Karolyn Toews

Lesson One: Introducing students to the art of speaking and listening

On Thursday I began my Field Study about using scaffolding activities for storytelling. The children in my class are young and I already knew that I would have to introduce each step slowly and carefully. I decided to use the game “Virginia Reel” to practice listening and speaking. To a partner, the students would share 3 things: their name, age and something that they liked to do. Before the game, we practiced speaking these sentences “in our heads” first. This gave the students an opportunity to quietly think through the process. A few students came to the front of the class and shared their stories for all of us as examples. Then, in 2 lines, face to face, the students told their stories to a partner. Some were loud and animated. Others shy and reserved. There were active – and not so active – listeners. I quickly grabbed my camera and got a shot of these interactions.

Instead of reviewing the behaviours of being an active listener and a clear speaker on a t-chart like I have done in the past, I put the picture under the doc. camera and we debriefed it as a class. I saw a number of things happen. First, my role became that of a facilitator not the imparter of knowledge. I let the picture speak and teach. Students noticed, shared and made connections. They pointed out good and bad behaviours. They listened to each other. Secondly, in making observations, my students encouraged and affirmed each other. We saw some active listening and some great storytelling. One shy student in particular, used emotion and gesture when speaking. I saw students being built up by their classmates – naturally and honestly. Thirdly, the next day, when reviewing the Virginia Reel picture, my students remembered details and gave examples of the picture with little difficulty. The fact that most of them were in the picture gave importance to the event and allowed them to make personal connections. They could easily recall good and bad storytelling behaviours.

Scaffolding used: providing students with a framework for speaking, quiet thinking, student modelling, teaching (learning to stand in a line, facing a partner) and playing the game “Virginia Reel”, debriefing by discussing and sharing behaviours seen on the picture.

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Lesson Two: Retelling and recording an experience using Adobe Voice

This morning we went to the pumpkin patch. What a great experience to talk about! In the afternoon, we had some storytelling to do. First, we recalled the Virginia Reel game that we had played the day before. We used the same speaking format except this time the students were to tell one or two things that they had enjoyed at the farm. Second, we had to learn how to use the Adobe Voice App on the i-pads in order to record our sharing. This was a bit more difficult, as many of the students were more interested in the i-pad than the actual App. I was fortunate to have the guidance of our District Technology Helping Teacher as I wasn’t familiar with Adobe Voice either. Anticipating this, we set up the i-pads in advance.  Still, there were a number of steps to follow and I was thankful for the two other adults in the room to help with trouble shooting.

For many of my students, this activity was a lot of fun. They quickly understood how to use Adobe Voice and moved beyond today’s expectations. They enjoyed listening to themselves and being able to re-record if they wanted to make changes. Jack did a little experimenting with expression and Tanner extended the activity by talking about 2 pictures instead of just one. I was interested however, that this activity was visibly stressful for two students. One student, Jordan, quickly put up his hand and said that he didn’t want to speak into the mic. Jordan is generally quiet and doesn’t feel comfortable sharing ideas in large group situations. He was OK with the suggestion to move away from his peers but still acted silly in recalling his experiences. Teiya started crying, and said it was too loud in the class to hear herself record. She was fine after finding a quiet spot to share her story.

Upon refection, today’s storytelling activity had many learning opportunities – and perhaps potential difficulties.  Orally retelling stands alone as a skill that one needs to become comfortable doing. It also requires much practice.  Learning to use Adobe Voice is a skill that includes using the App as well as feeling comfortable enough to record and listen to oneself speak. Combining these two together on a Friday after was a challenge for me as the teacher as well as for my students. Both of us being learners! I am excited to try this again in the future. I am now more aware of the need that some of my students have for privacy and quiet – especially as beginners. I am aware that some of my students express their uncomfortable feelings by being silly on the recordings. I need to address this. I will create more opportunities for students to expand their storytelling abilities. I will not always use Adobe Voice. Students should learn to speak in other forums as well.

Scaffolding in this lesson: going to the pumpkin patch (having a real life story to tell),  reviewing and practicing using the same format as yesterday (3 ideas), practicing telling the pumpkin patch story to a buddy and modelling it in front of the class, learning the steps to use Adobe Voice (some of these steps were already step up in the App), trying out and experimenting with telling and recording the story on the i-pad.

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Today I spent much of the afternoon reading about Vygotsky and the Zone of Proximal Development. I have heard about ZPD many times, but not through the lense of Vygotsky’s theory. I was overwhelmed by the vocabulary and knowledge; having to read the same paragraph over and over again to grasp some kind of understanding.  I was curious as to how I had been interpreting this idea in my own classroom. Was I unknowingly seeking out and giving instruction/support at “just the right time”? The idea of supporting students at this optimal ZPD made me think of scaffolding in particular. Perhaps also, because I was intending to scaffold student learning when teaching storytelling for my Field Study. At this point, I believe that I am using the term “scaffolding” quite loosely when approaching the lesson planning. I am interested in developing a more articulated view of scaffolding and how it connects with Vygotsky’s theory of ZPD. I am curious if/how the two ideas overlap and whether the answer will bring clarity to my teaching of storytelling to my students.

Reference: Chaikin,S. The Zone of Proximal Development in Vygotsky’s Analysis of Learning and Instruction. In A.Kozulin, B.Gindis, V.S.Ageyev, S.M.Miller (Eds.), Vygotsky’s Educational Theory in Cultural Context. New York: Cambridge University Press.

Lesson Three: I love to tell stories to my class. I find that when I tell stories, I can really connect with my students. I feel an emotional bond because I am able to physically move around them, make eye contact, feel their own emotion and reaction to me – and then react back to them with what I perceive they need to make the story come alive. It’s a constant back and forth communication where they give to me and I give back to them. In the past I’ve told personal stories – of my dog or cat, family member or activity that I’ve been involved in. Today, however, I told them a story that I had read and memorized called “The Tailor”. I was a bit apprehensive about remembering the details but I purposely chose a story that had repetition both in the text and in the story line. That was good for me and also for my students. I could tell they were already predicting the sequence and enjoyed saying the repetitive parts along with me. This interaction – between storyteller and listeners – was most enjoyable! Hamilton and Weiss in their book, “Children Tell Stories” suggest that “if you wish to convince your students to tell stories, you must tell a story yourself! By telling stories you provide an effective model for risk taking and good-quality oral language for students. You demonstrate the tools that students need to share the pictures, stories and feelings in their own creative minds, both orally and in writing. Perhaps, most important of all, you inspire them.” (2005, 27).

Lesson Four: One of the first ways to scaffold story telling in my class was to teach the students how to make a story map. A story map is a series of pictures that helps the teller to remember the sequence of events in the story. After telling the story “The Tailor” to my students, I had them draw the five different pieces of clothing that the tailor sewed. Each piece of clothing represented one part of the story line. We used a strip of paper and made sure that pictures they drew were simple – with little detail and no words. During the story telling I had introduced each section of the story with a picture that I had drawn. From previous lessons, I knew that my young artists needed some drawing direction. So, to further scaffold this process, I provided the students with pictures that they could copy. I noticed that as the students worked, they spoke about the story, repeated the patterns and talked about the order. Drawing these pictures was helping them to internalize the story and begin the retelling process. Scaffolding used: story mapping, providing picture examples for the students to copy

Lesson Five: The students were enthusiastic about the story “The Tailor” and the story maps that they had created. I decided that it was time to give them the opportunity to re-tell the story. Before that however, we used a strategy called “telling the wall” to practice individual storytelling. With much direction and a bit of humour, we positioned ourselves facing the wall. To begin with, the student’s task was to say three things about themselves in a quiet, loud and scary voice. Some students found this to be awkward and needed some encouragement to stay focussed. Others enjoyed the challenge of hearing themselves speak – many said that their voices bounced back at them when they spoke. One student said that it was most fun to use his scary voice to speak: “Telling the wall” was a creative and non-threatening way to practicing speaking. The wall acted like a neutral listener and surprisingly projected the students voices back to them. This strategy will definitely needed revisiting until the students feel comfortable standing and talking to the wall. Scaffolding used: “telling the wall” strategy

Lesson six: Today’s lesson was about putting together a few of the scaffolding techniques we had learned.  The students were ready to re-tell the story of “The Tailor” using their story maps as prompts and the wall as a listener. I reviewed the story, remembering to recall some of the repeated text (“at least it seemed to be all worn out”) and story patterns (the repeated use of articles of clothing). The students were then asked to find a place facing the wall and tell the story. A few things that I noticed: almost all of the children were engaged in the activity; the students used their story mapping prompts exclusively; a few students found it hard to get started and needed some support from me. Gavin, an ELL student spoke in short phrases without using any connections or repeated phrases. Others, like Tanner and Marley were comfortable with the rhythm of the story and recalled the patterns and repeated portions easily. Veronique used a clear voice with some expression. Jordan, who often needs encouragement in speaking activities gave this task effort. Scaffolding used: “telling the wall”, story mapping, storytelling

In order to move along in our storytelling process, I had to assess where we were at this point. I had given my students a number of opportunities to practice speaking on their own and then to others. In the beginning, the students had spoken about personal experiences (our trip to the pumpkin patch) and then we shifted to retelling the story “The Tailor”.  I had infused student practicing with scaffolding activities such as the Virginia Reel, Telling the Wall, Round the Circle Storytelling and Telling to a Partner. We also worked on creating a story map and practiced introductions/endings. These things gave structure and acted as prompts for the tellers.  Finally, I purposefully choose the story “The Tailor” because it contained patterns and repetitive parts. I felt these were important scaffolds for first time retelling.

I spent some time looking through the pictures I had taken of my class last week. They varied. Some were intentional. I had taken them for data collection. They would serve as a purpose for my Field Study or student assessment. These spoke much about what we had been doing that day and addressed the learning objectives that I had tried to accomplish. They spoke to the intensity of my job: the demands of educational practice, keeping students motivated and teaching to individual needs and personalities. To be honest, many of them brought to mind a very busy, emotionally draining day. As I continued to scroll through the photographs I found myself smiling. A warmth spread through me – the kind that teachers experience when they have made a connection with a student. Or when the humour of a situation allows itself to override all the complexities of the day. It is a good thing. A very good thing. It heals me of a cynical, critical heart and moves me to laughter and joy. I am then thankful for the moments of memory a picture provides: a time for reflection and for seeing the good in my students, in my job and in me as a person.

I learned a few things from the last time we used the Adobe Voice App on our i-pads. So before using it again, I made some changes. First, instead of using our school set of i-pads, I was fortunate to be able to borrow a set of five mini i-pads for long-term use. I could take these home and format them for each individual student. To prepare, I took pictures from the student’s story maps (with the Adobe Voice camera) and created 8 frames (an intro., 6 pictures and an ending) for each student. These frames would act as prompts for my students when they told their stories. I must admit, that this was time consuming. I realized though, that I was scaffolding their use of technology and with further practice, my students would be able to take pictures and prepare their own frames. Secondly, I decided that it would be more effective if my students could record privately in a quiet spot. It was a bit difficult to find places – a few of my students recorded in the art supply room! I was able to get another adult to circulate a few times and make sure my students were on task. With these changes in place I hoped for better results.

Yesterday we recorded our retellings of “The Tailor”.  After so many opportunities to practice, the students were enthusiastic and ready to start. I had organized the i-pads and found places for the recordings to happen. Some initial observations in comparison to our first try (pumpkin patch recording) were: 1. Having students record in a quiet spot, away from distraction was much more effective. It was private, the students could concentrate, there were no opportunities to “show off” and surprisingly, they didn’t need much adult help. One student, Jack, did a wonderful job of retelling without acting silly like he had previously done. Personally, this method was less stressful for me as a teacher and definitely built my confidence as a user of technology. 2. Because this was our second time using Adobe Voice, the students were much more comfortable with the process. They weren’t distracted by the actual device and were able to move on to the actual recording. 3. I believe that the students were motivated by the “look” of their final product. The musical background, their own illustrations and the overall appearance of the recording was a good way to end this retelling. Many students asked if they could do it again. 4. To celebrate, we shared our storytelling recordings with each other. Although the students all told the same story, it was interesting to see how they personalized the retelling and made the story their own.

Yesterday we recorded our retellings of “The Tailor”.  After so many opportunities to practice, the students were enthusiastic and ready to start. I had organized the i-pads and found places for the recordings to happen. Some initial observations in comparison to our first try (pumpkin patch recording) were:

1. Having students record in a quiet spot, away from distraction was much more effective. It was private, the students could concentrate, there were no opportunities to “show off” and surprisingly, they didn’t need much adult help. One student, Jack, did a wonderful job of retelling without acting silly like he had previously done. Personally, this method was less stressful for me as a teacher and definitely built my confidence as a user of technology.
2. Because this was our second time using Adobe Voice, the students were much more comfortable with the process. They weren’t distracted by the actual device and were able to move on to the actual recording.
3. I believe that the students were motivated by the “look” of their final product. The musical background, their own illustrations and the overall appearance of the recording was a good way to end this retelling. Many students asked if they could do it again.
4. Finally, we celebrated our successes by sharing our stories with others. The students enjoyed this process and were proud of their hard work. 

My primary interest was to get a picture of how my scaffolding activities affected the retelling of “The Tailor”. I based my data collections on my observations from the latest Adobe Voice recordings as well as anecdotal notes I had made from student behaviours/pictures I had taken. I chose to look at the scaffolding techniques that I had used and how these had impacted the student’s ability to retell/record the story. I also compiled a snapshot of each student’s recording to get an overall picture of the results of the scaffolds I had used. Here are the results: Overall snapshot of 16 students (criteria: is able to tell the entire story including the intro. and ending; uses a clear voice; remembers the repetitions/patterns of the story; operates Adobe Voice effectively)

exceeding expectations: 1 student (6%)   
fully meeting expectations: 7 students (44%)  
minimally meeting expectations: 5 students (31%)  
not meeting expectations: 3 students (19%)

1. Scaffold: Making and using a story map

15/16 students successfully made a story map that represented "The Tailor". One students needed support to complete it. 
16/16 students used their own story maps as a prompt to retell the story (the story map on the yellow paper strips was used first and then later when it was transferred onto the i-pads).

2. Scaffold: Practicing to say an introduction and ending

16/16 students introduced and ended their story correctly as practiced (this may also have been because they were prompted by the beginning and ending frames on the i-pads).

3. Scaffold: Learning to use Adobe Voice

Student needing coaching: 1 (6%)
Student didn't want to record: 1 (6%)
Students having some difficulty but no assistance require: 4 (25%)
Students experiencing no difficulty: 10 (63%)

4. Scaffold: Incorporating repeated patterns in the retelling

10/14 (71%) students

An overall snapshot where 75% of my students are meeting criteria tells me that learning took place and that the scaffolding may have had a positive effect on retelling abilities. It also suggest that my students are ready to move on to something new and perhaps more challenging.

It may be useful to make an Anchor Chart that reminds students of what a good storyteller looks like.

There are pros and cons to using only one way to collect evidence. Adobe Voice is an easy App to use and gets good results, but I’m thinking of my one student (Jordan) who made silly noises on his initial pumpkin patch recording and then refused to retell the story of “The Tailor”. Jordan is extremely shy but usually not defiant. Speaking is often difficult for him and he acts silly or shuts down if he begins to feel uncomfortable. There are other ways to encourage him to speak or to offer opportunities for retelling in more.comfortable, non-threatening activities. An example was when I quickly gathered a small group of children around the -pad and we had fun saying “my name is…” and creating a short recording of it. Jordan was in this group. There was no pressure and he joined in whole-heartedly (see the example under the post “The Tailor: Our final product” called “my name is…”).

When listening to the recordings, I noticed that many students had difficulty choosing words when moving from one frame to the next. Another scaffolding activity might be to teach some connecting words that will enable them to move smoothly from one idea to the next

63% of my students had little or no difficulty using Adobe Voice. It may be time to provide more instruction about the App and opportunities to use it in other ways (i.e. recording finding in Science or documenting Math activities). I have also made note of the 4 students who may need some assistance next time we use the App.

