Imagine a classroom full of bright faces eager to learn the science of growing plants. They’ve read books
to learn about the parts of a plant, looked at photos of growing plants, written poems about plants, and interviewed their parents about gardens.
The final step is to grow their own plants. Their teacher knows there isn’t a dime left in the materials budget.
Then she has a brainstorm.
Over the next week, she saves the clear, shallow, salad bar container she buys at lunch. At home, she finds leftover soil and a half-used bag of grass seed languishing in the garage.
Back at school, she gives each small group one container. From there, the students handle it. They fill it up with soil. A generous fistful of seeds covers the top. The children water their containers and place them on the warm windowsill.
On Monday, they dash in and check on their seeds. Every container has at least one spindly thread reaching up, a cause for excitement. They count and check their measurements, estimations, and predictions. They discover that they must adjust the watering schedule as days pass.
Soon the containers have a lush, spring green carpet of grass growing. The students pass their containers around, examining the root systems and remarking on the length of the grass.
Best of all? They touch the grass. Their fingers wind in and out of individual pieces. They stroke the grass from soil to tip, saying they never realized how soft new grass was.
The children’s strokes turn to caresses, much like they’d do with a beloved pet. Before they know it, the grass is bent over flat from so much love.