There was a street light just outside the living room window of my second-story downtown Seattle apartment. On top of the light fixture were ugly spikes, fixed there to prevent birds from landing on it. As far as I could tell, it worked. Nearby trees were populated with urban birds, but they left this particular street lamp alone, even as just down the block an un-spiked light was home to a crow's nest for at least one mating season.
Not long ago, I read a fascinating article in
The Guardian about corvids, crows and magpies in this case, using strips of these anti-bird spikes to construct their nests in the Netherlands, Belgium, and Scotland. What a stunning example of cross-species nose-thumbing! (If, indeed, corvids had noses or thumbs.)
The magpies seem to be particularly enterprising, building their dome-shaped nests while apparently positioning the spikes to project outward and upward in order to fend-off predators. It's almost like they took a look at our attempts to thwart them, thought "Good idea," and made it their own.
Birds are, of course, notorious for using human garbage in their nest building, just as rats, raccoons, cockroaches, hermit crabs, and other species have learned to thrive on our species' unique genius for producing massive quantities of waste. Homo sapiens have, throughout our 300,000 or so years of existence, always been prone to producing excessive amounts of waste. One of the primary ways anthropologists study our ancient ancestors is to study the kitchen middens (i.e., garbage dumps) they left behind. We don't know why this is the case, but my theory is that as we evolved the ability to perceive the arrow of time (something that physicists tell us doesn't actually exist) we began to prepare for the prospect of an uncertain tomorrow by producing more than we needed today instead of simply living in the "enough-ness" of the ever-emerging present as our animal sisters and brothers seem to do.
When I read this story, I couldn't help but reflect on the children I've observed playing over the decades on our junkyard playground. I always envisioned our school, and our outdoors space in particular, as a place where we "finished" using stuff that was otherwise on the way to the landfill. Just as corvids and other animals cleverly use our refuse, I've found that young children have a special genius for finding remarkable, creative ways to incorporate shipping pallets, old tires, parts of broken toys, containers, wine corks, bottle caps, and other societal garbage into their games. In fact, more often than not, when given the choice, they will prefer the "real stuff" of recycling bins, garages, cellars, and attics to the toys and games specifically manufactured for them. Oh sure, they've been taught to beg for the latest shiny toy and are thrilled to received it as a birthday gift, but we all know that by the end of the day, most children, most of the time, have at least as much fun with the boxes and wrapping paper, the excess we produce in the process of gift-giving.
Again, I don't know why young children, like corvids, so often express their genius through playing with our garbage, but I expect that the reason they prefer the boxes over the toys is that most toys (and most out-of-the-box playground equipment) come with a "script" built into them: there is a proscribed, or "right," way to play with them. Whereas when playing with refuse, children write their own scripts, and that, ultimately is the real story of human learning.
In these magpie nests made from anti-bird spikes, I see the "nests" that young children create from the odds and ends at hand, the games they invent, and the stories they play using waste to create something new and meaningful. I see the power of a learning environment at work, supporting children to think critically and creatively, rather than directing them according to scripts. I see the opening up of new possibilities rather than the habit of the well-trodden ruts of "because we've always done it that way." I see the transformation of problems into opportunities -- anti-bird spikes into nests.
This is the natural habitat for learning. If you're interested in transforming your own space into this kind of learning environment, please join the 2024 cohort for my 6-week course,
Creating a Natural Habitat for Learning (see below). This is the kind of open-ended, real world learning environment in which not just corvids, but all animals thrive, including humans.
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If you're interested in transforming your own space into this kind of loose parts learning environment, you might want to join the 2024 cohort for my 6-week course, Creating a Natural Habitat for Learning. This is a deep dive into transforming your classroom, home, or playground into the kind of learning environment in which young children thrive; in which novelty and self-motivation stand at the center of learning. In my decades as an early childhood educator, I've found that nothing improves my teaching and the children's learning experience more than a supportive classroom, both indoors and out. This course is for educators, parents, and directors. Group discounts are available. You don't want to miss this chance to make your "third teacher" (the learning environment) the best it can be. Registration is closing soon. I hope you join me! To learn more and register, click here.
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