A wonder: What would happen if I took away the story map prompts. How well could my students retell? Would I see more creativity and imagination? Would they feel freed up from following the pictures or would they experience more difficulty?

The purpose of my Field Study is to investigate a variety of scaffolding activities to encourage and develop greater oral language skills in storytelling. My readings around this topic have lead to a wondering: can oral language aid in the scaffolding process? Are these two ideas reciprocally connected? Vygotsky’s social view of learning suggests that they are. He believes that knowledge is collaboratively constructed. There is active participation that enables learners to construct and transform language. How does this collaboration happen? What does this active participation look like? It appears to be had through oral communication; through external dialogue. Mercer (1994) suggests that “through talk, in particular, information and ideas can be shared, points of view explored and explanations presented. These new ways of thinking and understanding may represent only minor shifts, but there are significant in the ongoing construction of knowledge and the development of alternative perspectives.” The ability to communicate ideas with others helps us to talk through our way to understanding. Effective scaffolding allows and assists a movement beyond actual development to a level of potential development (ZPD) (2001, 24). Vygotsky further argues that:

“external dialogues in which learners take part are gradually internalized to construct the resources for thinking: outer speech eventually becomes inner thinking. As learners talk through a problem, or as they ‘talk their way to understanding’, they are developing the‘thinking’ tools for later problem-solving tools which will eventually becomeinternalized and construct the resources for independent thinking.”

The process of internalizing knowledge; for making sense of our world through dialogue is scaffolded by more and more opportunities to dialogue and make meaning. Being able to effectively communicate through oral language directly affects the scaffolding that occurs. Practically speaking, oral language development does much more than create good storytellers, it is critical in the process of learning.

“It follows, then, that the kinds of talk that occur in the classroom are critical in the development of how students ‘learn to learn’ through language and ultimately how they learn to think.” (2001, 25)

Reading Reference: Hamilton & Gibbons (2001). What is Scaffolding? In Hammond, J. (Ed.), Scaffolding – Teaching and Learning in Language and Literacy Education.

Is there a connection between cognitive tools, scaffolding and ZPD (Zone of Proximal Development)? Today, as I was attempting to synthesize my readings with my data I came to the conclusion that there is. This was a big “aha” moment for me. As yet, I hadn’t thought to bring my studies of Imaginative Education into the work I was doing in my field study. As I was thinking about where I would go next with my field study lessons (in storytelling), it occurred to me that it would be possible and perhaps very effect to infuse a storytelling opportunity into my Curriculum Design Project. What better way than to represent the journey of a water molecule through a story. What better way to understand my inquiries so for than to meld them both together into a single lesson! This excited me. As I began to think about the practical part of developing the lesson it seemed important to make some connections with my storytelling unit and cognitive tools first. I started writing ideas on some stickies. On each sticky I wrote one scaffolding activity that I had already employed with my students to help them be effective storytellers (when telling the story of “The Tailor”). Then under that activity I wrote corresponding cognitive tools that were used. Here are a few examples: 1. The scaffold of the Virginia Reel activity used the cognitive tools of game and pattern (rotating around and moving to the next position) 2. The scaffold of Telling the Wall used the cognitive tools of rhyme and rhythm (telling the patterns and repetitions in the story); while telling the story the students employed forming images, binary opposites (give/take); drama (using voice inflection and emotion to tell the story) 3. The scaffold of creating a Story Map used the cognitive tools of imagery (visual representation of the story), binary opposites, pattern (in the drawings of the story) 4. The scaffold of Around the Circle used the cognitive tools of game, rhythm, binary opposites My sticky activity (and data analysis) clearly pointed out that as we had moved through some of these scaffolds and cognitive tools, it was time to push the students forward in their storytelling abilities, their use of Adobe Voice and perhaps the medium of storytelling. Egan suggests that “we need to provide opportunities for students to begin using some of the later tool kit even if in embryonic form. As with young children’s use of embryonic tools of literacy, in Vygotsky’s terms, this might be seen as drawing the students forward in their ‘zone of proximal development.'” (Egan, 2005, pg.82). The combination or synthesis of scaffolding activities and cognitive tools (can they be the same?) had lead my students to the place of needing more tools in their kit or scaffolds in order to move them into a place of greater learning opportunities. Complexity theorists see this place as the “edge of chaos”. This is where they claim new life/learning happens. “Teaching and learning seem to be more about expanding the space of the possible and creating conditions for the emergence of the as-yet unimagined, rather than perpetuating entrenched habit of interpretation.” (Fels and Belliveau, pg. 26) Vygotsky’s ZPD becomes then, a location where the of scaffolding learning among students happens: scaffolding that includes the use of Egan’s cognitive tools. With all this in mind, I have set forth to create a series of lessons that will be employed through the use of scaffolding activities and cognitive tools. The idea of oral language development (storytelling) as the umbrella focus and Vygotsky’s ZPD as my aim for providing an “action site of learning” (from Performative Inquiry, Fels and Belliveau).

Our first assignment for EDPR 527 was to think of a metaphor that represented the idea of a learning community. I choose to use a puzzle. I had worked on and completed this puzzle during the Christmas holidays. I was closely connected with the challenge, struggle and triumph of finding pieces that worked together to create a whole. It seemed fitting that what I was experiencing in puzzle building, could also represent some of the characteristics found in a learning community. Pieces of the puzzle inform the whole. Each piece is original and has the unique one-of-a kind qualities that allows it to fit into only one place. It’s uniqueness is needed to create the big picture. Members of the learning community do just this. Each person brings ideas, challenges, struggles and triumphs to the community. Each person is needed to complete the whole. Without a piece, the puzzle is not finished. Individual talents and abilities are what make a learning community special and often drive the ideas and direction of that community. Conversely, the whole of the puzzle helps to inform the individual pieces. I needed the completed picture of the puzzle to give clues as to where each piece fit. The entire picture helped make sense of the details and uniqueness of the individual pieces. So it is with a learning community. Sharing ideas, critiquing each other, being challenged in thinking are only a few things that the whole community offers to it’s individual members. It was a great disappointment for me to discover that one of my puzzle pieces was missing. There was a hole in the big picture. I had to think that in learning communities, some members may feel that they don’t have a voice. They may feel insignificant and unimportant. In the end, it is a loss for the whole group. How do we encourage those who are scared or intimidated to join in and make the picture complete?

Today: maybe I’ll get out of bed…or not… actually that was yesterday too. My body feels like it is weighted down and difficult to move. I have muscle aches and nausea. Food is a perverse obsession. I try to fold laundry, but only make it through half the load. I have laughed – about this all. I started a new puzzle. Played through most of the movie theme songs from our Disney mega-book, began reading a new novel, napped, watched netflix, pondered all day about walking outside and then actually ventured out – the stars were spectacular! It’s time to shave my hair – I wear a hurley scull cap to cover it up. I think my eye lashes are falling out too… In it all, I am being “wooed from the jaws of distress to a spacious place free from restriction (Job. 36:16). I have been given this picture of a spacious place. I know where it is. On the way up to Stillwood Camp, there is a spacious place. It is a large, expansive, open field…a place to breath and run unhindered. It is a place of rescue and delight. It’s where I go to find hope and peace…and perhaps…joy. I am thankful for this space. “He brought me out into a spacious place; he rescued me because he delighted in me.” (Ps. 18:19)

I am fortunate to be blessed with a teacher-friend – Rhona. The basis of our friendship began about 7 years at the start of a job-share position. Having shared a classroom with a number of teachers over my career, it was soon clear to me that this particulate situation was different. From the very start, I felt peace, a shared purpose and commitment to the task – caring for each other and for our students and a baseline understanding about what teaching should look like philosophically. In reflecting on this article, I am able to draw on some specific examples that resonate clearly with my own experience. Nodding speaks about fidelity: not to a principle or attribute, but “rather guided by an ethic of care for the other” It should be “refined through a deep consideration for a friend as a vulnerable human being.” (p. 26-27). My experience with Rhona has been cultivated and grown by her openness and willingness to accept me as a whole person. What I bring to the table is more than just the curriculum I teach. She has valued and affirmed my role as a mother, wife, daughter – my passions, my concerns, my health – my misgivings and my fears. Sonu reflects that our spaces for friendships need to have greater attention on sustaining feelings of safety and trust. The “character of the relationship takes precedence over the content of the curriculum” (p.30). Perhaps, though, a guiding feature of our friendship centres around a common philosophical stance about the balance of academic and emotional needs of our students. This basis of understanding has opened up opportunity for safe risk-taking, critique and reflection. Our friendship that is built on trust and vulnerability has opened a space for me to embrace a different way of understanding. I echo the metaphor of “another self” (Zalloua, 2002, p.28): an opportunity when the “self breaks out of itself to courageously confront inner flaws and inadequacies.” I have seen, by watching, listening and dialoguing with Rhona that my approaches to teaching have lacked confidence and risk. Over the years, I have learned from her: to be more firm and certain with parent advice, to cover my bases in evaluation and assessment and to listen to others and be open to new ideas. She has encouraged yet challenged my beliefs. This has given me the OK to follow my instincts with greater enthusiasm and conviction. In conclusion, I would like to draw on a more recent example of care. When I was diagnosed with cancer this past fall, Rhona’s care for me embodied my wholeness. She continued to treat me as a professional; seeing my role as a teacher as valid and useful despite my illness. She rallied other staff members to support me in extra-curricular responsibilities (recess duty) that helped to alleviate any unnecessary teaching stress. Rhona stood in the gap for me by practically bringing meals to my home. It takes a selfless kind of person to place care as a vital centre piece in a friendship. This relationship is truly a gift – one that cannot be manufactured, but comes from a heart of giving and looking beyond. I am thankful to be the recipient of that kind of relationship. Reflection on: Friendship, Education and Justice Teaching: The Professional Development of Two Teacher-Friends Debbie Sonu Hunter College, City University of New York New York, NY

Laura Servage in her article “Making Spaces” encourages educators to think about the role of critical reflection energized by dialogue and conversation. Discourse should be authentic and focus on the meanings or “whys” behind why we do things. These times of collaboration should tackle foundational questions and should always be a place for openness to discussion. Yesterday I had the opportunity to visit with my teacher-friend and colleague, Rhona Pederson. Our relationship is one of openness, “where care is the vital centrepiece” (Sonu, “The Professional Development of Two Teacher-Friends”, p.31). We share a passion for loving children and a desire to create as Nel Noddings encourages, “spaces of invitation that allow us to move beyond the mask and share our vulnerability and humanity”. Our conversation lead us to the challenge of personalizing our teaching by providing honesty and clarity in our assessment practices. With the introduction of the redesigned BC curriculum in September, we felt that our ideas about how assessment took place should be revisited as well. Rhona and I brainstormed together for things we were already doing that we felt were moving us forward in our vision of what assessment should look like: documenting student work using pictures and audio/visual, sending home work that had clear criteria based on learning outcomes, writing daily messages in student Planners, sharing pictures informally with parents, using iPad (Adobe Voice) recordings at parent/teacher interviews and making use of district technology support. During my last field study I had begun to use the assessment/reporting tool called Fresh Grade. I was impressed with their vision of “making learning visible with a collaborative learning platform”. This reporting system allows for a better representation of individual learning. Teachers, students and parents have access to this interactive and real-time sharing tool that provides a “window into the classroom”. Fresh Grade seems to align itself with our current educational themes: one of which is personalized learning and assessment. What to do next? Rhona and I will be collaborating and supporting each other as we hope to begin to use Fresh Grade in September, 2016. I the meantime, I have connected Rhona with the district tech support and they will be providing her with technology to experiment with and try out Fresh Grade for the remainder of the year. I am following Fresh Grade on twitter and continuing to read supporting literature and documents. I will use the Fresh Grade account that I have already set up to learn more and practice using the program.

How can a mirror be a metaphor for a learning community? If you look straight into it, what do you see? You see yourself. Your only focus is the details of your face. Your self image is constructed. You will notice that the mirror also reverses your image, so your perspective of self is somewhat skewed. Next, walk around with the mirror facing the ceiling. What do you see? Your perspective changes. How you walk around the room is determined by a new reality. Even though your image may be visible, your world has opened up. You are better informed of your space and your actions are determined by its parameters. You may discover things about your environment that are new and interesting – or challenging. Reposition yourself and use the mirror to focus on others around you. Keep your image in the mirror. See how your face becomes part of a larger focus. Now move anywhere to enlarge your picture. Try to include the entire room and its people in your view. Your own image may become a barrier to seeing the larger picture. You choose not to include it in your line of vision. Its all about the big picture. Finally, combine your mirror with someone else. How does the image change? Does your view become infinite? The mirror metaphor provides us with an understanding that learning communities are complex. A wonderful binary opposition of self/other presents itself (the individual member/community as a whole). We see a struggle between the contribution of self and the loss of it within the context of a community. Along the continuum there are many offerings of understanding that depend on how the self or the other is perceived, accepted or even forgotten. Is there a place somewhere in between where both the self and the other work together to create equity and wholeness for both? Laura Servage concludes her article “Making Space for Critical Reflection in Professional Learning Communities” with a statement that highlights both the importance of individual reflection and corporate validation in the context of community. We need to make space somewhere along the mirror continuum for both: “In our present era of accountability, there is a real and justifiable temptation to use collaboration to focus strictly upon instrumental goals that have an immediate impact on classroom practices. However, without some time and reflection devoted to why we do what we do, a sustainable culture of collaboration is unlikely to emerge. In our experiences with our students, it was dialogue about the tough questions – the perennial problems of education – that sent so many of our own students roaring back into their schools, imagining the possible, and ready to innovate with their students and colleagues. Sustaining change momentum, it seems, has much to do with keeping both hope and urgency alive in our work. To do so may require only the simple opportunity to connect, through open-ended reflective dialogue, with our own diverse but generally well-intentioned beliefs and understandings about what it means to educate students.”

In Samaras’ article about teacher research and data collecting, Stefinee Pinnegar (p.178) gives advice as a self-study scholar. She highlights the importance of finding the space between the self and the other when collecting data. This space happens in the midst of practice – between the thoughts and actions of the teacher and the experiences of the student. It is in the tension of this space that we grow and “construct…trustworthy accounts of our practice.” This idea of “a space between” resonates with the metaphor of the mirror that we used in class to help understand learning communities. The mirror allows many views of self. Some are singular and other views are within the context of the room and people within it. The binary opposites of “self” and “other” lie on either ends of this viewing continuum. Our metaphor attempts to point out that fixating on one opposition or the other does little to create a healthy, collaborative community. Somewhere along this continuum, “practice grows in the space between self and other”. (Stefinee Pinnegar) Kieran Egan, in his book “Teaching as Storytelling” introduces the idea of “seeking a mediation between our binary organizers”(p.52). He uses an example of a community experiencing a conflict between survival and destruction. Here Egan explains that “the community lives in the balance of survival/destruction”. There is a “dynamic conflict” that is necessary for life. It lies somewhere between these binary oppositions. Similarly, I would suggest that our learning communities are not examples of binary opposites. There should be a healthy tension between the two that is continuously nurtured and valued. As members of the community, we should be open to allowing our understandings to grow beyond what we see in our own reflections. Our perception of self – our ideas and opinions – should be valued and considered in light of the community as a whole. Living well in this mediated spaced involves listening to others and being open to change and renewal. Or as Laura Selvage points out, it may require “connecting through open-ended reflective dialogue with our own diverse but generally well-intentioned beliefs and understanding about what it means to educate students.” (“Making Space for Critical Reflection in Professional Learning Communities”)

A seed contains three parts: embryo, stored food and seed coat. From these three things, a seed has everything it needs to grow a new young plant. Another metaphor for a community? Perhaps. According to the authors of “Walk Out Walk On”, communities who work authentically together “rely on the fact that peoples’ capacity to self-organize is the most powerful change process there is.” Like a seed, they find strength and nourishment from within and change occurs when the resources from all of the community are used. In fact, the resources from all of the community are seen as necessary and required.

