inconvenient interruptions of classroom
work. My days would include building ant
traps, constructing forts out of sticks and discarded
rope, and climbing trees to prevent detection
from those who were chasing me. I
would undo the water faucet on the children’s
bubbler system, releasing water to run along
the dirt so I could construct dams and experiment
with flooding and altering water courses.
I would plant random seeds in the nuns’
petunia gardens to see if they would grow, and
as they did, I would weed out the petunias so
my wheat and oat seeds would get more light.
I would ring the church bell to see how high
off the ground the weight of the bell could lift
me and drop the chalk on the floor to see if it
consistently broke into three pieces.
All these lessons, though not popular with my
teacher or my parents, are lessons I learned
and remember. They combined to become my
system of education. These small and somewhat
innocent experiments in life would lead
to much greater experiments in my later years.
I bred 2,500 mice in the caretaker’s closet to
better understand dominant and recessive
genes. I wrote, directed, and performed my
own play because my school did not have a
drama department. At home, I would watch
as the sheep gave birth to lambs and wait in
eager anticipation for those first steps and first
feeding. I would hunt for bird nests and capture
tadpoles to watch them become frogs.
From a young age, I needed to reinvent my
system of education. It sounds to me a lot like
what Montessori did.
Independence: Autonomy of
the Individual
On the farm, my mother had some rules
that we all understood, and they guided our
lives. Rule number one: You have to be on
time for meals, and we all sit and eat together.
Rule number two: You eat everything on
your plate. Rule number three: Children
were not to be seen between meals. Rainy
days were the only days we could stay inside.
Otherwise, I was out on our 3,000-acre
property getting my education. From my
earliest memory, the outside environment
felt natural to me; I spent hours along the
creek catching frogs and watching snakes
and looking for eels. I spent days combing
the mountains looking in caves and discovering
new plants and lying in meadows of
ferns looking up at the sky, trying to see pictures
in the clouds.
From a young age, I
needed to reinvent my
system of education. It
sounds to me a lot like
what Montessori did.
My father gave me a horse at the age of 5. I had
no bridle or saddle, but I already knew how to
ride. It was also my responsibility to feed, water,
and brush my horse, as well as ride him as much
as possible. At the time, I did not realize how
important and lifelong these lessons would be.
My independence was being fostered, strengthened.
I was learning my limits and my ability
to get whatever I needed to succeed. If something
was beyond my reach, I would seek out
one of my brothers and enlist his aid. Of course
this had to be paid for so I would have to come
up with the plan of payment before the request
was made. I learned to respect the needs and
abilities of those around me, by understanding
that we live in a world that is give and take.
I never once stole something that I needed for
a project, because I knew my market, I knew
what I had to trade, and I knew the value of
people’s time and energy. It was in these mountains
and streams, along with time with my
family, neighbors, and friends that I developed
my individuality. I drew insight and ideas from
my father’s work ethic, my mother’s laughter
and warmth, my brother’s athleticism, and my
sister’s worldliness.
Joy of Learning
Our sheep station was part of the lower
valleys of the Liverpool Range. We were
considered coastal even though we were
at least 100 miles from the sea as the crow
flies. It is a beautiful part of the world,
with gently rolling hills nestled up against
steep, rocky mountains. The mountains are
olive gray, sometimes black, and the hills a
smoky green on white. Rich green is not a
color that describes my country well. Blues,
grays, browns and white, with a splash of red,
would be more accurate. The lower hills were
covered with beautiful stands of white box,
kurrajongs, and iron bark. The flats had tall,
majestic ghost gums, flowering white apple
gum, and grass. In the wind, white tufts of
rye and kangaroo grass swayed like a great
ocean. Here and there, ghostly white stumps
and dead trees would stand out against the
blue sky. Galahs and cockatoos screeched
from hollow trunks, in search of food for
their young. Crystal-clear water flowed out
of the mountains into the valleys, becoming
the lifeblood of the land. I seemed so small
upon this land and yet so much a part of it.
Old Mr. Clark, one of the adults in my life
who played an important role in fostering
my love of learning, told me stories about our
hills and mountains as I sat on his knee in
front of a warm fire on a winter’s eve. From
my view, he was as old as the mountains
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