Chip’s journey

Before going to the conference in Girona on the future of the university, we spent a few days in the Pyrenees (Pireneus in Catalan), mostly in Garrotxa county (camarca) and in Vall de Sau Collsacabra. Collsacabra is a high plateau in the north-east part of Osona county; it’s also called Cabrerès.

Here are some photos; click on any photo to enlarge it.

Following a night in Barcelona, we traveled north past Vic and Rupit to a beautiful stone house high on a mountainside. You can see here the view from our room in the Gestió Mas El Solanot (see additional photos). Notice the tabletop mountains and cliffs, as well as architecture going back to the Middle Ages and even Roman times.

We were staying on the edge of La Garrotxa, which is about 1/4 the size of Champaign County in terms of area and population. It looks very different because of its 40 volcanoes and many cliffs, not to mention the medieval architecture, Mediterranean flora, and red tile roofs.

We traveled to many of the volcanoes in Garrotxa. Here we are climbing up to look at the crater of Volca Montsacopa, in the center of Olot.

The photo on the left is from the Route of Les Tres Colades, with its spectacular basalt cliffs. It shows the results of the cooling of the lava as it flowed towards the site of what is now Sant Joan les Fonts.

On the right is a 12th-century Romanesque bridge in Besalú with a portcullis in center. It was partially destroyed during the Spanish Civil War, then rebuilt in the 60’s.

A view of Rupit and the nearby Salto de Sallent, a 100-meter waterfall. The photo below shows a cascade upstream from the main fall. There was an iron cross embedded in the rock, presumably marking the spot where someone had come too close to the edge. I decided not to go up closer to investigate. But it was impressive to see that the unpaved road crosses the stream above the main fall, going through six inches of water just a few feet from the 100-meter drop.

Scenes from Girona, where the conference was held. The cathedral perches on a hill in the center of the beautiful old town (Barri Vell), which lies just across the Onyar River

For much of my time here in Dublin, I’ve walked to work alongside waterways. First, it was the Liffey River. Then for a long time it was the Dodder, the second large, remaining, and still aboveground river in Dublin. Sometimes, it has been the Grand Canal. Each of the waterways has its collection of birds, the best being those along the Dodder.

I would often see a grey heron just downstream from the bridge near our apartment. There is also a pair of mute swans, who swim almost always close together, but every few weeks they have a day when they separate by a half mile. There are two main types of gulls, one I think being a Galway gull. They’re fond of standing on the walkway’s stone railing, until I’d get with 44.5 inches, or was it 46.3?

Near where the Dodder joins the Liffey, I occasionally see cormorants. Further upstream mallards are very common and also moorhens, but they’re a little harder to see because they hang out below the brush near the bank. Magpies will also come down to the water at times.

Note: The distant, red cranes in the photo of the walkway aren’t the feathered kind.

Whereas many Greek towns might be dusty and dry, Edhessa (Έδεσσα) is lush and wet. Much of it is free of cars as well. The reason is a river cascading down from the mountains to the north. It flows through the town, allowing park spaces along the banks and a complex array of paths and bridges crisscrossing the waters. Then, at the edge of the old town (Varossi), the river descends rapidly, culminating in two large waterfalls, which I came to see as fountains of knowledge.

Following the Networked Learning Conference earlier last week in Halkidiki, Greece, we had headed west through Thessaloniki to the region around Edessa. This is where Alexander the Great was born and where his father, Phillip II and Aristotle went to to school together. It includes what are now the major archaeological sites of Vergina, the site of the ancient Macedonian royal city of Aegae, and Pella, the later capital. Alexander, of course, was the one whose conquests spread Hellenistic culture throughout Asia Minor, Syria, Egypt, and eventually the entire Persian Empire, going as far as India. Supposedly, he slept with a copy of the Iliad under his pillow throughout the campaign. His exploits might not represent the origin of the knowledge, but they certainly helped it flow and created an early version of a global culture.

