Tabula rasa

After my time visiting the original Edible Schoolyard (ESY for short) on my way through Berkeley, CA, I was excited to see what its first attempt at replication would be like in the markedly different climate -- both socially and seasonally speaking -- of New Orleans. Before I sat in on a few classes last Wednesday, I was lucky enough to have a chance to speak with Kelly, the school's ESY community outreach staffperson (and, ahem, AmeriCorps alumnus), about the program's origins and other Louisiana-specific aspects of the program at Samuel Green.

It turns out that the original public school was in dire straits a few years ago and the school board had more or less thrown its hands up in exasperation. After a series of fortuitous conversations and almost impossible good fortune that included a chance meeting with Alice Waters (who founded the original ESY and who was looking for a way to reach out to the post-Katrina New Orleans community), the founders of a high performing charter school across the city agreed to take over the troubled school. The new charter school's program was essentially built from scratch -- a tabula rasa, as it were -- with a chunk of money from Ms. Waters and the steady support of the community. (For those readers who were not in my NY Teaching Fellows professional development sessions, "tabula rasa" means "blank slate." Jim, stop shaking your head.) The Edible Schoolyard NOLA folks were determined to develop strong lessons that built on Louisiana state standards -- a move that helps lend legitimacy to the gardening and cooking education program that has been criticized by some as taking students away from important lessons on things like memorizing the US presidents in order or diagramming sentences -- and I believe the school is the stronger for it.

The lessons that the California school garden program used didn't translate well to the New Orleans setting. This is not to say that the lessons at the Berkeley ESY were poor, but the school had more leeway. I didn't have an opportunity to sit in on classes there, but I did get the distinct impression that the curriculum was just recently starting to be more structured. (And for the record, I am not all about rigid "structure" or "standards." Heavens no. But as a former public school teacher, I also know you are asking for trouble if you don't have a solid lesson plan or can't justify a nontraditional educational activity. Also, many of the kids seem to respond well to classroom rituals and consistent expectations.)

At Green, the garden lessons for grades 1-8 are closely tied in with science class, while the cooking lessons are (quite creatively, I think) linked to history coursework. Every class is slated for 16 sessions each in the garden and kitchen (which works out to four times per quarter in each space). So while the 1st grade class that I observed conducted group activities related to plant cycles -- having seen the garden during different times of the year, there was much to notice and discuss as they planted flowers and collected seeds -- the 7th grade class reviewed people, places, and documents of the Civil War before cooking up steaming tureens of New England clam chowder and saute pans with traditional southern shrimp and grits. (My stomach started grumbling near the end of the lesson as students and teachers sat down to share the communal meal -- complete with flowers, napkins, and ice water -- so I had to hotfoot it down the street soon afterwards to get myself a shrimp po' boy. Not exactly sustainable, but local and delicious.)

While I did not have a chance to speak with the teachers at Green, I was impressed by the creativity of the lessons and the focus of the majority of the students as they joyfully (as much as 7th graders allow themselves to be joyful) undertook their assigned tasks. It's a very different model than, say, the School at Blair Grocery, and yet both tap into the potential for personal and community growth via food-centered experiences. Pretty fitting for a town known for it's culinary heritage, agrarian roots, and distinct populations.

I'm not saying I'm moving to New Orleans, or that I'm looking to jump back into a classroom full time just now, but what a place to teach!

Alternative education

I'd first heard of Our School at Blair Grocery -- an alternative school for at-risk youth focusing on urban farming and social justice in the still underdeveloped (and after Hurricane Katrina swept through, rather infamous) lower 9th ward in New Orleans -- from some food justice folks about a week before I rolled into the home of the Saints. The setup sounded like a grass roots, home school arrangement, and had been started by a larger-than-life educator and advocate known locally simply as "Turner." Needless to say, I was intrigued.

Nat Turner, I learned later, is a passionate, articulate force of nature, a mover and shaker in the company of folks like Will Allen (voted one of TIME Magazine's 100 most influential people of 2010), and destined to become a household name in food justice circles soon, if he isn't already. Actually, quite a bit of the work being done at the school is modeled closely on Mr. Allen's work at Growing Power, and I have heard about the school in New Orleans incorporating a regional Growing Power training facility into its future plans.

I haven't met the man, but the Blair Grocery school site was imbued with the strong presence of its founder. The teachers all spoke very highly of the dynamic man who had started the project, currently housed in a structure that was the neighborhood's first black-owned business many years ago (the Blair family's grocery store -- ironically in a neighborhood now miles from the nearest grocer), with the goal of empowering young men and women through challenging classroom lessons and incorporating hands-on learning to produce clean, healthy food in (and for) the local community. And yet I don't get the sense that he's all big-headed from the 20 seconds I spoke with him. While the one name thing kind of reminds me of Che or Madonna -- who needs two names when you're that famous, right? -- when I called a number a friend had given me for the school, I believe it was the cell number of this "Turner" who nonchalantly passed along the number of another teacher at the school. (I thought it was the general school number. Doh.) In retrospect, I am moderately mortified to have simply asked for Cory's number. That's like calling Obama's cell number and asking for the White House mail room. Okay, maybe not that extreme -- Cory is also an amazing teacher -- but still, after more recently watching a YouTube interview with him explaining the drive behind the desire to create this alternative setting for at-risk youth to cultivate successful, well-educated adults, you can maybe glean that I feel a bit sheepish for not engaging Mr. Turner in a discussion of the school's philosophy, curriculum, and progress thus far. I'm lame. And entirely too shy to call back.

Luckily, I managed to connect with Cory on Monday morning and Ollie and I headed over to volunteer for the afternoon. Conveniently, I arrived just before lunch time, so after some work with Kyle stitching some coffee sacks onto the newly built shadehouse (it looks kind of like a greenhouse, but it's meant to protect young plants from extreme sun, wind, and high temperatures), Cory asked if I might want to help make lunch. Well. As there were no students in attendance that day, the longer time we took on the preparation and consumption of lunch with the group of teachers and volunteers meant I had a chance to learn about the school a bit more. I was impressed with the intelligence and enthusiasm of the group, as well as with the intensity of the topics covered in the curriculum: gender equality, race, immigration, healthcare policy, food access. These were lessons for kids, some of whom are considered one offense shy of entering the prison system. The space, the lessons, the student-teacher ratio (roughly 1.5 : 1), the fact that students in different wards of the city are picked up and brought to school by the teachers, make the school unique. And, I hope, a successful alternative education model.

After lunch I helped to seed about 20 flats with lettuce, peppers, mustard, and more while Cory and Kyle (who has years of experience working on professional development with educators nationwide) led a staff meeting and lesson discussion. Brennan, the garden manager, joined me a bit later to harvest a sizable bagful of arugula seeds from plants that had been drying in the rafters. (Seed saving, yay! The process involved stuffing the brittle arugula bunches into a large burlap coffee sack and beating it against the wall to loosen the seeds. I'm pretty relaxed these days, but I can imagine this being a pretty good tension-relieving activity, FYI.) By 4pm, it was time for Ollie and I to hit the road in an attempt to beat the rush hour traffic and make our way to Todd's place uptown. Not a bad way to spend a Monday, though I would've enjoyed seeing the classes in action. Maybe next time I figure out a way to get myself back to New Orleans. And there will be a next time....

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