Margaret Wheatley and Deborah Frieze have met with several such communities. They call them “Walk Outs”. In each case they have identified some connecting principles for how systemic change is fostered and healthy and resilient communities are created. The image of a seed is strong. A seed carries inside its protective shell life and potential. If communities are to be viewed in the same manner, I wonder where we have so often gone wrong in our attempts to create meaningful spaces of vitality and growth. The authors remind us that many of us cling to the belief that our rescue or answer will come from the outside. How often has that been the case in my own experience, when faced with educational or personal dilemmas, that I have habitually looked to the experts first for advice instead of resourcing my own immediate community. The reasons for this may be numerous, but I would guess that it may have something to do with the kind of community I was seeking.

In the Zapatistas community, members believe that they must listen as they walk and talk “at the pace of the slowest.” The journey is honoured and viewed as useful for understanding and teaching. Listening is valued. All members, not just the designated leaders have a voice. In other “Walk Out’ communities, “they let go of complaints, arguments and dramas; they place the work at the centre, invite everyone inside and find solutions to problems that others think unsolvable.” Speed, growth and winning are not evidence of success. Higher scores, more members, expert speakers are not evidence of success. A focus on relationships, diversity and a multitude of perspectives all coming together in one seed pod in a spirit of welcome sheds some light on why these communities thrive and become instruments of change and renewal.

Resource:

“The Role Walk Outs Play in Creating Change”
Margaret Wheatley and Deborah Frieze

I came across some great questions regarding assessment that I can use as a focus/guide for thinking about FreshGrade and BC’s New Curriculum. What does powerful communication of student learning look like for students, parents and educators? -formative assessment should be substantial, regular and provide meaningful feedback; as well as feeding back to individual learners, this knowledge should be used constantly to shape direction and practice in the learning environment. (from the 7 Principals of Learning, “The Nature of Learning”) -we should see home-school partnerships as “a building block for innovative learning environments, so that the building connections between the home and school is vital to student success” (“The Nature of Learning”) -each competency profile (in the New BC Curriculum) begins with the importance of family involvement. How does a focus on communicating student learning foster increased student success and engagement? -good (task-involving, descriptive) feedback causes thinking and thinking should be the first thing that students do when they get feedback. (Do you know what to do next? Is that enough help? What will you do if you get stuck again?) Studies have shown that ego involving feedback (“You did very well”) is the least helpful and can lower achievement. (Delta, “Providing Descriptive Feedback”, Dylan William) -the core competencies (BC’s New Curriculum) speak to the development of intellectual, personal and social and emotional proficiencies that all students need to develop in order to engage in deep and life-long learning. Effective communication directs and facilitates the growth of these competencies. “The ultimate goal is for learners to imply the core competencies in every day in school and in life, and for the core competencies to be an integral part of the learning in all curriculum areas”. -when communication is initiated by the learner, students take ownership of the process and are motivated to continue. This increases the likelihood that students will engage in deeper learning and greater recall. (Delta, “Emotion and Motivation”) What role does technology play in promoting understanding of student learning and thinking? How can the evolution of reporting change how we think about instruction, learning and assessment? -“Doing only the things that support traditional instructional classroom activities and assessments misses the great opportunity and importance of relationships.” (teacher Matthew Renwick speaking about FreshGrade on Twitter). Reporting should involve communication and collaboration between the community of learners (student, teacher, parent, etc.). -learning is a journey so focus of instruction and assessment should shift from end results to the whys and hows of process. -“people are jagged in size, in intelligence”. Students are multidimensional and can’t be reduced to a single score. Reporting on the whole person effects our approach to instruction. Considerations such as personalized learning, differentiated instruction and multiple means of expression work together to assist in a more individualized assessment process. -a shift from providing evaluative feedback (numbers, scores, general goals,”good job”) to descriptive feedback (linked to student learning, related to shared criteria/exemplars, usually in words, causes student thinking but doesn’t provide all the answers, learning is incremental, connected to where students are at) causes instruction/assessment to become personalized and differentiated. (Delta, Dylan William) -using descriptive, multidimensional feedback changes how we communicate with parents: “When we sit down with parents and students, we can look at grades together and get an assessment of the relative strengths and weaknesses of a student. This changes the entire dialogue. It’s a richer conversation. Once we recognize students’ weak areas, we can work together to improve them.”(Paul Curtis, “Comprehensive Assessment: What the Experts Say”, Edutopia, March 12, 2016) -using descriptive feedback changes how we organize our learning opportunities: “Our approach involves massive, holistic systems change. It’s not a piecemeal approach. It’s not just changing how we give grades. It’s also project-based learning, technology integration, longer class periods — everything. We’ve changed the rules. If we’re going to assess teamwork and critical thinking, we need to give students opportunities to develop these skills. Teachers have to create assessment systems that define what these skills mean and then provide regular opportunities for students to demonstrate them. It’s a matter of getting everyone comfortable in this new system.” (Paul Curtis, “Comprehensive Assessment: What the Experts Say”, Edutopia, March 12, 2016) -using “backwards design” “We call it backward design. Instead of jumping to the activities”Oh, I could have kids do this, oh, that’d be cool”, you say, “Well, wait a minute.” Before you decide exactly what you’re going to do with them, if you achieve your objective, what does it look like? What’s the evidence that they got it? What’s the evidence that they can now do it, whatever the “it” is? So you have to think about how it’s going to end up, what it’s going to look like. And then that ripples back into your design, what activities will get you there. What teaching moves will get you there?” (Grant Wiggins, “Comprehensive Assessment: What the Experts Say”, Edutopia, March 12, 2016) How FreshGrade supports these ideas: -virtual report card, can be sent home electronically -provides meaningful conversations with parents, allows for feedback -infiltrates parents’ social media-centric world -regular connection -offers real-time sharing -provides a “window into the classroom” -allows students to choose what is posted, ownership -accountability for students, parents and teachers -diversified ways of communicating (written, pictures, audio), learning is better represented -approaches learning and assessment in a formative way

Resources:

-BC’s New Curriculum document -“The Nature Of Learning – Practitioner Guide” – Dumont, Istance and Benavides -deltalearns.ca (Delta Innovation Tool Kit) -freshgrade.com -twitter

I wrote the following in response to a colleague’s reflection about finding a “space for silence” in the midst of a technologically driven world.

I was immediately drawn to your words “a space for silence”. The idea of “spaces” has been intriguing me over this past semester and I believe the practice/discipline of observing silence plays an important part in our search for a reflective, listening community. I just finished reading an article about technology and its shaping power in our society. The author David Balzer, cited the familiar quote, “The medium is the message” (by Marshal McLuhan). In that quote, McLuhan was suggesting that technology “will always shift a community’s environment and redefine relationships in the process. In other words, we choose our mediums, and then they shape us”. What I found interesting about this article was that Balzer challenged his readers to rethink the relationship between what we believe and the role we allow technology to play in our decision making. Our ideas and beliefs should be the determining factor of how we use technology instead of the other way around. I’m thinking about your example of the black hole of on-line ideas and how they tunnel our vision – often very narrowly into what we want to see or hear. Your quote suggested that instead of going with the “happy content”, we use these ideas to “challenge, instead of simply to confirm what we already know and believe.” I think your idea of a “space for silence” is the start of what we need in order to use technology critically and wisely. In this space we can take time to value our beliefs, listen to others and broaden our understandings before making technological choices. Your reflection has given richness to my idea of spaces and caused me to think more about what informs and shapes my decisions around the use of technology.

On Thursday, we took some time to drive to Cultus Lake to visit my spacious place. It was a beautiful evening with the sun highlighting the many shades of greens and browns that come with the arrival of spring. As we meandered upward, the familiar anticipation of seeing this open field grew in me once again. Rounding the corner, I became disillusioned with the view. The expansiveness had been replaced by a newly planted crop of blueberries. A small cabin had been built on the western edge and many of the majestic cedars that had once lined the space were gone. It was disappointing to say the least. My memory tried to evoke the old feelings; to recall how I had imagined running unhindered and free in this place that had been untouched and preserved. My husband suggested we find a new spacious place. I couldn’t. The reason why I felt it was sacred in the first place was because in some way the image had been given to me as a gift; a way of understanding that there are places in our experiences that offer rescue and delight, hope and peace. In the end, I realized that there will be other spacious places in my future. Cherishing this particular one will be something I will always do. It has provided connections and insights as well as comfort and a place to breath through challenges and changes over the past years. I am thankful for that. I am anticipating another spacious place that may look quite different from the one overlooking Cultus Lake. I will be patient and wait.

A Saturday between. In the midst of lent I find myself living Saturday. With Good Friday behind and Easter Sunday ahead, this Saturday has traditionally taken on a no-man’s-land-type existence; an insignificant day in my wanderings and searching for resurrection meaning. Today I find myself questioning this seemingly apathetic approach. Is there purpose to a day that is straddled by such oppositions; the darkness of crucifixion and the liberating light of a resurrected Jesus? In his “Lent Project” devotional, Brett McCracken reflects that there is a struggle on this Sabbath and in this conflict of “finding peace and rest amid abandonment and uncertainty” we see “a metaphor for existence at large.” This unobserved Saturday steps forward and reminds me that all of life is the stretch between. I have no choice but to live in this dynamic space of love, regret, disappointment and hope. It is a messy, mediated place where we strive and work to find some kind of meaning and peace. I cannot ignore Saturday. It is my life. But how do I navigate in this tension? We live best when our Saturday is redefined by the relationship that exists between the Friday and Sunday. This is made clear when Christ’s death on the cross is redeemed by His resurrection. In Ephesians 1:18-19, Paul points out that the connection between the darkness of death and the light of the resurrection is found in the power that Christ exerted when He rose from the dead. But more importantly and personally, this same power can redefine how I live my Saturday.

Today I connected with my colleague, Rhona Pederson. I needed to find out how things were going with the use of FreshGrade in her classroom. Our district tech.team supported Rhona in her efforts to try out the FreshGrade app. Together we hope to implement this assessment tool in September. The following is an excerpt from our conversation: “Gary helped me set up the class list and so over spring break I put in their pictures and became familiar with the app. Honestly, without his tech support I wouldn’t have gotten started. Yesterday I took pics of the kids doing art. So nice to have a visual beside the outcome in each child’s portfolio (outcomes are already in app). On Tuesday I put in parent emails so I’m ready to email pictures. I emailed a couple out just to see if I’d get feedback. None yet, so will make sure they went through ok. The kids absolutely love it when I take their picture. They are very proud to show their work. I like the way the pics are now organized by student. I’m working between my laptop and the mini iPad. The laptop is where I set up things and the iPad is what I use in class. So it does take some planning ahead of time. For September, I fell it will be a useful tool for assessment and communication with parents. I’m glad to be moving in this direction (less paper, more technology).” I sense from Rhona, that she is particularly excited about taking pictures of student learning and how that is affecting her students’ attitudes as well as communication with parents. Similarly, I found that it was the picture taking (even before being introduced to FreshGrade) that initially drew me into using technology in my classroom. In my blog “A picture is worth a thousand words”, I reflect on how sharing pictures, even ones that were taken “for fun”, help reinforce student learning and build a positive class environment by sharing, complimenting and perhaps even laughing together. Pictures also allow for the work-in-progress to be documented in ways that a unit-end test would never allow. The why’s and how’s of the journey are valued and give students a chance to think about and evaluate their learning process. In this type of format, more feedback options are available to represent a variety of student learning expressions. Reporting through pictures becomes personalized and students see their learning as valued. Picture documentation facilitates communicating, thinking and respecting of self and others; the core competencies that should underpin our expectations of effective learning communities.

Using a metaphor to understand and explain a concept has its limitations. At the start of this semester, I was interested in how the idea of a puzzle could shed light on and develop the notion of learning communities. A few weeks ago I came across an old recycled Valentine’s Card in a box of craft items. The outside of the card is adorned by a heart made up of red puzzle pieces glued together. One piece however, is missing from the puzzle. It stands alone, next to the unfinished heart. Reflecting on this new puzzle has expanded and challenged my earlier view of learning communities. In particular, I have seen that a community values care for its members, a healthy community growths in the tension of transformation and change and that genuine communities can show up in unexpected places. Firstly, the Valentine’s card draws our attention to the uniqueness of the individual puzzle piece. In a meaningful, well-functioning community, individual members should be valued and respected. When speaking about friendship, Nel Noddings (2002) reminds us that “fidelity should not be to a principle or even to an attribute of a person, but rather guided by an ethic of care for the other.” Care can look different depending on the needs of each individual. It may mean giving space and time for the individual to step out of the community to rethink, reflect and then re-enter without judgement. In resilient communities, members wait for each other even if it means slowing down or travelling the long way around (Wheatley and Frieze, “Walk Out, Walk On”). Sony (2013) suggests that as co-members we should see our role as “essentially a relational experience where the character of the relationship takes precedence over the content of the curriculum. Within this intimacy, all participating members must place care as a vital centrepiece, with forgiveness, freedom, failure and fidelity as foundations qualities (2013, 30).” I always work at a puzzle with an end result in mind. The finished picture on the puzzle box is what informs my decision making. Satisfaction occurs when there is completion; when all the pieces are in their correct position. I would suggest however, that in a learning community, there is very seldom a completed picture. The puzzle continues to shift and change and in some cases it never reaches the prescribed ending. A sense of purposeful uncertainty evolves from collaborating together. This spiral of critical reflection and action should inform each other (Freire, 2000) in transformative sites of learning (Sonu, 2013). The ever-changing picture is exciting and messy when meaningful spaces of vitality and growth are encouraged (Wheatley and Frieze). There is tension and growth in this mediated space that involves unknown endings and different versions of the same puzzle. Communities are often found in unexpected places. I was surprised to come across this heart shaped puzzle/card that explored new ways of understanding my metaphor. The red heart shape suggests that there is a passion and commitment that holds a community together. During the “Open Spaces” panel discussion at SFU, Wendi Palmer and Trevor Found told stories of unanticipated communities found amongst students who experienced acceptance and connection. Sue Montebello suggested that “we live in the crossroads of dilemmas, challenges and joys and that it is our job to come to an understanding of how our lives fit into this.” As Palmer encouraged, we need to pay attention and be astonished at what we see. A community may already be happening. Honouring community is being willing to find it in unexpected places and then take the risk to nurture it and live amongst it.

There is a beautiful field overlooking the southern end of Cultus Lake. It is vast and expansive and open. As we make our yearly trek along the winding road that leads upward, I am drawn to this place. Perhaps it is its thick outline of firs and cedars or the occasional deer sighting that make this openness compelling. I am not sure. This spring, I was reminded of this image. In a new and fresh way, it breathed life into my understanding of the importance of spaces in my life. During this past semester, the idea of space has been a recurring theme connecting my experiences, readings and reflections. The following three learning statements summarize spaces that I have investigated and have become meaningful to me: a transformative space, a mediated space and a spacious place. Learning Statement 1 – A Transformative Space I am learning about the Redesigned BC Curriculum and how it impacts my role as a teacher. More specifically, I have learned that curriculum and assessment are connected . Effective assessment involves ongoing, descriptive feedback with a curriculum that provides varied and multiple opportunities for learning. What has changed in my practice as a result of this insight? I spent the past few months reading BC’s New Curriculum and supporting documents. In the process, I made some connections with my own teaching practices that affirmed and added some clarity to what I was already doing. As stated earlier, I have already used technology to support and document student learning. It is through experimenting and reflecting on this that I see the need to more formally and intentionally use technology as an assessment tool. My readings have been clear that assessment is most effective when it is formative and meaningful to individual students. Regular communication with parents and caregivers is imperative to fully support and grow student learning. Through reflection and communication with a colleague at my school, we are starting the process to collaboratively use FreshGrade as part of our assessment tool. Learning Statement 2 – A Mediated Space I am exploring learning communities. More specifically, I am learning that effective communities exist within a “mediated space” and it is in this place of respecting others that we learn and grow. What has changed in my practice as a result of this insight? In the broadest sense, we all live in community. Our interactions with others shape the way we live our life. During this study, I have been encouraged to think more deeply about the learning communities that I am a part of. My reflections have been valuable by bringing clarity to and helping me articulate what an effective learning community should look like. I have been challenged to accept and see value in the messiness of individual and group ideas and needs. I am learning to approach this tension with a posture of being a listener first. I have learned that communities take on different forms and thus am more aware that there may already be a community growing around me that I should seek out and support. Finally, my interest in story telling continues to be shaped and expanded. I know that learning communities flourish when diversity and differences are acknowledged. Personal stories and journeys add richness and perspective to a community. Respect and care happens when we give space for sharing and reflection of our lives. Learning Statement 3 – A Spacious Place I am learning to live, study and grow in a place of peace and contentment as I embrace the unknown and challenges of the present. “May the space between where I am and where I want to be inspire me” What has changed in my practice as a result of this insight? Much of what has happened to me over the past few months is transformative. I have felt parts of me being stretched in ways and places that I didn’t know existed. I know intuitively that I am being changed and refined in the process, but sometimes it is difficult to see any progress clearly when in the midst of the struggle. What I do know is that community and care have embraced me on this journey. I have felt evidence of peace and hope in this place of spaciousness. I only desire, one day, to remember that such a place exists for others to experience and to offer them the same compassion and love that I have experienced.

