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	<img alt="" src="{filedir_5}Moss(1).jpg" style="float: right; " /></p>
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	<em>&ldquo;We know we belong to the land;/ And the land we belong to is grand.&rdquo;</em><br />
	- Oscar Hammerstein II</p>
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	Belonging to land is something I have at times coveted. I have moved around so much in my life that I like to say I was given wings rather than roots. I have loved places, adopted cultures, and learned languages only to feel that I could not truly claim to belong because I was not born to that land; I was a sojourner. &nbsp;</p>
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	I believe there is something very elemental about land that is core to humankind, a connection which expresses why we value it. For thousands of years our identity has been intricately connected with land. It is an ancient connection and so profound that for some losing land is akin to losing identity. Perhaps it is because of my background and the consequential value I place on land, but I&rsquo;ve become aware of a growing lack of relationship to land of late. I don&rsquo;t know if it because of the very small parcels of land most of us live on now, which bear little resemblance to how they would have looked naturally, or if it is because people don&rsquo;t tend to live and stay in one place as much now. But the connection of land to self is lost on many of the people I meet.</p>
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	I notice the following things. Many people are no longer comfortable in vast expanses of land, especially land unfamiliar and untamed. I notice the loss of knowledge about living off the land and the art of reading wild places. After six weeks, I&rsquo;ve also noticed that many of our students come in with a very limited understanding of their own backyard.</p>
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	However, I have noticed also how those very students absorb and amass knowledge throughout the day.</p>
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	Today I made a list on the chalk board of all the species we came across that they could recall. It was substantial, and I had a hard time keeping up with all the hands that shot up in the air.</p>
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	<span style="display: none; ">&nbsp;</span><span style="display: none;">&nbsp;</span><span style="display: none;">&nbsp;</span><img alt="" src="{filedir_5}Blog 02 WordCloud.jpg" /><span style="display: none;">&nbsp;</span><span style="display: none;">&nbsp;</span></p>
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	This list was recalled by 10 students from fourth to sixth grade, who hours before couldn&rsquo;t have identified five of them. Every day I find myself wondering how they have managed to learn so much and recall it without prompting or mnemonic devises. I think back to times when I was teaching in a four-walled classroom and cannot say in all fairness that could have expected anywhere near this enthusiastic, rapid-fire recall. Why is it so different when students learn outdoors?</p>
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	<img alt="" src="{filedir_5}Fawn.jpg" style="float: right; " />I am pondering this question and will likely do so for some time. I have theories of course: the very act of walking &ndash; that left brain, right brain communication aiding our brains in processing information; the fresh air, sunlight, and exercise helping with focus; or the ability of the outdoors to cater to multiple intelligences and learning styles....</p>
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	From my own walks in these woods I&#39;ve observed that the act of accumulating knowledge feels less like learning and more like returning. The information gathered seems to harken back to some ancestral part of me that was designed to walk places, learn them and know them as I know myself.</p>
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	Perhaps environmental education just returns people to their roots.&nbsp;</p>
