to the living world. Gardens, like classrooms, are not just about producing outcomes, they are about cultivating respect, curiosity, and imagination. That is the kind of teaching I hope to carry forward.

 

Exit Slip: Learning in the Garden

 Finding my sit spot was a little bit easy. Since I had been acquainted with the garden beforehand, I was immediately drawn towards the empress tree. It was just so different compared to the other trees around it and in a bit of a secluded grove. It was also the first time I had ever used charcoal to draw so it was quite fun to explore using a new tool. 

After digesting our group discussion, I resonated with the sentiment that to be open-minded we need to be able to teach all kids, not just the ones that we like. We choose who to teach and with that comes the responsibility of not picking and choosing just because it may make our lives easier. As much as we may want to just forget about the day, we have a duty to all students such that they at least get a fair shake.

Being a Reflective Teacher

Despite being written in a different time and place, many of the ideas expressed in the article ring quite true. I did resonate with the notion that the amount of reflection one could make is so vast that it can be paralyzing. But realistically teachers do not have the luxury of paralysis and teaching must go on. 

The article mentioned unquestionable obedience to administrative directives, I do not believe that newer teachers accept these directives with their head down. I believe that teachers need to lead by example, and if we want our students to critically examine what they are being told, teachers must do the same and sometimes that requires speaking up to power.

For me, inquiry means reflecting privately, and also actively seeking evidence, experimenting with new approaches, and engaging with colleagues to refine my teaching. Critical thinking, then, is, in part, disagreeing with directives but about carefully weighing why I teach what I teach, how I teach it, and how my choices affect students. This framing helps me see reflection as a practical tool for growth rather than an abstract exercise.