Reflection from “Opening the Spaces: Creating community within complexity” Karolyn Toews – Jan. 25/16 I resonate with Sue Montebello’s idea of honouring communities in our schools. Sue suggested that we live in the crossroads of dilemmas, challenges and joys that are often than not chaotic. It is our job to come to an understanding of how our lives fit into this. I believe that communities begin with an attitude and mindset that cannot necessarily be forced or conjured up at a meeting or goal-setting conference. Community happens in the everyday of life. Heessoon Bai reflected that there are openings and sacred spaces that give invitation. And where there is invitation, people move in. This year our Aboriginal Education department allocated money that was specifically earmarked for a Breakfast Program. We have never offered an official before- school breakfast before and I can see that already, it has proven to build community in a variety of ways. Paid for largely by aboriginal funds, the group of students who meets each morning is certainly not all First Nations. It is a mixed bag of kids with a variety of needs and backgrounds. I go in and visit this community of eaters often. What I have noticed is that where there is food, there is fellowship. Fellowship amongst the students, staff and the regular group of parents who have also found this a place of community. Stories – authentic ones – are being shared and discovered. Life in all its many forms is being processed. People are being cared for. A sacred opening. An invitation taken. Community is honoured. Sometimes community happens unexpectedly. To be sure, the opportunities for community building are often missed because of our inability/unwillingness to reflect, our business and perhaps our lack of seeing how our lives could be enriched by investing in it. Wendi Palmer talked about the importance of paying attention and being astonished at what we see. I am learning about this – by paying attention to the small and subtle beauty that comes from the hearts of my students during our yearly Christmas Choir practices and performances. As with Trevor Found’s drama groups, I have seen that music (art) can be transformative and that it can speak to and illuminate the human condition. Over the years, our choir has not only performed, it has become a community for risk-taking, exploring attitudes and feelings and offering a place of healing for those willing to step into that space of invitation. Nel Noddings encourages us to look at the importance of care in community. We need to rethink our relationships and our encounters with other people. Our job is about creating those spaces of invitation that allow us to move beyond the mask and share in our vulnerability and humanity.  Honouring community is being willing to find it in unexpected places and then take the risk to nurture it and live amongst it.

Wash of orange, I feel the colour a sweet, deep calm that envelops me, I am safe there. A wash of acceptance, I feel the warmth, love wrapping me with honesty, I am safe there.

This poem comes out of a visualization exercise during which my thoughts were focussed on body senses – a colour, a person, a message from that person. A message that would be hard to hear – something that I needed to do or change. Out of personal vulnerability, I came to this visualization with a longing for the warmth of a hug and a need for a gentle nudging. I could only accept this nudging because the message came out of a deep love and respect for me. I felt safe – willing to listen and accept. As a metaphor for classroom assessment, this experience has shed light on various conditions or pillars for effective feedback: acceptance, honesty, respect and hope (to name a few). Students and teachers need to nurture an environment of safety and trust before assessment feedback can be given and accepted.

How do I want to receive feedback? This is different for each person. My “pillars” of feedback would include acceptance, honesty, a nonjudgmental posture and hope. Others may have a different set of pillars depending on their learning style and personality. Today we did an activity where we gave feedback on another group’s feedback on a lesson Anne did with us. It was feedback on feedback. Our objective was to keep Anne’s pillars of feedback in mind while critiquing her lesson. Her pillars were: respectful language, sandwich feedback, specific suggestion, focus on work, be encouraging and we are all learning. As we shared our suggestions, I started thinking about a type of feedback that I had not included in my original list, but seemed to trump all of the others. The feedback that would make me feel most respected and valued as a learner would be in the form of the question: “why did you decide to….”. This type of feedback would give me a voice and an opportunity to give reason for my choice of answer. It would also give my assessor valuable insight into how I learn. Most importantly, it would be an open invitation for me to think about my own learning. Why did I do that? Was it a good decision? Could I have done it differently? Isn’t that what formative assessment is all about? – causing us to think about our learning and be agents of our own change.

Do I favour specific cognitive tools in learning? Do some of us use some cognitive tools to make sense of our world while others of us use a different set? Today we completed an imaginative self-assessment. We were asked to list which cognitive tools we used easily and which ones were foreign to us. We thought about understandings that we gravitated to and others that we didn’t. I hadn’t thought about cognitive tools in this way before,at least not as being connected with learning or personality types. Before today, I understood that somatic, mythic, romantic, etc., tools developed along with literacy. Although we would use bits and pieces of them throughout our lives in different learning situations, the use of the tools seemed to depend on the nature of the activity not on the character of the student. Today’s self-assessment looked at cognitive tools not by how/when they would be used but by who would use them; the suitability of each tool to individual learners. My task was to try to figure out what kind of tool(s) I generally felt most comfortable using. This was hard. It was acknowledged that we are complex by nature and not one cognitive tool would fit us exactly. This made sense. I wandered around our class conversing with people, asking them where they pegged themselves. It quickly became evident that no one felt they could identify with just one tool. I did feel a connection with a group of people who saw themselves as “philosophically mythic”. That is, we try to make sense of our world by looking for general causal chains and networks that show us how things connect (that is the processing characteristic of the philosophic tool). But, we also identified the need to find these connections through metaphor and story (those are characteristics from the mythic tools). A few years ago I wouldn’t have thought of myself as a “philosophically mythic” learner, but this revelation has been slowly forming in my mind as I study more and interact with others who I see take on learning in ways different from me. The last task we were given was to name our group. We chose “Box of Chocolates”. Like a box of chocolates we come with a variety of personalities, flavours and cognitive tools.(I do also enjoy somatic experiences and perhaps am a little romantic at heart).

I read Mark Fettes’ article “Layers of Meaning: Rethinking the Link between Engagement and Learning”. He used landscape as a metaphor: calling the topography “emotional geography”. Fettes critiques Egan’s goal which ultimately uses cognitive tools to keep students in the “uplands” for as much as possible. Fettes argues that the regular day-in-and-day-out of the classroom does not realistically allow for constant mountain peak experiences. Instead, he expands this metaphor to “include the lowlands of engagement”. In his work, Fette found it helpful to “distinguish between four layers of meaning in this emotional geography”; including strategic meaning, substantive meaning, narrative meaning and transcendent meaning. Each of these levels asks a question about how learning is to be viewed. While reading through these four levels of imaginative meaning, I began to see a connection with the components of the redesigned curriculum. Starting with content knowledge and moving up to the bigger ideas and core capacities. These linked together very easily: Transcendent meaning/ Understand (Why is this worth learning?) Narrative meaning/ Big Ideas (What’s this all about?) Substantive meaning Content/ Know (What did we learn today?) Strategic meaning Curricular Capacities/ Do (What did we do today?) In both cases (in the Tools of Imaginative Engagement and the redesigned curriculum), a greater importance/value – or mountain top experience is placed on the transcendent meaning/understanding, with the understanding that one also needs the doing and learning to undergird the mountain tops. The emphasis is that the higher levels help keep students engaged in and connected to learning opportunities. Like Fette, I believe that it is impossible to engage our students one hundred percent of the time. I also believe that teaching content and skills is important within the context of meaning and the bigger picture. Perhaps thinking about these meanings in terms of levels isn’t useful. I like to think of them as being integrated and dependent on each other for making the most of every learning experience.

Today our group presented a mini-lesson. We had to incorporate a cognitive tool (jokes/puzzles) and present it in a way that would ensure assessment quality (taken from the article “Assessment for Learning – Ch. 3, “Rethinking Classroom Assessment with Purpose in Mind”). We used prompts to help “our class” understand and find the joke meaningful and funny.  Our prompts were essentially clues to filling in more information of the joke so that it eventually made sense. Another group had us play Kahoot – a multiple choice game played using i-phones. The questions were about formative assessment and we worked in teams to answer them. During the debrief, the game was criticized because people felt stressed and didn’t like the competition. Our discussion lead to the idea that ultimately we should create learning opportunities that didn’t stress students out and addressed their own individual learning needs – making sure that we stayed within comfort levels. Maybe that conclusion was a bit harsh and skewed, but I disagreed with  it philosophically. Without some healthy stress and new, challenging situations, students will not grow. Vygotsky talks about the zone of proximal development. In this zone, student learning is scaffolded, so that they are slowly pushed forward into new learning situations. With prompts and support, students become confident and finally comfortable in that new space – indicating that it’s time to be uncomfortable again. Falling forward. That’s how we learn and grow. The key is not to keep students safe by creating learning situations that only address their comfortable learning style. The key is to create a safe learning environment that supports change, exposure to a variety of learning situations and the assumption that it is OK and perhaps even beneficial to work outside our perceived boxes.

My metaphorical backpack is being filled. What more do I need to survive in the wilderness of teaching and learning? To be honest, some bug repellent would be helpful. I need the personal fortitude to say “no” to ideas, concepts and even people who are not valuable to my learning at this time. A magical bug repellent would protect me from negative, unhelpful influences and keep me focussed on the good stuff. Maybe a ladder isn’t something that fits into a backpack, but some hikers/campers feel this is a necessary item to bring along. I think a ladder would help me keep my goals in perspective – taking little steps at a time. I like the idea of having a place to reach, but not being expected to get there in one step. A ladder also provides perspectives that would otherwise be unattainable. Climbing to the top may be terrifying (I’m afraid of heights), but the view at the top is usually unexpected and rewarding. Finally, a good book. Yes, to keep humour, love and imagination in place. Remembering and valuing life’s narrative keeps experiences real, meaningful and connected. A story shared and heard expands our understanding of who we are and how we fit into this journey called life.

I am the hub of a wheel. I like control. I don’t like change. I like to be prepared and ready. I don’t like the unexpected. It’s hard for me to differentiate. I need to be a cookie. Spreading out the locus of control; handing over responsibilities, helping others develop tools to control their own lives; being Ok with failure and learning from it – these things point to student ownership and teacher release. I will reflect on this, ask for help, choose to make change. This is “formative living” – Karen Young (July, 2016)

In the wake of loosing a division and possibly my teaching partner, I had the most amazing and fulfilling morning with my students.  The experience caused me to reflect once again on how and where learning happens and that flexibility and spontaneity are key to connecting students with their world. The morning’s activities actually began the day before when a student brought an interesting seed pod into our class. It looked weird: long with round, red bumps that broke open to reveal orangish seeds.  We spent some time observing and discussing what it might be but with no conclusive answers. The next day, during our in-motion walk, we discovered that there were many, many seeds pods hanging on the trees along the path! I sensed the student’s excitement and decided to draw them into an inquiry. Our question: What kind of trees grow these seed pods? As we finished our walk, we met a number of parents standing outside of the school. Our first stop was to inquire of them: did they know anything about those trees or the pods? No one knew. In our class, we took turns asking questions of each other, trying to make some connections with our own knowledge of trees. We ruled out several options (i.e. it wasn’t a maple tree because the leaves did not look like the maple leaf on the Canada flag) and came to the conclusion that we needed more help. We were very fortunate to have our EA, Mrs. Lamirand add some insight to our investigation. We were surprised to learn that Mrs. L’s son was an arborist. She was able to Facebook  him with a picture and our question. Meanwhile, I sent a group of students to the library and gave another group some iPads to continue the search. I need to note here, that my class was very motivated to find the answer to our question. There were no behaviour issues and everyone was on task. I was not the expert, I did not have the answer. My job was to direct the students to ways that they could explore and investigate. The students took initiative and had control of their learning. There was ownership and team building in the searching. I finally went to visit the group in the library. They had been successful in locating the non-fiction section but needed some help with book selection. I pulled a wonderful tree book and sat down with the group. I can’t explain the cheering and hi-fiving that took place when we turned the page and saw an exact replica of the seed pod we were holding. The trees lining our school path are called Cucumber Trees and are part of the Magnolia family. We “ran” back to the class and shared our information with the others, stopping on the way to inform our principal of this important news. Shortly after that, our new arborist friend responded back and confirmed our findings. We were able to add to his knowledge too. I told the students that this was called “collaborative networking”. What a fun morning! Learning about the place we live. Making sense of our world through questions and discoveries. Searching and sharing information with others. Making new friends. Celebrating our success. That is what learning – and perhaps life – is all about. And that is why I love being a teacher!

A sunset. The vast expanse of a prairie field. A bird taking flight. These images, captured by my friend’s lens, tell a story. My eye takes in the narrative. I experience her interpretation of struggle and challenge; joy and contentment. Nature has a voice. I read Psalm 19. I am reminded that the heavens and sky pour forth speech. There is no language where their voice is not heard. God’s creation – calling us to take notice and pay attention. See the story and learn. My students investigate and search. Their eyes observe detail as they connect nature with themselves and their own experiences. A tree. It’s name. A discovery that opens up a possibility of metaphor; their roots, their leaves and their fruit. A wordless narrative. Inviting. Calling us to find ourselves in the beauty of its story.

I continue to search. What does it look like? How should I live my life in the space of unknowing and uncertainty? What should my posture be as I interact with and attempt to love those around me? I resonate with the idea of living in exile. Exile looks like questions that are unanswered, lives that are muddied by the grey of searching and finding no place to rest in the process. Exile is wandering – aimless and directionless. Exile is a place of in-between. Jeremiah writes a letter to those living in exile. The letter is a word from God to a people who have nothing; uprooted from their homes and a life of certainty and predictability. I am intrigued by God’s advice on how to live. It’s not what I expected it to be. Instead of a forward looking plan of action, God tells the people to make the most of where they’re at. He tells them to plant gardens and eat the food that they produce. They are to build houses and have families. They are encouraged to settle down. This seems like a plan that has longevity. One that points to purpose and intention. Even in exile. Jeremiah writes further that in all of this, it is imperative that the people seek peace. Shalom. A place for the heart to rest and offer rest to others. It’s an up-side-down way of thinking in a world that so quickly seeks to find quick answers and resolution. Instead, live in the tension. Thrive. Plant a garden; start a family. Be shalom in that place. Rest in a God who’s OK about the in-between. Even in exile. Jeremiah 29:1-7

The following is a summary of a few things that I shared at a staff meeting about the teacher’s role in an inquiring classroom. Three things that I believe are important when I think about inquiry in the classroom. 1.  Developing good questions (essential questions) Essential questions: – are open-ended – are throught-provoking and intellectually engaging – they call for higher-order thinking – they point toward important, transferrable ideas – they raise additional questions – they require support and justification, not just an answer As a teacher, I need to practice the art of asking good questions and find ways to encourage my students to think deeper about topics – and even question their own belief systems. I find this difficult, so I start small by basing my questions on knowledge they already have or some interesting information that they have brought to class. I don’t think you can ask questions without beginning with some kind of prior knowledge. Using the Big Ideas is a great start from which these questions can arise. 2.  Students use a variety of skills to be effective “inquirers”. Our students need the tools (curricular competencies) to enable them to engage in the inquiry process successfully. Although these skills will look different depending on the grade/ability level, they are transferable and students will build upon them as they get more proficient. Questioning/predicting, observing/collecting evidence, recording and sharing out findings are all areas that require instruction and support. I am realizing that acquiring the skills of investigation takes time, modelling and practice. In order for my students to learn to be independent and student-driven, they need scaffolding. My job is to observe and reflect on their learning needs and then carefully choose the most important ways that I can facilitate their growth. 3.  It is important for students to be emotionally connected to a topic of inquiry. Emotions tied up with knowledge help students remember and make connections. Kieran Egan (at SFU) has developed a very helpful list of ways to connect your students’ learning with their emotions and imaginations. He calls them cognitive tools. I use these tools to think about how I will introduce or explore a topic. For example, my grade 1’s and 2’s get interested in something if I use tools of mystery/puzzle, joking/humour, rhyme/rhythm or if I incorporate somatic tools like engaging the bodily senses in an activity. The older students may also enjoy these activities, but tools like looking at extremes/limits, collecting and organizing things or finding heroic qualities in a topic will be emotionally engaging. It is our job as teachers to find these points of emotional connection that bring out our students’ imagination and make learning memorable and enduring.

