Discovering the Unexpected

Gallery Walks

Making a Private Sound More Public

It started with a “dustpan guitar” during the first exploration. As the creator explained, he was playing with rubber bands, but did not like the sound when he wrapped them over tin boxes. So he looked around and found a dustpan in the corner of the room, which made sounds that were quiet and satisfying, “especially when you put it right up against your ear, the vibration is really nice.” Other participants at his table enjoyed it too.

Seeing Sound ​

Bits of styrofoam bounce on the cookie tin after Genet applies a tuning fork to it.

Greater agitation of the same bits arises as Mary applies a corrugated tube to the cookie tin while she blows into it.

Discussion of Readings

List of Readings

Exploring - the Cello - and Science Experiments….

Josephine demonstrates how a spoon, hung from the middle of a string [obscured by glasses], conveys a bell sound to her ears.

Make Your Own Path

Experiments with Sound

Observing Patterns on Vibrating Surfaces

Lucinda scatters sugar sprinkles over the circular glass disc fixed at its center. Sara vibrates the glass plate with a sounding tuning fork.

She sets the disc into vibration by stroking against its edge with a violin bow, while watching the sugar jump. Amanda applies a tuning fork to a wine glass.

Cindy watches closely as the black metal Chladni plate undergoes vibrations from a centrally connected loudspeaker.

Striking patterns appear in the arrangements of sand on the black plate.

Experimenting with Bows, Strings, Glasses…

Lucinda bowing a wine glass. Ringing wine glasses, partly filled with water, by finger while listening for its tones.

Kate bowing a balloon. Giovanne ringing a glass “singing bowl” by rubbing a finger around its edge.

Accompanying Galileo’s Fable with Original Sounds

Reflections on the Gathering

​Thanks

Margie came running up to me one day with an excited account of what had happened that morning in class.  I immediately sensed that this was going to be a really good story and that it was somehow particularly important to her personally, so I abruptly cut her off, sent her home, agreed to take over her clean-up chores (It was midday, and school was out for the youngest group); and I made her promise to write down what had happened while it was still fresh in her mind.  Though my rebuff met with initial surprise, I could see in her face how she warmed to the idea (and, besides, I knew she had literary aspirations).  Even as we spoke, I could sense her mind drifting toward what detail to record and how to let her story unfold.
 
Briefly, the sequence was this.  Little Maureen, aged five, had been trying to figure out her family constellation –herself, her little brother, parents, two sets of aunts and uncles- and, psychologically, where she fit in.  Realizing what was transpiring, Margie had suggested a means by which the child might demonstrate her thinking on this matter of relationships, using chalk and erasers, and such.  They worked together on the project for a while, but then it was time to go, so they put the materials aside until the next day when Margie instead brought in a bowl of interesting stones, a few small pieces of wood and a board to glue them onto.  The girl chose carefully – a tiny stone for her brother, a larger one for herself, a very pretty one for her mother, and so forth; and when it came time to distinguish the Uncle Paul on her mother’s side from the Uncle Paul who was her father’s brother, she decided to affix some yellow yarn to one of the stones in order to designate the blond Uncle Paul.  And on it went.
 
When Margie arrived next morning, she already had a second draft, though she wouldn’t yet allow to me see it, for she felt it needed further polishing.  Meanwhile, I took two photos of Maureen with her presentation.  After two more drafts, Margie was done.  Fortunately, I knew Tony Kallett, the editor of a small but important periodical devoted to capturing what really goes on between teachers and their students, and Margie’s piece was immediately accepted.  It was her first published piece and my first (and only) published photograph.

Click the photograph to read Margie's essay, 'Maureen's Family'. *Charlie asked us to note that the editorial at the bottom of the last page of the essay is from Outlook magazine and not a part of the essay itself.

During both of these inquiries, we had opportunities to consider our experiences and relate these to our work in the classroom.  Many of us will return to our classes with a new perception of the intersections in the learning continuum between and among unguided experience with materials and experiences that are supported by another who holds deeper understanding of a topic.

Hi Museum Galaxy Guides,

This past week I went to an opening of an exhibit at the University of Colorado Natural History Museum about the work of David and Frances Hawkins.  In their day, they were quite well known and internationally respected science educators.

Although they lived in Boulder, I met them when I was working at the Capital Children's Museum in Washington, DC in the 1980s.  They had a great understanding of how to communicate, not only the facts of science, but a love for science.  So, although I didn't know them that well, I clearly remember the several times we met.

One thing that has always stuck with me is when David said, "Science is not only about making the strange familiar, but also about making the familiar strange."  The "strange familiar" part I got.  That's about explaining what black holes are.  Or how spectroscopy works.  Or the latest information from the rovers on Mars.  But, "making the familiar strange."  That was new to me.  That is about filling people with a sense of wonder about things they thought they already knew but hadn't really thought about.  Did you ever wonder why you can't tickle yourself?  Did you ever wonder why, when you're driving at night in the rain, the streets look darker than when it's dry?  Did you ever wonder how the cell phone system can find your phone no matter where in the world you are?  In addition to bringing wonder into the world, it extends "scientific thinking" from something that is just done in a lab or observatory into the tools you can use to figure out things you are curious about in everyday life.