The oracles of Delphi and other sites might allow Greeks to claim the fountain of knowledge. Towns with names like Grammatico make one feel that love of knowledge is intrinsic to daily life. Add in the beginnings of Western science and philosophy and the whole nation would seem to be a bubbling fountain of knowledge, if it just weren’t so sunny and dry!

I thought we might be approaching the fountain when we came to Meixa, the location of Aristotle’s school (from the Greek schole), where Alexander had studied. But it was just north of there in Edessa, that the fountain revealed itself.

The pleasure of experiencing the water town was only enhanced for me when we visited the wonderful town library. Staff there helped us access the internet and told us more about Edessa.

The library has a unique logo combining two of my favorite things, books and water. It suggests that the ideas of Plato, Sophocles, Hippocrates, Thucydidies, Heraclitus, and all the rest flow from the library, providing pleasure for the mind as the cataracts do for both body and mind. I like the way the logo incorporates the @ sign, too. Fortunately, knowledge is never owned by any one time, place, or people, but Edessa and its library make as good a claim as any to being its source.

Our Ballsbridge apartment lease ran out at the end of January and the new apartment wasn’t available until 3 February. That meant that aside from badly needing a break, we were also homeless for three days. It became clear that this was a time to turn crisis into opportunity. We chose to make a long weekend of it, going to stay in a cottage in Aughavannagh in the Wicklow Mountains south of Dublin. You can see the cottage behind the shed, in the photo to the left.

Being in a valley, there was no mobile phone access, much less internet. As our rental car was not designed for the snow in the mountains, so we were about as isolated as one could be just 50 kilometers or so by air south of Dublin.

The weekend was cold, with light snows, rain, and ferocious winds at times. But we had a fireplace and plenty of fuel. At times the weather cleared enough for walks. One very delightful one was at Glenmalure, the longest glacial valley in Ireland and UK. It’s just east of Luqnaquilla, Wicklow’s highest mountain at 925m. There’s also an impressive cascade down to the Avonbeg River (see left).

Glenmalure is not far south from Glendalough, an equally beautiful spot, but one that’s more heavily traveled. At the end of the walk we had an excellent pub lunch at the Glenmalure Lodge, where we had parked our car. That allowed us time to get back to watch Ireland v. Italy (rugby) on the telly. (We weren’t totally out of touch with the modern world!)

We had a wonderful Christmas in Kilcrohane on the Sheepshead Peninsula in West Cork. We went with Stephen, over from St. Petersburg, Russia; Emily, from Minneapolis; and Matt, one of their friends, from Saint-Raphael, France. Our week included a visit to Fitzpatrick’s one evening, several to the O’Mahony store, and stops in Durrus, Bantry, Ahakista, and other charming towns.

We also had winds, fog, sleet, and torrential rain. Locals call it “rain,” even though it blows horizontally, rather than falling sensibly from the top down. There were several terrific gales (or was it one long one?), which made us thankful for the stone walls of Betsy and Michael’s cottage. Sitting by a warm fire, we could look out on gorgeous Dunmanus Bay with sunny skies one time and am awesome storm the next.

Despite the general theme of winter storm, we had frequent sun and glorious skies. That allowed us to manage several good walks. One was in the ancient forest above Glengariff; another around Lough Hyne south of Skibbereen; and others on the Sheepshead Way. We made good use of Kevin Corcoran’s West Cork Walks.

Emily was a writing dervish, thus missing some of the walks. Her friend Matt played his guitar, while posed on the large window seat. Stephen had a swim down at the end of the road. He was inspired in part by Frank O’Mahony, who had done the St Stephen’s Day charity swim at the pier. Perhaps it was warmer for the swimmers to be in the water than in the air, given the sleet and winds. And we played a fair bit of bridge.

Photos by Susan Porter Bruce.

What did Dewey mean when he imagined the school as social center of the community and as a site for building a democratic society? How is that different from just teaching history and government, or discussing the local newspaper in class? Are there any schools today that realize Dewey’s vision?

Dewey articulated these ideas in an early speech called “The School as Social Center.” He recognized even then that there were dramatic innovations in transportation & communication, the relaxation of social discipline & control, the growing need for knowledge in all affairs of life, and the need for lifelong learning. As a result, he saw the need to change the image of what constitutes citizenship and therefore the image of the purpose of the school. These ideas are developed more in an excellent new book called Dewey’s Dream.