Motivating others to action is the reason why many of us take on the challenging and often invigorating role of being a leader. As a teacher, I have attempted a variety of strategies to lead my students in directions that encourage growth and development. Some have yielded more fruit than others. This tension has caused me to reflect on how I motivate my students and more importantly, the reasons behind my choices. I see two main postures that we can take as leaders when we think about encouraging behaviour change. I believe they are best understood in the statements: “This is how it could look” and conversely, “This is how it shouldn’t look”. The resulting action and direction of the people we lead is greatly affected by how we use these statements to influence our practice. In the book “Educating the Reflective Practitioner”,  Donald Schon speaks of two very different approaches to how we frame problems and change-worthy situations in our practice. An objectivist sees these moments as fixable through procedures, rules and theories.  It is much easier to understand change in this box of definable “shouldn’ts” where expert behaviour is modelled only by the leader. Leadership decisions happen through the relationship between the “knowing practitioner and the reality that he knows”. This limiting perspective leaves little room for the influence of other’s views and ideas. It is a black and white approach that suggests that if you don’t do this, you will get that (desired behaviour). Such a stance spotlights negative actions and most often leads to feelings of guilt and inadequacy. A constructionist leader will look at the challenge of behaviour change in a more reflective, dynamic way. Here there is room for reshaping and reframing ideas. “How should the desired behaviour look” instead of “how it shouldn’t” opens up the conversation for a vast amount of variation and interpretation. For every student, there is a story and for every story there are a multitude of approaches and creative ideas. The leader is seen more as a “researcher trying to model an expert system than like the expert whose behaviour is modelled” (p. 36). The leader guides, listens, anticipates and adjusts. She carries on a “reflective conversation with the materials of the situation”. Schon calls her practice,  reflection-in-action. Students who are fortunate to have a constructionist leader will often find themselves empowered and valued as contributors to the desired change. Areas of growth already in progress will be encouraged and stories of positive successes will be affirmed. In this space, there is room for both the leader and student who together invent, test, respond and rethink. Change becomes a collaborative effort. Ownership belongs to everyone. Living in the tension of change is what the constructionist does. And within this tension comes the freedom to look outward and embrace the possibilities of the unknown. Motivating others to action becomes more of a risk than a prescribed pedagogy of do’s and don’ts. As leaders we need to invite others into this process; to affirm and acknowledge the good that is already there and work together towards changes that we may or may not have dreamed of at the start.

Invitation Interruption. A spontaneous dissection of normality in which life and death, the most severe of binaries pierce my heart and defy my logic in a reversal that struggles for breath and meaning. A peripeteia in tragedy. A sudden light from heaven that flashes conversion or a stop moment that calls for attention and wakefulness. In this, a story is birthed – calling out to be heard, in its rawness and fragility. Reflecting, reframing towards change and renewal. An opportunity to speak. An invitation to listen.

Inquiry Question:

How can I create a space for my students, for me and for others to share our stories? My Artifact (see Nov. 4: Invitation) Over the past semester I have been confronted with the notion of “teachable moments”. They have not only occurred in my classroom, but I have met them face-to-face on this journey of life that I am on. Intrigued by this on-going theme, I spent some time reading about how others articulated it in their own experiences. What I found was that out of these varied moments of “stop” came a story or lesson that needed to be shared. This artifact (“Invitation”) is something I wrote allowing me to process and voice the connections I’ve discovered between my own story and those of others.

My Pedagogy:

The best spaces for storytelling are not necessarily planned or organized but happen organically through emotional engagement and connection to the everyday. They happen when my role as a teacher shifts from being in control of the story to becoming a participant in its narrative. As I “reflect-in-action” (Schön 1978), I pay attention to “stop moments”; creating a space for listening and sharing as stories unravel through wonder, inquiry and surprise (Bianchi 2014, Fels 2012, Toews 2015). The language that breaks out of these discoveries is supported within somatic and mythic frameworks (Egan, 2005). These tools have opened our minds and voices to metaphorical relationships that exist between ourselves and other living things. I carefully tend to these unexpected stories, providing opportunities to practice respect as we share in community (Toews 2016). Together we collaborate; reframing our understanding as we simultaneously listen to each other’s voice, linking one variation of human experience to another (Baldwin 2005). Stories cry out to be valued and heard. They invite us in to listen, to connect and then to respond with a posture of grace and humility.

Resources

Baldwin, C. (2005). Storycatcher: Making sense of our lives through the power and practice of story. Novato, CA: New World Library. Bianchi, L. (2014). The Keys to Wonder-Rich Science Learning. In Wonder-full education: The centrality of wonder in teaching and learning across the curriculum, ed. K.Egan, A. Cant and G. Judson, 188-200. New York and London: Routledge. Dana, N.F., & Yendol-Hoppey, D (2008). (Ch.5) The reflective educator’s guide to classroom research. Thousand Oaks, CA: Corwin Press. Egan, K. (2005). An imaginative approach to teaching. San Fransisco, CA; Jossey-Bass. Fels, L. (2012). Collecting Data Through Performative Inquiry: A Tug on the Sleeve. In Youth Theatre Journal 26: 50-60. Fels, L. & Belliveau, G. (2008). (Ch. 2) Exploring curriculum: Performative inquiry, role drama and learning. Vancouver, BC: Pacific Educational Press. Schön, D. (1978). Educating the Reflective Practitioner. San Fransisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Toews, K. (2016). January 25: Opening the Spaces for Community. karolyntoews.com Toews, K. (2015). Field Study: What kind of scaffolding do I need to put in place for my students to become effective storytellers?

Capacities Covered this Semester:

1. Investigate educational theories and philosophies to inform your practice.
2. Foster a rich understanding of how emotional and imaginative engagement supports learning and teaching and contributes to meaning-making.
3. Promote a learning environment that fosters respect for and awareness of imagination’s role in learning for all students.

The seed pod comes from one of many Magnolia Trees that line Riverside Road outside of my school. Its discovery brought on a series of inquiries that came out of my students’ questioning, observing and reflecting. Since the seed pod experience, I have kept the pod in a glass jar on a shelf with other treasures we have acquired. It is there to remind me of the lessons I have learned; lessons about inquiry and the pedagogy that supports it.  The beautiful, reddish seeds that burst out of the pod represent the diversity of the students who I teach. In each child, there are life experiences, attitudes and opinions that need to be heard and articulated. These personalities are brought to the table when posing questions and wonderings. We work in collaboration and listen to each other as our ideas shape the way we think and feel about a topic. The “seeds” together, have value and a voice in determining the direction and meaning of the inquiry. As we communicate, it becomes my job to model a framework for inquiry where the spiral of learning takes place; we ask, we do, we reflect and then ask again. The key, it seems, to moving forward and upward is providing a safe place for my students to practice their questioning skills and for me to explicitly model and scaffold questions that lead to more critical thinking. The intentionality of this in my teaching is vital. I have learned that consistent practice and patience are virtues to be followed. I have also seen that in the span of a few months, my students have begun to articulate their own questions with words like: “what would happen if?” or  “my guess is….because…”. This is the direction I hope to continue to pursue not only for the students in my class, but also in the way I reflect on and question my own pedagogical practices.

Yesterday, my son and his buddies created a video for their Grade 11 Socials class. The topic was “World War I Weapons and Technology “. It was a collaborative, entertaining effort and I enjoyed experiencing the enthusiasm that the project created. When asked about the purpose behind the video, my son explained that it was to present the various fighting machines used during the war. I was reluctant to criticize but I had to ask some questions about their topic. Had they made any comparisons? Had they looked into the affects of these weapons on war tactics or the soldiers involved? Would they have changed anything if they had been a soldier at that time? I’m not an expert on WW1, but certainly this project should have gone deeper than merely a show-and-tell on WW1 weaponry. Later that evening I reflected on my reflections. I was surprised at my ability and need to find something more worthwhile and enduring in this assignment. I felt sad for these boys, who could have gone deeper and made more connections with their inquiry. Somewhere along the way, I have begun to develop a sense for good questions. I have also seen how inquiries that challenge thinking, awaken students to new possibilities and ideas. Like my wish for those Grade 11 boys, I desire to create such a learning environment in my classroom.

Cognitive Tools shape how we make sense of our world and provide a framework in which meaningful connections can take place. I am learning the importance and value of integrating these tools into my pedagogy to facilitate enduring, in-depth learning.  The root system of a plant constantly provides the stems and leaves with water and dissolved minerals. In order to accomplish this, the roots must grow into new regions of the soil to allow for healthy plant development and eventually fruit. The opportunity to watch root growth is fascinating. This fall, my students planted scarlet runner beans in paper towels. We patiently watched as these seeds took root. Much to our amazement, the roots began a magical journey around and around the plastic cups that contained their growth. Eventually they overtook their places of growth and we provided new soil and a bigger space to stretch. Our inquiry, like the invasive root system of our scarlet runners, spread into all areas of the curriculum. The nutrients in the life-giving soil were provided by the cognitive tools that propelled our learning forward into meaningful and memorable connections. We imagined the possibilities of magical beans; experienced a sensory-rich forest environment, were puzzled by our predictions of pumpkin seeds and wondered about life vs death in the cycle of living things. A Venn Diagram caused us to think about our oneness with trees and stretched us to understand the metaphorical imagery that the “Tree Song” described. Deeper went our roots; pedagogically supported by cognitive tools and the emotional significance they inspired.

Resources:

“Learning in Depth” (Kieran Egan, 2012). Chapter 5 talks about how cognitive tools facilitate student interest and emotional connection in a topic. “An Imaginative Approach to Teaching” (Kieran Egan, 2005). “The soul of teaching has to do with meaning. Everyone concerned with education, from the beginning, has recognized that the task is not simply to teach facts and skills that can be reproduced when required. The trick is to tie the facts and skills to their deeper meaning in human experience.” (pg. 211)

During the reading of Egan’s book, “Learning in Depth”, I was encouraged and affirmed by the overview of Cognitive Tools in Chapter 5. It was the connection I needed to understand the value and even necessity of finding emotional significance within a topic in order for learning to go deep. At the same time, I was experiencing this practically in my classroom. Our inquiry of living things became a flexible journey around the somatic and mythic frameworks. As collaborative learners, we discovered connections and experienced a desire to reach further into our understandings of the natural world around us. During this exploration, I noticed a need for my students to become more independent and self-directed. I realized that at the ages of 5-7, there is a need for scaffolding and teaching skills to engage in the inquiry process and use cognitive tools successfully. Presently, I am working towards developing a resource of age-appropriate tools/skills that will facilitate effective inquiry and use of cognitive tools in my classroom. This term, I introduced an iPad App called “Seesaw” that gave my students a format to represent and share their observations of plant growth. I see the value of cooperative learning and collaboration in enhancing the effectiveness of cognitive tools. Because of this, I am more consistently modelling these competencies and providing opportunities for my students to impart and exchange information. In all of this, I continue to strive to find a balance between creating an environment that is student-lead, teacher facilitated and/or teacher lead. As an early years educator, I take seriously my contribution in setting the groundwork for instilling positive, life-long learning attitudes in my students.

I have always known that wonder-rich learning involves emotional connection and discovery. Over the years, I have placed a high value on having students produce quality end-products through hands-on teacher directed learning environments. The “I Wonder” brainstorm has been a ritual activity that I do at the start of most units. This fall, Gunner’s “I Wonder” leaf took us on a learning adventure that proved to be quite different than I was used to. The change was initiated by a desire on my part to allow for more student autonomy and choice. The New Curriculum’s “Big Idea” on living things (Grade One Science) was broad enough for us to let our interests and questions guide our learning. This time, the “I Wonder” activity had a greater purpose. It was Gunner’s wonder about roots that opened up an invitation for authentic investigations. As I trace back on my Journal reflections, I notice that we followed a path of inquiry influenced by the places we found ourselves – physically, cognitively and emotionally (i.e. Arbour Day, Stillwood Camp, counting pumpkin seeds, comparing trees and people, sharing about our Remembrance Day peace tree). More importantly, my reflections about my pedagogy used words like: “listened”, “responded”, “allowed time for”, “reflected on” and “changed”. I was beginning to experience curriculum as an emergent, living process (Fels and Belliveau, 2007) and see the importance of modelling this posture for my students. Just the other day, a student asked, “Mrs. Toews, I have a wonder that I would like to share with the class”. My response was what Schön (1987) describes as “reflection-in-action”: I saw myself as a researcher open to listen, reflect and reshape my learning assumptions.

Resources:

“Educating the Reflective Practitioner” (Donald A. Schön, 1987). This reading caused me to reflect on my own teaching style. Imbedded in my presuppositions about learning is the view that my role as an educator is to be an expert whose behaviour is to be modelled (objectivist). Schön suggests that reflection-in-action takes place when there is a “reflective conversation with the materials of the situation”. Instead of knowing all, the teacher see herself as the researcher who is open to listen, reflect and reshape learning assumptions. This process constructs new meaning and anticipates change and adjustment. “First Flight into Performative Inquiry” (Lynn Fels and George Belliveau, 2007). The authors speak of “enactivisim” – learning as an “embodied cognitive interplay in which the environment and the organism are simultaneously formed by the presence of each other in relationships over time (pg. 27).”  Curriculum becomes an emergent, living process. We learn in this generative space where “components of a system never quite lock into place and yet never quite dissolve into turbulence (pg. 25).” I have been challenged by this “Complexity Theory”. I have seen how teaching within the confines of a static, procedure-driven curriculum curtails the opportunity for deep, enduring growth. Control may give the illusion of stable, effective learning conditions, but living in the tension of question is so much more dynamic and life-giving. It is in this place that I strive to find myself as a practitioner and life-long learner.

Over the course of my studies, there have been many opportunities that have challenged my thinking about how learning takes place. This fall, in particular, I have noticed a convergence between how I see my role as a teacher and how I approach my own learning. The inquiry that was initiated by Gunner’s “I Wonder” leaf caused me to think deeply about how I view learning in my class. If I understand the curriculum to be an emergent, living process, my posture as a teacher needs to be one of a listener and observer – one who “wonders” right along with her students. My field study data indicates that I am beginning to rethink these pedagogical decisions with a greater “constructivist” mindset. My decisions should support a student-centred inquiry that is meaningful and significant to the learner. Paralleling this discovery, I am learning to better articulate my own reflections. As in my pedagogy, I am reframing my thinking with the questions “where am I heading, where am I now and what can I do to get there?”  This self-talk creates a dynamic and formative approach that is often rift with question and uncertainty. I am seeing this tension as necessary for moving towards best practice and constructive life-long learning. I feel an uncomfortable yet, compelling shift in my practice and in my understanding of how learning happens.

