Pick Some Parsley, Pull a Weed

Those that teach an Advanced Placement (AP) course in the Northeast have almost an entire month to kill between the exam and the last day of school (school's out for summer in early June for most in the US). The first time I taught the course, I stressed a bit about what to do because everyone--and I mean everyone--is spent and the curriculum is finished. But I found the perfect antidote to the end-of-the-year AP Bio fatigue: the outdoors, specifically the MHS Farm and Rand Park. I worried a bit that some students would recoil at the thought of digging in the dirt and spreading mulch but as I watched our landscape/gardening time unfold this year, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. Using my claim-evidence-reasoning (CER) skills that my students and I have honed in AP Bio, I think I can safely claim that the kids enjoy being outside. My evidence? Smiling students (see below). My reasoning? The biophilia hypothesis. I recognize that I'm a taskmaster the entire year. It's a mental marathon at the beginning and middle of the year and a physical one at the end but I believe we all feel a deep sense of pride in what we have learned in the classroom and what we have built and grown outside of it.

Adira and Hanan planting some basil

Donovan and Cameron spreading some mulch

Most days after the AP Bio exam on May 14th, I took my students outside to Rand Park. Our two main tasks were to maintain and build upon our perennial pollinator bed by Toney's Brook and grow as much food as possible in our raised beds in front of the annex. Some very kind and thoughtful students gave me a gift card for a local nursery to buy some vining perennials for the wooden structure in Rand Park and we jury-rigged a trellis on the structure with nails and fishing line (fingers crossed the clematis climbs because if it does, it will be quite lovely).

Ben and Isaac making a fishing line trellis for the clematis

Nicole and Roisin don't need a hose to water--all they need is a bucket and the willingness to wade in Toney's Brook

We devoted most of our time to our raised beds. I don't think I am exaggerating when I say these beds bring joy to many including those that plant the seeds, those that water the beds (I have yet to meet a student that doesn't enjoy using the hose), those that weed the beds (hard to believe but it's true) and those that harvest the vegetables. The majority of the food that we grow is donated to Toni's Kitchen. It was deeply satisfying to wash the lettuce we grew this spring and donate these tender greens to such a wonderful organization.

Loose leaf lettuce grown at the MHS farm 

Triple washed and ready to go!

Planting a seed is not complicated and it's practically fail-proof but every single time I plant a seed, I feel like it's a miracle when the green shoot emerges from the soil and perfectly formed leaves unfurl. Most of the seeds we plant in our garden are not fussy--they need only the right temperature of soil (peas for example will germinate in soil that is 40-85 degrees F) and water to germinate--that's it! Many seeds do not actually need light to germinate, but most lettuce seeds do, therefore you only lightly press these seeds in the ground and ensure they are kept moist. And with those basic requirements met, our bare garden beds are transformed into seas of green. A dormant seed is basically a tiny, pale plant embryo surrounded by a source of food and a protective seed coat. When I look at a lettuce seed, which is about 3mm, I marvel at the potential waiting to spring forth from such a small object. When a seed is watered, imbibition occurs, which is the process of a dehydrated seed absorbing water through diffusion. The water is necessary for the metabolic processes that allow for cell division of the embryo, mainly breaking down the seed's food reserves, such as starch. A seed buried in soil is not yet photosynthesizing so it cannot yet weave together water from the ground and carbon dioxide from the air to make sugars. The seed relies on its stored food until photons strike the plant and induce the production of chlorophyll, that magical molecule that makes photosynthesis possible. When I harvest vegetables that I have grown from seed, I feel a deep sense of pride and accomplishment, as if I somehow did the hard work that the plant actually did. I think just maybe my students feel the same--check out those grins!

Alek and Morgan displaying their hard work

A gardener, however, can't just plant seeds, water the beds and sit back and relax. Perhaps the least favorite task of most gardeners is weeding. Ralph Waldo Emerson declared weeds as "plants whose virtues have yet to be discovered." Emerson's quote aside, weeds are plants that are growing somewhere one doesn't want them to grow, like in a veggie garden, because they compete with the prized veggies for resources. Weeding is like homework: if one stays on top of it, it's quite manageable, but if it's ignored, it quickly becomes overwhelming. I was pleasantly surprised to see that some students actually enjoy weeding.

Tal, Tillie and Maya are weeding affionados

Gabbi and Birgitta weeding and harvesting peas

Claire, Donovan and Cameron clearing a bed before planting peppers

Very soon, however, there will be no students to weed. But the garden must grow on! The MHS garden is a community garden, here for all to enjoy. Although the majority of food is donated, there is plenty to go around. Those that walk by can pick some beans, peas, tomatoes and cukes (within reason of course). My request, though, is that those that reap the benefits of the plants' and students' hard work, take the time to pull a weed or two. It's a true give-and-take.

And so, if you are walking by the MHS Farm this summer and fall, feel free to pick some parsley but also take the time to pull a weed.

I can't write about the MHS Garden without recognizing the dedication of Lily Becker, who was a student in my AP Bio class in 2016-17. She is the driving force that keeps the garden growing and the plants and I will miss her immensely next year.