After a week of rain and clouds, the sun shone brilliantly, and a cool breeze provided refreshment. Not surprisingly, the kids were excited to be out of the classroom and exploring a very different type of environs. For many, it was clear that this was an entirely new experience.
Most modern classrooms are pretty sterile experiences. Windows are locked and sealed, animals have been banned, and there are few signs of natural life, other than the humans involved. The lighting is the bland florescent type.
Out on the farm, however, the senses come alive. Breezes brushed our cheeks and hair; the smell of manure graced our entrance to many of the exhibits; the cavernous, natural lighting gave a beautiful depth to the faces of the guides as they spoke in barns and sheds. Kids got to hold baby lambs, and stroke the back of old horses. I recall the dry texture of the horse as my hands went back and forth over his noble form- and the kids were awe struck as they came near to take their turn brushing him.
Of course, some students reeled at the pungent odors that permeated the air. I watched as a small number reacted with aversion to almost everything they encountered, adding a touch of drama for effect. It reminded me that one of the gifts of mindfulness is learning to observe more of life without the mind's constant reactivity, the mind's ongoing pushing and pulling at our experience.
It might have been fun to make a list of all the sensory experiences that the kids encountered, and a note about whether each one was "pleasant" or "unpleasant." It would have been a pretty long list. One of my final memories was of excited kids, screaming and giggling on the bus as we headed home. I chose to sit among them to keep things a bit calmer. It was certainly a mix of pleasant and unpleasant, as I shared my tiny piece of a seat with two students, and listened to the banter that twelve year-olds share.
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