I am learning to collect, categorize and interpret data in order to make meaningful suggestions and changes for best practice in my pedagogy.  The process of inquiry is a discipline and skill that develops with intentional practice. When I reflect back to our initial field study, my methods of gathering information were based on a set of criteria to categorize student learning. The majority of observation and reflection focussed on what my students were doing. My final presentation of that field study showcased products of student work as examples of what I had accomplished. This semester I have been challenged to rethink how I look at inquiry. I understand, with greater clarity, the importance of asking questions about my own pedagogy. I have changed my recording methods by using a double-entry Journal that highlights the decisions I’ve made throughout the day. These have become invaluable markers that have redirected and informed my own practice. I realize that inquiry is a dynamic process that requires self-reflection and a willingness towards transparency and change. These are areas of growth that I continue to pursue.

Rediscovery Unpredicted ice sketchers shadowed on the cold thickness, a gaze below the waxing imperfection. A surprise revelation captured by only a few who move their weary eyes to wonder why, the red tails of traffic break and slow in a trance competing with this singular miracle. Mesmerized by mountains graphing their rise and fall against illumination that draws a line between what is and the predictable hope of rediscovery. Driving on my way home from school, I was surprised to see skaters silhouetted under an almost full moon on the flat lands along highway eleven. Then, heading east, the traffic slowed as it moved towards the rising moon. It was big and awesome. The mountains were black against its light. These words spilled out of my head as I drove and came home to write them down. – January 11, 2017, a very cold, clear night

December 5, 2016 Karolyn Toews Inquiry Question: How can I create a space for my students, for me and for others to share our stories? My Artifact: Over the past semester I have been confronted with the notion of “teachable moments”. They have not only occurred in my classroom, but I have met them face-to-face on this journey of life that I am on. Intrigued by this on-going theme, I spent some time reading about how others articulated it in their own experiences. What I found was that out of these varied moments of “stop” came a story or lesson that needed to be shared. This artifact is something I wrote allowing me to process and voice the connections I’ve discovered between my own story and those of others. My Pedagogy: The best spaces for storytelling are not necessarily planned or organized but happen organically through emotional engagement and connection to the everyday. They happen when my role as a teacher shifts from being in control of the story to becoming a participant in its narrative. As I “reflect-in-action” (Schön 1978), I pay attention to “stop moments”; creating a space for listening and sharing as stories unravel through wonder, inquiry and surprise (Bianchi 2014, Fels 2012, Toews 2015). The language that breaks out of these discoveries is supported within somatic and mythic frameworks (Egan, 2005). These tools have opened our minds and voices to metaphorical relationships that exist between ourselves and other living things. I carefully tend to these unexpected stories, providing opportunities to practice respect as we share in community (Toews 2016). Together we collaborate; reframing our understanding as we simultaneously listen to each other’s voice, linking one variation of human experience to another (Baldwin 2005). Stories cry out to be valued and heard. They invite us in to listen, to connect and then to respond with a posture of grace and humility. Baldwin, C. (2005). Storycatcher: Making sense of our lives through the power and practice of story. Novato, CA: New World Library. Bianchi, L. (2014). The Keys to Wonder-Rich Science Learning. In Wonder-full education: The centrality of wonder in teaching and learning across the curriculum, ed. K.Egan, A. Cant and G. Judson, 188-200. New York and London: Routledge. Dana, N.F., & Yendol-Hoppey, D (2008). (Ch.5) The reflective educator’s guide to classroom research. Thousand Oaks, CA: Corwin Press. Egan, K. (2005). An imaginative approach to teaching. San Fransisco, CA; Jossey-Bass. Fels, L. (2012). Collecting Data Through Performative Inquiry: A Tug on the Sleeve. In Youth Theatre Journal 26: 50-60. Fels, L. & Belliveau, G. (2008). (Ch. 2) Exploring curriculum: Performative inquiry, role drama and learning. Vancouver, BC: Pacific Educational Press. Schön, D. (1978). Educating the Reflective Practitioner. San Fransisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Toews, K. (2016). January 25: Opening the Spaces for Community. karolyntoews.com Toews, K. (2015). Field Study: What kind of scaffolding do I need to put in place for my students to become effective storytellers? Capacities Covered this Semester:

1. Investigate educational theories and philosophies to inform your practice.
2. Foster a rich understanding of how emotional and imaginative engagement supports learning and teaching and contributes to meaning-making.
3. Promote a learning environment that fosters respect for and awareness of imagination’s role in learning for all students.

A Spiral of Stories The all too familiar spiral that guides and inspires our desire to move upward. A series of turning points that are challenged through critique and reflection modelling inquiry. A shifted posture and framework for learning. Is it not through the space of telling and listening of sharing experience that we find ourselves traversing this path? This journey where language becomes the map and proficiency the goal. When greater orality is constructed through practice, and pathways are opened as we talk our way up to understanding. Meaningful conversation found in this ever-changing zone. Embryonic in form, until once again, familiar. Emotions evoked by the body’s senses. Mysterious games in which we create and destroy, conceal and reveal, until Transformation emerges as the hero. All this grounded in story forwarded towards reframe. There is no end on this praxis. Just a middle, where we pause and contemplate to make sense of the plot. Shifting and twisting our way along. Adjusting and challenging our steps as we negotiate the story line. Here, formation and pathway become one. Stories climb together and separate. We pay attention, are astonished by connection. We value strength in an inherent passion of community. We honour authentic places, sacred openings and invitations taken. We place care as the centrepiece. As in a mirror we see a healthy tension of mediation. Self and other, change and renewal. The power of paradox that punctuates this story. Our stories actively embraced, expanding our hearts. In the unknown and in-between. A place of liminality. Where the quiet meets the storm. We are called to thrive and grow here in the spacious place from where cries a story. A lesson. Propelling us forward toward growth and newness.

Reflection: “Facing the Torpedo Fish: Becoming a Philosopher of One’s Own Education” by Ann Diller “The more I learn, the more I realize how much I don’t know.” – Albert Einstein A familiar concept: living in the tension of not knowing – a mediated space of searching and discomfort. The numbing sting of the torpedo fish or Applebaum’s “stop” remind us of the gift of pain in the search for truth. Lynn Fels in “Collecting Data Through Performative Inquiry” describes “a tug on the sleeve” as a moment of realization when a student steps out of the script and helps us to reimagine what we thought we already knew. These moments, when we question our own understandings, where we revisit and reframe previous ideas; these moments are a watershed for new learning. It takes humility and movement to grab on to these opportunities as they propel us forward to places of renewed understanding. Within this posture we bump against others and share stories of experience and construct new meanings collaboratively. Together we visit “new educational streets” and analyze evidence from different perspectives (Core Competency of Critical Thinking). And as Diller suggests, it sometimes takes a caring mentor to help point to a third option or angle of thinking (p.5). Or as in my mirror metaphor, we join together in mutual willingness to “attempt to walk and live on the rackety bridge between self and other.”(Dillar, p.9). Donald A. Schon in “Educating the Reflective Practitioner” describes elements of surprise that appear during opportunities of learning (p. 26). Like the sting of the fish, these surprises cause us to stop-and-think (Hannah Arendt). Our thinking serves to reshape what are are doing as we “reflect-in-action”: action that leads to new angles of vision and expanded investigations into unexplored territory (Diller, p.8). If “young children can be taught to shift perspectives back and forth between engagement in learning activities and observation about their experiences” (Diller, p.3), then this is where my focus should be: Learning to identify and capture that uncomfortable moment, teaching and modelling how to approach this discomfort with a posture of humility and wonder, practicing questioning techniques and finally create a learning environment that recognizes  that this “sting” can become a transformative moment for growth and newness. “Seeing the confusion for what it is…We can love it, enjoy it, serve it.” Christopher Nelson in his article “The Sting of the Torpedo Fish: On Socrates” writes: “Socrates has shown us, the readers (and Meno, if he were listening), that understanding our own ignorance is necessary for learning to take place–especially understanding our ignorance of the everyday common things we thought we knew well. When we can look at the familiar and suddenly realize that we really don’t understand it, when we can look at what we always thought we knew, and ask “what is this thing?” then we are ready to learn and well along the path to better understanding. In that state we are truly torpid, just as the slave boy was, and we bring a sense of “wonder” to our search. This wonder comes not from something we understand, but rather from our desire to understand—what we sometimes call a love of learning, born not in understanding but in ignorance.” (p.4)