One implication of this perspective is the creation of community schools, many of which are allied through the Coalition for Community Schools. Through that network, individuals and organizations share work on “education K-16, youth development, community planning and development, family support, health and human services, government and philanthropy.”

Other implications are to move beyond elitist models of service and to focus on reflective transformation of ourselves and our own organizations:

the creation of public spaces can be a seedbed for productive, pluralist, citizen-owned politics in an age of gated communities and privatized resources. We need to change the now dominant view of civic learning as community service or service learning, if we are to develop the political sensibilities of our students. Organizing involves understanding education as about transformation, the “reworking” of ourselves and our contexts. An organizing approach is what we need to develop, if we are to think and act politically. (Boyle, 2003)

A project at the Pedro Albizu Campos High School in Chicago is an excellent example of what Dewey meant. It embodies the community school idea, as well as ideas of transformation and collaborative inquiry to address community needs. In this case, “seedbed” has a literal meaning as well.

The project (Urban Agriculture in the Context of Social Ecology) began as a way for students to learn science with hands-on investigations of hydroponics and soil-based gardening. It has since expanded to include the study of urban agriculture, community wellness, and economic development. For example, students will grow the ingredients needed for salsa de sofrito, such as tomatoes, onions, garlic, green bell peppers, ajíes dulces, oregano, cilantro, and other spices. Growing these and making the sauce will afford a deeper understanding of their cultural heritage. Bottling and selling the sauce will contribute to community economic development as well as affording an understanding of economics and food processing.

See http://chipbruce.wordpress.com/2007/04/30/58/

Benson, Lee, Harkavy, Ira, & Puckett, John. (2007). Dewey’s dream: Universities and democracies in an age of education reform. Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press.

Boyte, Harry Chatten (2003). A different kind of politics: John Dewey and the meaning of citizenship in the 21st century. The Good Society, 12(2), 1-15.

Dewey, John (1902, October). The school as social center. The Elementary School Teacher, 3(2), 73-86.

Tending plants in the greenhouse

Writing at the one Apple II computer

The images here are from 25-year-old 35 mm slides, so they’re not very clear, but you may be interested in the story anyway.

In 1982-84 I did some work with the Mary Hooker elementary school in Hartford, CT. We had developed a computer program called Quill, which allowed children to write and send email. Our test classroom at the school was taught by Jim Aldridge, who learned a week before classes started that he was to teach 6th, not 3rd, grade, was to work with the local garden club on a greenhouse project, and was to be a test site for Quill.

Jim’s class had 35 students, all from Puerto Rican, Cuban, and African-American backgrounds. There was a high level of transiency. Some students spent large portions of the winter in Puerto Rico; others simply didn’t come to school. The school was under-resourced and had policies such as requiring students to specify in advance how many sheets of toilet paper they needed for a bathroom trip, since students weren’t trusted with full paper rolls.

As a fairly new teacher, Jim was naturally a bit concerned. We worked out a way to use the Quill Planner feature for students to do lab reports on the plants in the greenhouse. This at least made the innovations more manageable. As things settled down, we found that the greenhouse became a focal point for learning. Several students who were on the verge of dropping out stayed in the class so they could work with the greenhouse and the computer. Some of this work is described in Electronic Quills: A Situated Evaluation of Using Computers for Writing in Classrooms (B. C. Bruce & A. Rubin; pub: Erlbaum, 1993).

It’s exciting to see how far we’ve come with similar projects today, such as Urban Agriculture in the Context of Social Ecology at the Pedro Albizu Campos High School in Chicago, which exemplifies the idea of the school as social center.

Seed packets and Planner notes

Greenhouse

I’ve been reading We Make the Road by Walking: Conversations on Education and Social Change, by Myles Horton & Paulo Freire (Temple University Press, 1990). I was reminded of it by Patrick Berry. If you haven’t read it, I recommend it highly. Meeting at a conference in 1987, Freire had invited Horton to join with him in “speaking a book.” The result is essentially a transcript of their lively and provocative conversations.