David also had a way of making comments that would really make you think.  He told a story about when he was helping his next door neighbor girls build a doll house, which they were doing from scratch.  At one point he said to one of the little girls, "What this doll house needs is a little doll house inside of it."  The little girl thought for a minute and said, "And, that little doll house should have a teeny tiny doll house inside of it!"  In a flash, she had caught a glimpse of infinity.  That's what David's seemingly off-handed comment was really all about.

The real theme of the exhibit, and an underlying theme of much of the Hawkins' work, was how they believed that teachers and students should be shared learners.  Finding something that you and a visitor are BOTH curious about can lead to some of the most powerful learning experiences.  For both of you.  In the exhibit they ask, "In what ways do you consider yourself to be an active learner?  How are your learning pursuits inspired by the children in your life?"  

To that I'll add: When was the last time that a visitor asked you a question that piqued YOUR curiosity, so much so that you and the visitor stopped and tried to figure out the answer to that question?  Either by grabbing a computer and looking it up, or trying an experiment right then and there in Space Odyssey.

If we want to encourage a love of science, these are good ways to start.

- - Eddie

Eddie Goldstein with Alex Cruickshank, member of the Cultivate the Scientist team, and her daughter Zen Rose.

Thank you, Eddie, for sharing this wonderful reflection with your team and with us. Thank you for sharing your memories of Frances and David.  And thank you to everyone who has been a part of the exhibit over these two years: coordinators who have helped the exhibit to travel, participants who have brought their wisdom to the workshops, visitors who have helped the ideas of Frances and David to continue.  Happy New Year!

"It feels like the ocean over here."

The November workshop was designed to interact with light.  Light tables, projectors, translucent and transparent materials, and reflective materials, were available for messing about.  During the square phase (discussion phase) of the workshop we discovered we were talking about sound:  We wondered why a workshop about light would lead us to a conversation about sound. One participant offered:

"It felt so quiet this time." "I noticed that when I started to do something a little louder, I felt almost bad that I would disturb people." "In my classroom I notice that I am so careful to honor the children who need quiet." "Can we think about shaping the environment to honor the children who need loud as well?"

"As I was driving over, I was pondering light and that it is made of waves. 
Sound is waves as well - different lengths of waves."

How can we explore this connection between waves of light and waves and sound as teachers? In the classroom? What other types of waves can we explore? How can we use light waves and sound waves to transport energy in the classroom?

“There is a time, much greater in amount than commonly allowed, which should be devoted to free and unguided exploratory work.” - David Hawkins

A personal reflection from Marion Emmanuel who, after several years of research at NCAR, and because of a sincere interest in how children learn, became part of a CU college level program influenced by the teachings of David Hawkins and the Socratic approach to education.

The interview for this position consisted of one question.  "What caused the fall of the Roman Empire?"  I was dumbstruck.  What did this have to do with teaching science I wondered.  When I acknowledged that I had no idea because I had never thought of it, the interviewer looked at me and said I was hired.  This is the part that struck me. I had been asked to teach an undergrad astronomy class to non-science majors who needed to fulfill a science requirement for graduation. I had never studied nor taught astronomy. What would I do in a class where there were few or no instructions?  What would I do if the students, and their parents who footed the bill for education, realized I did not have the experience that was deemed necessary to hold this position?  Would this create chaos?  Or is the only reason we do not know about something because we have not given the subject matter any thought or experienced it.  This must be where the real learning takes place.  

How does one encourage young minds to think about something?  Place them in an environment where young people can investigate and think about things without outside interference.  The environment is created and then the exploration of what is there is left to the students.  It was this unguided part that really struck me.  The self assurance that comes from personal investigation and time to think about things.

I had taught Physics at Boston University and at Wheaton College.   Some of these older students would say, “Well, I am not certain what this lab and equipment is about.  Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.” I realized that the effort to free up thinking had to be made at younger and younger ages.  Teaching in high school, I found the same attitudes.  

As a volunteer, I continued progressing backwards until I realized success was easiest during the pre-school and elementary ages when children were so inquisitive on their own.  They would benefit from this time, this unguided time.  It was and is during their free time that their powers of observation and creativity in thinking really come out. 

As for the CU students, the environment was created for them.  The first class session looked like lab tables with "a pile of junk" on them.  But this pile of junk had been carefully selected to help them learn about some basic concepts  in Astronomy as they worked together in finding out what to do with light sources, various objects which blocked or transmitted light, etc.  "Did you see the colors in that shadow?  How is that possible?"  As time in this course progressed, the questions became more and more complex.  The realization that non-science majors in business, and liberal arts classes could "do" science gave them a feeling of accomplishment.  In fact, I was not allowed to tell them that I had no clue about astronomy until the end of the course.  During the course, I didn't answer their questions directly, because I didn’t know either. We had to explore and learn together.  At the end of the class, when I told them of my lack of experience, they refused to believe that this was my first attempt at astronomy too.  Teachers, parents, students...we are all learning together and from one another.

You know,  at the end of all the exploration, I had learned so much and they had as well.  I felt my initial concerns about this class had been eradicated.  The process had been justified, really justified.  Prior to the August Commencement, sitting in the audience at the Shakespeare Festival, one of the students came up to me to  inform me that he would graduate in August and said, “Thank you. In four years, this was the only class that asked me to think critically.  To think for myself.”

Isn't this really what true education is about?  Isn't this what we really want for our children?  For all children?