Impacts of Reflective Storytelling on Learning Karolyn Toews 87011-0277 Simon Fraser University MEd in Educational Practice LM 34 Surrey Cohorto March 23, 2018 Dedication for those who listened with anticipation Abstract This inquiry seeks to investigate how students’ reflective storytelling impacts their learning through the process of revisiting, critiquing and reframing classroom experiences. Three instances of talk and reflection are observed and examined in a grade 1/2 classroom: student talk during a spider inquiry, student talk while reflecting on reading behaviours, and stories about personal challenges. Through the process of collecting samples of these narratives, insights are gained about the teacher’s and students’ roles in owning and sharing self stories. The effects of challenges and tensions within student and teacher learning stories are also considered. Research around such concepts as storytelling, oral language, and growth mindset provide a framework for thinking and understanding. Poetry and creative writing inform and synthesize this study’s lived experiences. A Liminal Place Memory I am cocooned secure in a green sleeping bag. The dank, musty smell of a tarp envelops me yet my mind is far away from its reality. I am somewhere, following a mischievous black bird. I smile and laugh at its antics, feeling comfortable and free to let my imagination take the lead. The narrative is compelling. I know the deep, theatrical inflections of its storyteller. He holds me spell-bound. I am lost but safe in its magic. Background As I grew up, this ritual of storytelling took place often. The character, an inquisitive crow named Blackie, was an invention of my Dad, the first and perhaps most influential storyteller in my life. As kids, we longed for “Blackie the Crow” stories. This crow followed us on camping trips, across Canada, and back to our familiar beds on 37 Henry Street. The round-about narratives wove adventure into a “what will happen next” suspense and then, predictably back to a resolve that always lent itself to a lesson of sorts. Through various trials befitting his bird-like character, Blackie taught us not to be selfish, to listen to our parents, or to remember our manners. Tales of adventure became a construct of virtues and spiritual values. Storytelling was about imagination, emotion, connection and learning. The legacy of my dad as a storyteller lives on in my life. Lessons learned as a child stay with me even today. I have often taken on the role of a storyteller, preferring it as a tool for teaching or a way to make sense of my experience. The impact of a story whether make-believe or real has become a central focus and area of investigation for me as a teacher-researcher. The power of story not only unravels our human journeys but it provides an entry point for understanding ourselves as inquirers and learners. As I reflect on my learning journey, the questions that I have investigated have taken on the characteristics of a story in and of themselves. Initial inquiries have spiralled into ideas that have been revisited and reframed. The plot line has shifted, and my focus has been directed elsewhere. These moments have pushed me to think past the surface and have invited deeper deliberation and search. Looking back there are pieces of my narrative that have provided clarity and meaning, but more often the storyline has sent me digging deeper for answers. My diagnosis of breast cancer in the fall of 2015, found itself wrapped up in the start of my first graduate diploma field study. Without much choice, my personal narrative collided with the learning stories that I would encounter during that first semester and the remaining three years of study. The relationship between self and other (the other being cancer) became a very real part of my life. This new reality was disorienting, and I was inundated with unanswered questions. A quote from Rainer Maria Rilke (as cited in Palmer, 2007) gave hope to the fear and anxiety that I was experiencing during those first months of realization: Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves…Do not seek the answers which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer. (p. 89) Live the question now. This challenging advice became and has become the starting point for much of my inquiry in the classroom, and in life. It has framed the way I think about learning, the way I processed the cancer in my life, and has become the impetus for understanding and living out story. Context and Conditions For over 20 years, Matsqui Elementary (see Figure 1) has been the setting in which I have taught and grown in my role as a teacher-learner and now, researcher. It is a small rural school that services approximately 138 students and their families in the Abbotsford School District.  Our mission at Matsqui is “to provide a safe and caring environment in order to inspire our students to be well-rounded life-long learners who are ready to experience life to its fullest.” Each year, I teach children from a variety of backgrounds, languages, traditions and cultures. Although many refer to Matsqui as the “cute little school in the country”, we are surprisingly eclectic and with that brings the challenges of providing support within the constraints of our small size and limited resources. Our school is well represented by students who live on the Matsqui First Nation Reserve. The presence of the Stó:lō Nation is an important piece of our school culture and community. The farming landscape around our school makes up much of the Matsqui Prairie. Many of our students live on dairy or blueberry farms. We often teach children whose great-grandparents helped settle the area. More recently, many Indo-Canadian families have chosen to establish farming ventures here as well. Matsqui Elementary is situated in the heart of historic Matsqui Village. Its quaint streets and buildings include a park, an old church, the Matsqui Cafe, and an operating Post Office. I have noticed a resurgence of young families moving into this village, desiring to find simplicity and community here. This may be the reason for a sudden influx of Kindergarten children who registered this past fall. With a rising enrolment, our school opened a sixth division in September, 2017. Over the course of the year, several children moved in and out of my classroom. At this time, I am teaching a class of 22 students (see Figure 2). The composition includes: 11 grade ones, 11 grade twos; 11 boys, 11 girls; 3 Aboriginal students; 1 IEP student; and students with a broad range of learning styles and abilities. As a small staff, we are able to collaborate and stay connected. Because my teaching position is part-time (60%), I am well acquainted with job sharing and the importance of communicating effectively with my co-worker. I also teach jointly with our Learning Support Teacher and receive additional support from the Aboriginal EA. Last year, our staff collaborated around the topic of questioning. Lessons about quick and deep questions helped to form some of the ideas that I later developed in my field study. Definitions An understanding of the terms “reflection” and “story” was necessary to set some parameters for data collection and analysis. Corbin and Strauss (2008), emphasize the importance of careful word choice and meaning as an analytical tool for furthering analysis. They suggest that “it is up to the analyst to discern which interpretation is most accurate by looking to the data for cues” (p. 79). My working definition of reflection was found within the growth mindset paradigm. Mulligan (as cited in Davis, 2016), suggests that the “deliberate practice (of reflection) is the act of isolating what is not working and mastering the challenging area before moving on, allowing the new information to become encoded in memory” (p. 13). Further, reflection is applied by “pausing to think, consider, visualize, or problem solve before repeating the section” (Davis, p.13). It was also helpful to refer to Schön’s (1987) explanation of reflection-on and -in action. He points out that both actions occur when “we find something odd about (our usual routines) because, for some reason, we have begun to look at them in a new way” (p.26). Critical thinking and restructuring of strategies are interwoven in this process, which often leads to “fram(ing) a new problem” (p. 28). The concept of storytelling was more difficult to confine, but in my readings it became evident that other educators were also using storytelling as an effective teaching and learning tool (Clandinin & Connelly, 1998; McDrury & Alterio, 2002; McEwan & Egan, 1995; Pendlebury, 1995; and Witherell & Nodding, 1991, as cited in Alterio, n.d., p. 2). In particular, the work of Maxine Alterio (n.d.) helped to define and bring clarity to my use of oral narrative in the classroom. In her research about storytelling and student learning, Alterio (n.d.) suggests that there are many types of stories and ways to work with them; reflective dialogue is one example. Her descriptions of storytelling helped me narrow down my focus to two types in particular: “spontaneous and predetermined” (McDrury & Alterio, as cited in Alterio, n.d., p. 3). Alterio’s (n.d) definitions provide some insight: Spontaneous stories often occur straight after something significant, funny or frustrating has happened and tellers have an overwhelming urge to share their experience. Predetermined stories differ in that tellers have already thought about them in some way, perhaps written about them in journals or shared fragments with family or friends. These stories stay with tellers because they are unresolved, or continue to be intriguing or troublesome. Sharing this type of story is likely to bring about the biggest learning gains. (p. 3) In my field study, I decided to observe and gather data based on an awareness of Alterio’s (n.d.) definition of story types. As a class, we referred to these oral and written narratives (whether spontaneous or predetermined) as our learning stories.  Although the fluid nature of classroom talk and storytelling created challenges for data gathering and observing, it was an exciting, “ear-opening” time to be the teacher-researcher.  As Alterio (n.d.) concludes, “to learn through storytelling is to take seriously the human need to make meaning from experience, to communicate that meaning to others, and in the process, learn about ourselves and the worlds in which we reside” (p. 3).Methods of Data Collection Using the concept of reflective storytelling as a guideline and focus, my data collection centred on obtaining samples of student talk around their learning stories. This process included audio recordings, teacher-lead interviews of students (archived on the “Notes” application on my computer and i-phone, see Figure 3) and transcriptions of learning story narratives (in my Field Study Notebooks). I gathered photos of: students participating in student talk activities, writing samples of learning stories, and inquiry artifacts. Finally, I often wandered  around the classroom, clipboard in hand, recording “in the midst” (Shagoury & Power, 2003, p.121) notes of student activity and talk. In their chapter entitled “Developing a Research Plan”, Dana and Yendol-Hoppey (2009) suggest the importance of using multiple sources of data collection in order to rule out discrepancies and build a stronger case for findings. This method of “triangulation” (Cresswell,  1998; Patton, 2002, as cited in Dana & Yendol-Hoppey, 2009, p. 112), provided opportunities for varied meaning making and data analysis as I continued to align my practice with the questions and wonderings of my inquiry. Methods of Data Analysis About qualitative data analysis, Michael Quinn Patton (as cited in Saldana, 2016) rationalizes that “because each qualitative study is unique, the analytical approach used will be unique” (p. 47). Later, Saldana (2016) uses the term “pragmatic eclecticism” (p. 47) to describe his stance in determining appropriate coding methods. With some trail and error, I attempted an eclectic approach to analyze my data in hopes of “shaking it up and complexifying it” (MacDonald, personal communication, October 3, 2017).  Descriptive coding, narrative coding and poetry (creative arts) helped to inform and analyze the data that I collected. Descriptive coding (Saldana, 2016) was useful because of its “straightforward method” (p. 73), allowing coding to take place on “a wide variety of data forms” (p. 70). I recall reflecting on my field study notes (Field Study Notebook, Sept. 20, 2017) and noticing patterns of topics emerging (see Figure 4): This lead to what Turner (as cited in Saldana, 2016) calls a “basic vocabulary” (p. 70) or a short list of topic sentences that became my codes. I began using these descriptions to code topics in the margins of my notes. These descriptive codes also became a tool to code the audio/visual items stored in my “Notes” application. Of importance was keeping the codes in line with my question/sub-questions (examples of codes: learning story, sharing, critical thinking, signs of growth, stop moment, my role, connections to academic readings). After coding a field study entry, I analyzed further in the form of memos. Hubbard and Power (2003) suggest that a “research memo can be an important tool to begin to think things through” (p. 110). These reflections often lead to “aha” moments of explanation and further inquiry (examples in Field Study Notebook: Sept. 21, 2017 and Sept. 28, 2017, see Figure 5): Narrative coding (Saldana, 2016, p. 109) provided a unique way of analyzing my field notes. The literary device of the “Hero Journey Motif” (The Hero Journey Motif, n.d.) was the lens through which I interpreted my data. I chose pages 4-10 of my field notes and coded the data under: call to adventure, encountering dangers/conflicts, and fleeing of old ways/dangers/fears. Although the coding was limited to a few experiences, I noticed patterns taking shape as my students’ learning stories took on similar characteristics of beginning, middle (crisis/problem/challenge), and resolution (reflection of new goal or learning target and/or clarification of a problem). The process of looking at my data through the lens of a literacy device was informative and allowed for further connections with the ideas that I was developing around the concept of story. A final method of processing data came in the form of creative writing. Through reflections and an intentional desire to pay closer attention to life’s experiences, I began to investigate my “noticings” through words and metaphors. Like Carl Leggo (2008), I found it valuable to use poetry to explore and attend to the world around me; his goal being to “open up spaces for the creative arts to inform social science research” (p. 166). When words, images and connections began to impress upon me, I attempted to make  meaning through narratives or poetry. Words became the place for me to “live the question” (Rilke, as cited in Palmer, 2007). I often scrawled down my ideas on scraps of paper in the car, or a stickie note next to my bed, taking time later to re-work and record these offerings in my Journal (see Figure 6). Here, I synthesized my lived experiences by making visible the “spaces in between” (Springgay, Irwin & Kind, 2005, p. 900). Although challenging, this process has become a platform to freely and creatively express my thoughts. I have come to think of this collection of words as liminal places; places where I  investigate, reflect on and interpret the questions and tensions that I encounter in my lived inquiry. These poetic episodes weave themselves in and around my observations and interpretations, rendering valuable insight and connection. They provide another lens with which to make sense of theory, pedagogical practice and life.A Liminal Place A Wordless Narrative A sunset. The vast expanse of a prairie field. A bird taking flight. These images captured by my friend’s lens tell a story. My eye takes in the narrative. I experience her interpretation of struggle and challenge joy and contentment. Nature has a voice. I read Psalm 19. I am reminded that the heavens and earth pour forth speech. There is no language where their voice is not heard. Creation calling us to take notice and pay attention. See the story and learn. My students investigate and search. Eyes connecting a tree to its name, to a metaphor. Their roots, their leaves their fruit. A wordless narrative. Inviting. Calling us to find ourselves in the beauty of its story. A Liminal Place: “A Wordless Narrative” My friend Jean’s photographs have challenged the way I think about how I construct my personal narrative. They have caused me to question the role that the stories of others – their viewpoints, attitudes and opinions – play in how I construct my own story. How does my posture towards others (the level of care or empathy that I show) affect how they view and create their self stories? The tensions that I experience as an educator grow out of these questions and I often wonder if the role that I play encourages or undermines my students’ abilities to create and find strength in their own self stories. Field Study The over-arching question in my inquiry investigated the role that reflective storytelling took in determining positive growth in student learning. I was also interested in exploring the relationship between student talk and story ownership. My own experiences and understandings of story pointed to the power it had in developing personal identity, so I came to this inquiry with great interest and a variety of assumptions that needed to be uncovered and tested. I believed that “the kinds of talk that occur in the classroom are critical in the development of how students ‘learn to learn’ through language and ultimately how they learn to think” (Hammond & Gibbons, 2001, p. 25). I also realized that the task of understanding story’s role in learning was complex and multifaceted. There would never be time or opportunity to investigate and make conclusive arguments on every assumption and belief that I held.  Instead, I decided to take on the posture of a living inquirer (Meyer, 2010). The notion of being-in-the-world and participating in its everyday life with an awareness and anticipation for the unnoticed, seemed like a fitting stance to take as I began my inquiry. It gave permission to just “be”; to live the questions freely and search for answers in authentic, real life places. In setting up the investigation, it was important to create an environment that would support and encourage student talk. I would need to pay attention to the various types of conversations that could transpire within the school day, and keep note of student engagement and learning. At the start, I decided to focus on two learning situations where student storytelling was evident: student talk during a spider inquiry and student talk while reflecting on Daily 5 reading behaviours. Then later, out of my investigations came a third narrative: stories told from reflecting on personal challenges. Research provided some background information as to the kinds of narratives I could possibly expect to find. In her explorations of storytelling, Christina Baldwin (2005) writes that we can often learn things about ourselves by observing the stories of others. Our attraction and attention to the narratives of others cause us to “imagine ourselves in each other’s stories” (p.117) and from that experience, create our own story frameworks. Listening for and collecting data of student conversations would be essential in gaining a perspective on story formation and ownership. Within the growth mindset paradigm, I read that students construct learning stories by engaging in reflective conversations. Teachers “model reflection and metacognition…and analyze the most common mistakes…together with the class” (Davis, 2016, p.  15). Strategies of articulation and reflection include “talking about one’s own knowledge, reasoning or problem-solving” (Ertmer & Newby, 1996, p. 17). Given opportunities, I could expect to notice individual reflective processes, which would involve one teller and one listener, and collaborative reflection which “may provide breadth through multiple perspectives” (McDrury & Alterio, as cited in Alterio, nd, p.3). My role in modelling reflection and teaching critical thinking language would also be an important element to pay attention to. Finally, Gallas et al. (1996, p. 613) makes a distinction between types of narratives that can occur amongst students. She points out that discourses such as “out-of-school” talk differ from specialized “academically-directed speech”. Both however, play a role in making meaning. Gallas et al. (1996) suggests that “when we provide more opportunities for children to use discussion to identify their own understandings and answer their own question, we will also have more opportunities to investigate the dynamics of discourse appropriation…” (p. 613).  A Liminal Place 48 Hands one copy in my hand open for others an invitation to join and contribute pencilled illustrations marking out the rhyme and rhythm of thoughts as pages are turned a year of recitation both in text and in the span of a calendar the certainty of a repeated melody and reliability of pattern and word this daily discipline morphing from individual declaration into collective expression a theatrical presentation of song, word and dance children together and separate sharing and valuing this exercise a mark of our identity and requested revisitation 24 copies in 48 hands a treasured moment of gifting voices sing alive and together precious treasures opened as if for the first time sensual pleasures experienced as new from old the rhythm and rhyme again beating a recognizable story but pages turned breaking open afresh this pattern of reliving reviving the comfortable and predictable reinterpreting the familiar into yet another opportunity for discovery A Liminal Place:  “48 Hands” Reciprocity is the practice of exchanging things with others for mutual benefit. I have often struggled with this idea of shared reliance because I tend to like my privacy and independence. Early on in my graduate diploma, I wrote this about myself: “Being vulnerable and sharing ideas and needs with others are not things that come naturally to me. I often feel inadequate and therefore, reluctant to let others in on how I feel” (Personal Profile, May, 2015). Yet, I am learning that there are gifts that come from stepping out and taking risks. In my Journal, I reflected on my growth and the changes I was experiencing: “I have been challenged to accept and see value in the messiness of individual and group ideas and needs. I am learning to approach this tension with a posture of being a listener first…Personal stories and journeys add richness and perspective to a community. Respect and care happens when we give space for sharing and reflection of our lives” (Working Portfolio, April 4, 2016). More recently, I have benefited from conversations with members of my SFU cohort. Receiving criticism and giving advice continue to be areas of discomfort and growth, but by being transparent I have received encouragement and feedback that are invaluable to my learning story. Storytelling # 1: Student Talk During a Spider Inquiry Enthusiastic questioning and sharing were the first things I observed as I began to gather data on student talk. My previous field study (2016) around Imaginative Education was a reminder that positioning learning within the emotional reach of my students supported their story development. The use of cognitive tools (Egan 2005), especially within the somatic and mythic frameworks, encouraged student engagement and motivated talk. My students were given opportunities to collect, touch, smell, be puzzled over, and wonder about their environment (see Figure 7). The learning stories that I heard indicated that my students were developing a knowledge base and retaining information that they had learned from the scaffolds that I had provided: “My students have enthusiastically gathered around stumps of trees in the school yard or held magnifying glasses up to specimens in our classroom “spider house”, all the while questioning, answering, reframing and recreating their ideas” (Field Study Notebook, Oct. 19, 2017). During data collection, I wandered around, recording these “in the midst” (Shagoury & Power, 2003, p.121) moments on my clipboard, taking photographs and videos with the desire to learn more about my students’ narratives. From these notes, a pattern of descriptive vocabulary emerged as a short list of words that became my guide for analysis. Vocabulary included: creating a space for reflective dialogue, “stop story” (Appelbaum, as cited in Fels, p. 53), platform for retelling, my role, signs of growth, collaboration, and reflection (see Figure 8). Of interest, was that these descriptive codes (Saldana, 2016, p. 70) began to uncover and question my role in providing opportunities for, and supporting storytelling. Two main teaching behaviours stood out: explicit instruction of spider knowledge and facilitation of student storytelling around spider discoveries. During times of explicit instruction, I used spider videos, books, and real-life specimens to aid in my students’ understanding of the spider. I resourced pictures and charts to provide examples of life cycles and labelled diagrams. My students’ output indicated that they were developing a knowledge base and retaining information that they had learned from me (see figure 9).  