One section especially caught my interest. It’s called “Is it possible just to teach biology?” As Freire asks, “Is it possible to discuss, to study the phenomenon of life without discussing exploitation, domination, freedom, democracy, and so on?” As I expected, neither one answers “yes”; they reject the idea of neutrality in teaching anything. Many people might read that as advocating the imposition of one’s own ideas on others. But both Horton and Freire talk about sharing their ideas in a way that shows how they actually create more space for students to disagree, or to find their own path to greater understanding. They create a space in which everyone comes to a richer understanding of the subject at hand.

I know the world of universities and research is pretty small in the greater scheme of things, and therefore not discussed much on the TV news or in newspapers. As a result, it may not be obvious how much Federal policies since 9/11 have impacted research and higher education.

For example, consider this comment from a discussion list regarding a venue for the Association of Internet Researchers (AoIR) conference:

Canada as a north American venue has a lot of appeal for many of our
members for various reasons, one of the more important ones being visa
issues (most say it’s easier to get visas for Canada than the US, and
also some are uncomfortable with the fingerprinting procedure in the US
and don’t want to do that).

The AoIR will probably not meet in the US next time. This is happening for other conferences, especially in the newer fields, such as Internet Research.

Put that together with new restrictions on access to scientific and technical information, new barriers for students and researchers from other countries coming to the US, cutbacks in support for research at both the National Institutes of Health and the National Science Foundation, gag orders on scientists (as we saw last month at NASA), distortions of scientific findings (as in the global warming case), and politicizing of scientific review committees. The result is a negative climate for research and higher education. The impact is already evident to researchers and those in higher education, and the impact on the larger economy is beginning.

For the European Union, this is a terrific opportunity to surpass the US. They’ve already initiated a major new research program openly promoted as a way to take advantage of the US policies and to lure the most promising young researchers away from the US. It’s also opened doors for India, China, and other countries.

There are of course national security arguments made for each of these new policies. But there is even stronger evidence that they actually weaken national security. For example, the clampdown on access to scientific and technical information is making it harder to develop responses to biological warfare. It’s also very hard to understand how losing our leadership position in science and technology will make us stronger.

What’s perhaps most worrisome is that muzzling people and information in this way means that it is increasingly more difficult to have open debate about the worth of the policies. As with the Patriot Act or the Detainee Treatment Act, the new laws come with criticism-proof provisions.

Someday, we should ask whether the effort to protect what we value is actually destroying it.

As you know, two of the major functions of museums are education and entertainment. David Leake, who is director of the Staerkel Planetarium (and a former student), asked an interesting question about planetariums, which are akin to museums, or include museums, depending on how you look at it:

Why do some planetariums focus on education while others focus on entertainment?

Before reading what he found, you have to know that astronomers study circles. The objects–stars, planets, galaxies, etc–are roughly circular and so are the ways they move in orbits. Diameter then becomes a very important thing to know. So, for example the sun is 100 times the diameter of the earth and as a result 1 million times as massive.

It turns out that planetariums are also circular. As their diameter doubles, their volume and hence cost go up 8-fold. Dave found that planetariums smaller than 75 feet in diameter are low-budget operations, which focus on education. They open up as needed, host school groups, and have programs designed to teach. Above 75 feet they shift to a focus on entertainment. There are high-interest shows (Harry Potter recently) with stiff admission charges.

Dave’s study (a masters thesis) is so beautiful, not only because it provides a plausible and empirically-supported account of a major divide in the field, but also because the account itself (in terms of diameter) is so well-suited to the object of study.

The closest analogy I can come up with for other types of museums is that museums for young people focus on both education and entertainment. They’re all about exploring what’s new, especially through all the senses. As the audience ages the museums gradually shift the emphasis to preserving artifacts. There’s less attention to employing all the senses, and more on conveying the needed information. Is that because the older folks become more conscious of preservation? Or have their senses dulled, so they just want to get the answer in the least amount of time?