As I read my memos, I noticed that much of my initial focus was on knowledge acquisition which produced “academically-directed speech” (Gallas et al., 1996), and my students’ learning stories looked and sounded much like memorized versions of in-class lessons. Although I noticed creative and individualized interpretations of spider knowledge, what I desired, was to hear more spontaneous sharing and reflection, or what Gallas et al. (1996) refers to as “out-of-school” talk. I was curious as to what spider storytelling would look like if my students took more ownership of their discoveries and experiences.  Ann Diller (1998) calls this ownership “mindful learning” or the process when students become “philosophers of their own education and know how to make education their own” (p. 2). It seemed necessary that I relinquish some of the control that I had assumed essential for meaningful learning: “I take a big step back, allowing for more student engagement and storytelling to take place. I listen and then smile as I begin to hear words and phrases being experimented with and used in order to explain and make sense of it all” (Field Study Notebook, notes from video, Nov. 2, 2017). “Language becomes ‘one’s own’ when the speaker populates it with his own intention, his own accent” (Mikhail Bakhtin, as cited in Gallas et al., 1996, p. 610). The individualization of spider stories began to happen when I allowed for opportunity to talk, share, explore and integrate new knowledge with personal experience (see Video 1). By allowing for student-driven discussion around personal points of interest, a comfortable, non-threatening environment was created (see Figure 10). This invited collaboration and risk taking as knowledge was experimented with and narratives shared. Gallas et al. (1996) calls this kind of story ownership “discourse appropriation” (p. 610). In order for discourse appropriation to occur, there was a need for both explicit instruction and facilitation of sharing opportunities. Addressing this relationship allowed for new story creation and personal ownership of this story to take place. Gallas et al. (1996) believes “that talk must be explored from many perspectives: as an instructional tool, as a path toward the understanding and mastery of new ideas, and as a point of contact between different social and cultural words” (p. 610). My reflections on my teacher role indicated that a balance of these perspectives was needed to encourage optimal levels of discourse appropriation in my students. I realized the need to revisit and readjust the tension of “self and other” in two areas: my teaching posture (explicit instruction versus facilitation of sharing) and the posture of my students’ classroom talk (spontaneous stories versus predetermined stories (Alterio, n.d., p. 2)). I also noted that when my students were given a safe, engaging learning environment where student talk was encouraged, they felt free to experiment and take risks in their language development and appropriation. A Liminal Place C c We learn to print giving the “big C” a rightful place on the interline I prefer to use its lower equivalent making a case for less superior representation A Liminal Place: “C c” Over the past three years, personal experiences have forced me to rethink my beliefs about narrative control and power. Control affects whose voices should be valued and supported, and whose voices are shut down or re-interpreted to suit the prevailing narrative. Loeb (as cited in Baldwin, 2005, p. 62), recommends that “we need to recover both our voice and our heart, even when the process is hard, and even in the face of people who will do their best to deny the very core of our being” (p. 62). As I have shared my personal story and struggle with others, well-meaning friends have re-written and reframed aspects of my journey, especially about their attitudes around cancer. This experience parallels the concerns that I face about my role as a teacher: What are my hidden assumptions regarding control and power that I bring to the classroom? Am I re-writing students’ stories in order to keep their narratives easy and manageable? How does my attitude towards transparency and acceptance affect how my students construct and share their self stories?Storytelling #2: Student Talk During Reflections on Daily 5 Behaviours The kinds of talk that transpired during our spider inquiry centred around giving opportunity to incorporate personal narratives with new discoveries. My explicit instruction involved providing spider facts, vocabulary and diagrams to enhance and scaffold the talking and learning that I saw necessary to facilitate.  However, as Gallas et al. (1996) suggests, I would need to provide further opportunities for student talk if I intended on gaining a better understanding of classroom discourse. I turned my focus to Daily 5 reading behaviours. I was interested in what talk would look like if it involved the process of observing and reflecting on these classroom behaviours. As the expectations for Daily 5 reading behaviours were introduced, I began using similar coding practices that I had established during the spider inquiry. Again, the topic of teacher role was prominent in my collection of data. In amongst the descriptive coding, I noticed three main areas of focus in my teaching role: creating a space for reflective dialogue, providing a platform for retelling/sharing, and teaching critical thinking skills to articulate learning. The coding also highlighted how my students’ stories might indicate that they were growing in their abilities to reflect on their behaviours. Using Daily 5 curriculum, I reinforced the concept of  “building stamina” through the use of a stamina chart, anchor charts and a poem (see Figure 11). These tools were helpful in providing criteria to practice and reflect on the reading behaviours. I also took pictures of students practicing stamina during Read-to-Self and Read-to-Someone activities. I recorded my observations in my Field Study Notebook: “I took a variety of pictures as the students were reading. I intentionally took pictures of students reading within and not meeting expectations. Students were eager to see themselves in these picture stories. As they shared their learning stories, they pointed out fellow students who were following reading expectations. Some students made the connection that they could learn from their mistakes. We talked about what we could do next time” (Field Study Notebook, p. 4). As a class, we reviewed our stamina behaviours and built story narratives around our learning. A series of three questions (see Figure 12) helped us frame our stories by “isolating what was not working (with the goal of) mastering the challenging area before moving on” (Mulligan as cited in Davis, 2016, p. 13). I provided opportunities to practice reflecting on these questions in mock interviews, buddy/whole class sharing and in writing activities that we used as prompts for our storytelling (see Figure 13): Within the discussions, I was hoping to encourage the kind of reflective processing that McDrury and Alterio (as cited in Alterio, n.d.) write about: Our capacity to express ourselves through narrative forms not only enables us to reshape, reassess and reconstruct particular events, it allows us to learn from discussing our experiences with individuals who may raise alternative, views, suggest imaginative possibilities or ask stimulating questions (p. 3). I recorded my student’s reflections about stamina building. My observations suggested that my students were learning to talk about their stamina building stories and give examples of what their next learning steps should be (see Video 2). I transcribed portions of my students’ reflective stories during an interview regarding stamina practice: “I am good at pointing to each word, but need to practice reading the hard books more.” – Sydney “I can find a good spot (to read), but need to practice concentrating.” – Joey “We need to practice these three things (choose a good spot, pick 3 books, choose books that interest you) if we want to have stamina.” – Curtis Then the next day I wrote: “When my students were finding books and getting settled around the room for Read-to-Self, I noticed that Curtis was walking away from an unsettled group of students. Then I heard him say to himself as he sat down at his desk, ‘This is a much better choice’. Curtis was putting into practice the ideas that he had previously reflected on. This little example was an ‘aha’ moment for me. First, I saw the positive effects of our discussions/reflections on student choice. Curtis independently chose to find a good reading spot. Second, it made me think of the importance of taking time to observe student behaviour – to see if our reflections were making sense, whether the students were internalizing their ‘What’s next’ steps and if this thinking process was becoming habitual. Thirdly, Curtis’ choice impacted my pedagogical decision making. It became a point of ‘What’s next’ for me” too (Field Study Notebook, p. 9). The process of stamina building became a reality for all learners in Division 4. By combining the teaching of critical thinking language with the practice of reflecting, my students were beginning to live and articulate the questions of “What am I doing well?” and “What is challenging?” Housten and Clift (as cited in Ertmer & Newby, 1996), suggest that reflective learning becomes a habit and that “most students do not develop learning strategies unless they receive explicit instruction in their use” (p. 19). The effects of teaching and modelling the habit of reflection was showing up in individualized student decision making. Their storytelling was appropriating this critical thinking language and behaviour. As I watched and documented how my students were developing their learning stories, I thought about my ability to exercise this discipline of reflection in my own life. In one of my reflections, I wrote: “I have acted as a facilitator with the intention of modelling a posture of reflection. Although this has initially been meant for the growth of my students, I have benefitted from this reflecting as well” (Field Study Notebook, p. 6). In the process of facilitating reflection, by making time for it and guiding my student’s reflective conversations, I was also becoming comfortable with the process and learning to recognize its benefits in my own practice. One example of being intentional about my own habits of self reflection occurred shortly after I had started collecting data in my Field Study Notebook. My notebook was set up so that priority and space were given to recording observations of student learning. I had taken the time to record observations, but on re-reading my notes, I realized that they lacked responses and connections. Mills (as cited in Samaras, 2011) claims that “by keeping an adequate file and thus developing self-reflective habits…the file helps you build up the habit of writing” (p. 175-176). What my notebook lacked, was a place for reflective writing or “memoing” (Hubbard and Power, 2003, p. 110 ) that would connect my observations to my thinking and living. With this in mind, I re-organized my writing into a double-entry format. This provided a place to record observations and then “cook the data” (Hubbard and Power, 2003, p. 45) all on the same page. Looking back, I notice how this seemingly small change, helped to provide valuable material for “keeping my inner world awake” (Mills, as cited in Samaras, 2011, p. 175).  The revised format also reminded me to make a daily habit of recording my reflections and connections. These reflections influenced my decision making (“What’s next?”) and de-compartmentalized my life into a more fluid, living inquiry that became evident especially in my blog reflections and poetry writing.  A Liminal Place Level Ground Lying on our stomaches the cool grass beneath. Small minute details, searching together magnifiers in hand. An army of ants retrieving a dinner, trees and bushes, a giant’s perspective. My students and I, our imaginations creating, co-constructing an original masterpiece, as we lie in tandem, the earth our oyster. A Liminal Place: “Level Ground” I am encouraged by the work of Ceci Lewis (2009). She writes about letting go of her “teacher head” (p. 58) and becoming part of the learning narrative with her students. Just as I experienced commonality and a reason to connect through the “thinking about learning” reflections of my students, Lewis found “that the lines between teacher researchers and student subjects quickly blurred as (their) stories opened up conversations that changed the traditional teacher-student relationship” (p. 51). Parker Palmer suggests that fear may be the reason for why we don’t let go of teacher control. Replacing fear with love allows us to enter a partnership with our students that encourages connectedness and respect. “We can escape fear’s paralysis and enter a state of grace where encounters with otherness will not threaten us but will enrich our work and our lives” (p. 58). Storytelling #3: Reflections on Challenges As my students and I lived out our questions, and as we sought to find ownership in our personal narratives, there was often “an ongoing struggle for meaning and growth” (Bakhtin, as cited in Gallas et al., p. 613).  From the “What next?” queries came unanswerable questions. I felt the struggle to find solutions and provide guidance: “As a teacher I really needed to facilitate the “What should I do next?” question. I even had trouble thinking of ideas, especially ones that were developmentally appropriate. How can I facilitate this? Should I be approaching this from a different angle?” (Field Study Notebook, p. 19). The ambiguity and uncertainty that I experienced in understanding my role as an educator was somewhat like “walk(ing) and liv(ing) on the rackety bridge between self and other” (Diller, 1998, p. 9). I wasn’t sure as to how much or what kind of support I should be providing. The tensions that we felt between the “What am I doing well?” and the “What next?” questions shed some light on Rilke’s (as cited in Palmer, 2007, p. 89) concept of “living the question”. They suggested that within the living there was a possibility of discomfort and challenge. This furthered my understanding of how living the question could look for me personally. Whether in my profession or in my personal struggles, I was facing questions that were unanswered and difficult. This space was uncomfortable and challenging. Victor Turner (as cited in Grad, 2017) provides an effective description of this place of transition. It is about living on the threshold of the betwixt and between. He calls this intermediary state of being, “liminality” (p. 2). Were our questions, wonderings and personal struggles being lived out in this place? How were we articulating and understanding these experiences? The use of the word “challenge” became a regular occurrence in our class reflections. It was initially used as part of our Daily 5 learning stories, but I noticed that with practice and usage my students were appropriating it into many other areas of their lives: “Over the last week, my students have more regularly used the word “challenge” to initiate conversations with me: ‘My challenge is not to eat any candy while we are trick-or-treating’ – Bridget; ‘My challenge is to write with my left hand (because of his cast on his right hand)’ – Koen; ‘My mom had a challenge: to get us ready for school’ – Sarah, as she came running into the classroom this morning.” (Field Study Notebook, pp. 28-33). The idea of a challenge was becoming an articulated part of our lived experience. For Sydney, it came as a connection with her understanding of stamina. She demonstrated this one day in October while trying out a climbing wall that had been set up in our school playground. The goal was to climb to the top and then ring a bell to celebrate success. Sydney shared that she had just recently had the chance to climb a wall, but had failed to reach the top. This day, she had challenged herself to make it to the top of the wall. I videoed her attempt (see Video 3). Sydney was unsuccessful on her first try, but made it to the top and eagerly rang the bell on her second attempt. What interested me was her learning story. It was not only a story about a challenge, but how, through stamina and hard work, there was growth. For Bridget, challenge meant staying on the jumping pillow and having the stamina to persist until she made it to the other end. But, as she articulates in the video, there was more (see Video 4). One challenge conquered didn’t mean an end, it just opened up more space for another  one. These stories of challenge were places to learn and grow, and they required, as Baldwin (2005) states, “a period of discomfort and disorientation…(where) out of this experience we (would) eventually create a more deeply integrated story” (p. 131). Like the learning spiral suggests, my students were adding to the thickness of their learning stories, layer upon layer. I had documented moments of frustration, times when I heard the statement “I don’t know what to do next”, and as in the cases of Curtis, Sydney and Bridget, growth and celebration. In his definition of liminality, Turner suggests that we can find more than uncertainty in this space. He “gives hope by referring to the betwixt and between through the concept of the realm of pure possibility” (Grad, 2017). Through this lens of possibility, I have begun to understand the value of the struggle in our stories. There is more to the questions of “What I do well?”, “What is challenging?” and “What is next?”. Living the question means embracing and finding goodness in the midst of the challenge, however difficult it may be. It involves “being willing to suffer the tension of opposites, until we understand that such suffering is neither to be avoided nor merely to be survived but must be actively embraced for the way it expands our hearts” (Palmer, 2007, p.88). I struggled with this idea of finding hope in the questions and liminal places of my life, especially during the winter of 2016 when I was going through chemotherapy. I read authors like Lynn Fels (2012), and was deeply moved by her notion of paying attention to those “tugs on our sleeves” (p. 51). Tugs, that in my experience, where difficult to accept and process. I encountered the idea of a “stop moment” (Appelbaum, as cited in Fels, p. 53) which articulated the interruptions and dissonances that I was experiencing. Perhaps, even more, I was compelled by the idea that within these unexpected moments lay new possibilities and the potential for “some other way of being” (Fels, 2012, p. 53). I wondered whether I would find nuggets of truth and spaces of hope within these tugs and stops; was there a purpose in them? And how would my own self story be affected if I took on this posture? It was during some readings in the book of Jeremiah (Jeremiah 29:1-7, New International Version), that I wrote: I continue to search. What does it look like? How should I live my life in the space of unknowing and uncertainty? What should my posture be as I interact with and attempt to love those around me? I resonate with the idea of living in exile. Exile looks like questions that are unanswered, lives that are muddied by the grey of searching and finding no place to rest in the process. Exile is wandering – aimless and directionless. Exile is a place of in-between. Jeremiah writes a letter to those living in exile. The letter is a word from God to a people who have nothing; uprooted from their homes and a life of certainty and predictability. I am intrigued by God’s advice on how to live. It’s not what I expected it to be. Instead of a forward looking plan of action, God tells the people to make the most of where they’re at. He tells them to plant gardens and eat the food that they produce. They are to build houses and have families. They are encouraged to settle down. This seems like a plan that has longevity. One that points to purpose and intention. Even in exile. Jeremiah writes further that in all of this, it is imperative that the people seek peace. Shalom. A place for the heart to rest and offer rest to others. It’s an up-side-down way of thinking in a world that so quickly seeks to find quick answers and resolution. Instead, live in the tension. Thrive. Plant a garden; start a family. Be shalom in that place. Rest in a God who’s OK about the in-between. Even in exile. A Liminal Place Invitation Interruption: A spontaneous dissection of normality in which life and death the most severe of binaries pierce my heart and defy my logic in a reversal that struggles for breath and meaning. A peripeteia in tragedy. A sudden light from heaven that flashes conversion or a stop moment that calls for attention and wakefulness. In this, a story is birthed – calling out to be heard in its rawness and fragility. Reflecting, reframing towards change and renewal. An opportunity to speak. An invitation to listen. A Liminal Place: “Invitation” About peace: from my experiences, I know that even within life’s tensions, there can be places of rest and renewal. Peace happens when we are willing to understand this, and live reflectively knowing that the liminal places themselves are valuable and worthy of attention. With this as my focus, I am listening, with greater care to my own voice. I am learning to stop, be attentive and attend with anticipation to the stories of others.  Being a conduit of peace in the midst of question and wonder is perhaps the biggest challenge of all. Conclusion Our stories give voice to the questions that we live. “Talking and listening to others are among the most important ways we can explore and clarify our thoughts” (Staab, as cited in Hamilton & Weiss, 2005, p. 18). And by clarifying our thoughts, we learn to reflect and “make new sense of uncertain, unique, or conflicted situations” (Schön, 1987, p.35). My own living inquiry is a story of questions, wonderings, struggles for understanding and moments of clarity. I resonate with Waldrop’s (as cited in Fels, 2004) description of these “generative spaces” or what may be called “the edge of chaos” (p.76) where “components of a system never quite lock into place, and yet never quite dissolve into turbulence either…the one place where a complex system can be spontaneous, adaptive, and alive” (Fels, 2004, p. 76). It is in these very chaotic places that I have felt the most awake and conscious of life and its lessons. In her book “Storycatcher”, Baldwin (2005) writes about tending our fires. She describes stories as being fires that we are responsible to care for and maintain. Baldwin asks her readers, “what is the story you’re tending, the one you’ll never let be put out” (p. 70)? As I reflect on my inquiry, I am challenged by this question. What kinds of stories did I tend? What stories will I continue to cherish and protect? My data uncovered that I facilitated stories that involved appropriation of new language and ideas. I listened to students share and reflect on their behaviours, suggesting ways to move forward in their learning. I encouraged discussions and growth around stories of challenge and change. And in the midst, I was living a story of my own. From my observations, I noticed that these stories had the potential to empower and redirect our lives. Through shared narratives, my students and I found a common language that guided co-construction of meaning and discovery. I wonder what would have become of these stories if they had not been told? And were there stories that may have gone unnoticed and ignored? I know there were. Barry Lopez (as cited in Baldwin, 2005) suggests, The stories people tell have a way of taking care of them. If stories come to you, care for them and learn to give them away where they are needed. Sometimes a person needs a story more than food to stay alive. That is why we put these stories in each other’s memories. (p. 63) Within our everydayness there is opportunity to seek out and pay attention to stories. Stories offer a place to share our “worldiness in everyday living” (Meyer, 2010, p.1). It is this interest and belief in the power of story that propels me forward in my story-quest; living with anticipation and a willingness to “hear people to speech” (Nelle Morton, as cited in Palmer, 2007, p. 47). That process requires discipline, practice and perhaps even more, humility. I believe that while I may be “living the question” in my own narrative, there are others who are “living the question” as well. What is the attitude and action that I will take in order for the stories of others to be told? Palmer (2007) sums it up well. He states that, inviting story means making space for the other, being aware of the other, paying attention to the other, honouring the other. It means not rushing to fill our students’ silences with fearful speech of our own and not trying to coerce them into saying the things that we want to hear. It means entering empathetically into the student’s world so that he or she perceives you as someone who has the promise of being able to hear another person’s truth. (p. 47) The transformative growth that can be part of a learning story, is a goal that I continue to pursue both in my teaching and in my personal life. Finding peace and hope in its liminal places is a lifelong journey and quest to living the question well.  Epilogue A Liminal Place: “Encore” During my illness and treatment, I had suddenly become cautious of the familiar melodies and lyrics around me. For some reason, songs that had once made me smile and sing, evoked emotions of anxiety and fear. Now my life was all about protecting my body – both physically and emotionally. 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