We want students to be makers and designers. But there’s a surprising source of inspiration for design: the natural world. As we think about moving toward a low-tech approach, we need something better than desks in rows with students doing worksheets.

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A Moment I’ll Never Forget

We gather outside on a worn-out blanket strewn over the hot cul-de-sac pavement. No handouts. No close reading exercises. Just a bunch of families in the neighborhood breaking bread, eating bacon, and talking about life – except the lone vegan in our group. She skipped out on the bacon.

The morning progresses with small talk and banter and impromptu games of catch. Occasionally, we put on our dark solar eclipse glasses and glance at the slight circle covering part of the sun. Eventually, the shadows change. The light grows dimmer as we make finger puppets that feel out of this world. And yet, it remains uneventful.

Finally, it starts feeling real. For the next few minutes, we watch as the world feels slightly sepia-toned. My wife and kids gather close as the countdown begins.

All at once, it happens. The stars appear and the temperature drops. Unreal. I stare out at the total eclipse, the bright white circle enveloping the sky. It’s breath-taking. It’s beautiful.

I squeeze my wife’s hand. We know we are witnessing something magical. But the real magic isn’t just eclipse. It’s the look on our kids’ faces, consumed with awe and wonder— a certain kind that can only occur when we are truly able to observe the beauty of our universe.

Over a decade later, we still talk a out this very moment. My kids are adults. Well, almost adults. But this moment watching the total eclipse is etched into our memory.

 

Our World Is Too Compressed

We live in an increasingly virtual world, with a barrage of text and moving images and noise at the click of a button. I can binge-watch my favorite shows and instantly access my favorite music. I can tap an icon and talk with friends all over the world. Anytime. Anywhere. We inhabit these virtual spaces, the abstract third space between two locations, without giving it much thought. Instinctively, when I’m bored, I hop onto Instagram. If I’m a passenger in a car, I nearly always check if there’s a Pokémon hanging out nearby. It’s become so normal it almost feels invisible.

After awhile, it can feel as if the whole world has been condensed into the palm of our hands. Case in point, over two years ago, I watched a cringe-worthy Apple commercial. Like many viewers, I had a visceral reaction to the message because it created this false dichotomy between the digital and the physical, the technological and the human, the compressed and the expansive. I immediately sat down and sketched out a video and then used my trusty Macbook to turn it into a video.

If you’re not familiar with the Apple commercial, there is a house full of colorful, vibrant, idiosyncratic objects that are then crushed by a giant industrial machine. The iPad lives. It’s so thin. So compressed. So sexy and skinny. It’s also breakable. Drop it down a set of stairs and you get a spiderwebbed screen, but let’s not look at that.

The message was clear. Why bother with the clunky, the human, the messy, the colorful, the vibrant? Just opt for an iPad. Why strum your fingers on an acoustic guitar learning the chord progression to “Stairway to Heaven” like your father did (and maybe grandpa?) when there’s GarageBand? Why spend hours playing Space Invaders with your friends at the arcade if the App Store can get you it so much cheaper and faster? Why embrace the memory of emptying your spit valve in the marching band as you look up, embarrassed at your crush staring back at you; if you could just stare at the likes on your latest social media update?

It’s so inefficient to hold onto the tangible in an age of automation.

I get it.

I love tech.

I’ve been using a Mac since my childhood. The Apple Ecosystem is how I do so much of my creative work, like crafting videos, making podcasts, and creating books.

And yet . . .

I don’t want more compression.

Give me a can of spray paint so Micah and I can make art in the garage. Give me an acoustic guitar and see if I can play “New Kid in Town” and feel the memories of my dad singing that song to me while I feel asleep. Give me a whole truck load of hardback books, covered with annotations, that are passports to all kinds of worlds.

Forget compression. I want duct tape. I want cardboard. Give me a makerspace full of random objects that can’t be digitized. I want an acoustic guitar next to a campfire while we have another IPA. Life is short. We don’t need to compress it any more than it already is.

In a world of automation, I don’t want to crush creativity.

Of course we should enjoy the tech. It’s amazing. But also . . . let’s embrace the lo-fi, the vintage, the tangible, the messy, the human. I share this because I keep seeing the message that AI will spark all kinds of amazing innovations in education. But I worry that if we center innovation on machine learning, we run the risk of chasing the fleeting novelty of techno-futurism instead of preparing students for the deeply human skills they will need in a changing world.

And if we want to offer students something more meaningful and expansive, one of the ways to do it is with nature.

 

We Need Nature More Than Ever

As schools and districts begin to embrace low-tech learning, I think we need to ask, “What is the best alternative?” It’s easy to get nostalgic and jump toward desks in rows and students completing worksheets. But I actually think part of what we need to recover is our connection to the natural world (we’ll be exploring outdoor education in a future article and podcast).

There is also a transformative element to nature that makes us more creative. If you ask some of the most innovative artists, engineers, and entrepreneurs, you might be surprised by how often they go hiking or take long walks. There’s something powerful about slowing down and taking in the beauty of our universe. These moments actually increase divergent thinking and improve our ability to problem-solve.

And yet . . the natural world can feel like a luxury for teachers. We inhabit a world of buzzing fluorescent lights and industrial carpet. We deal with the incessant pressures of the standardized tests and the push to make kids future-ready. Gardens and nature walks can feel hippity-dippity. Like, “that’s a cute idea but I actually have a curriculum map I need to follow.”

Here are some of the advantages of nature.

 

1. Nature creates positive disruptions.

Going out into nature will pull us from the rhythm of industrial life and from the narrow algorithm-based worldview of our echo chambers. This morning as I went hiking, I was suddenly whisked away from the cacophony of current events and latest education fads in my TikTok feed and immersed in the natural beauty of the Oregon forest. This had a re-centering affect that actually allowed me to think more creatively when I arrived home.

 

2. Nature encourages problem-solving.

Ever noticed that some of your best ideas happen while you are taking a shower, sitting in the car, or going for a walk? There’s a reason for this. In Rest, Alex Soojung-Kim Pang explores how some of the greatest thinkers use long walks as ways to think deeply about seemingly unrelated ideas. For example, Charles Darwin used to go on long walks in the country and play around with the ideas of his evolutionary theory. While we often think of this time as a luxury, this was more like a daily discipline that allowed his mind to process information by connecting seemingly disconnected ideas.

 

3. Nature helps us embrace deep work.

There’s an interesting research study from the University of Michigan. Students were asked to take a long walk before engaging in a concentration activity. The first group went out into a wooded area while the second group walked through the bustling city center. The first group not only scored better in a deep work activity but their results continued a full week later. The bottom line? When we go into nature, we are able to do focused work afterward. And that, right there, is vital for creative work.

If we go back to that idea of the short-term and long-term dopamine responses, we often see a long-term dopamine release when we spend time in nature. Here, nature functions as sort of a digital detox that helps students learn how to focus.

 

4. Nature humbles us while also expanding our worldview.

I have a smartphone that allows me to connect to the world instantaneously. But when I explore the natural world, I see that the world cannot be compressed, shrink-wrapped, and shipped. Yes, our devices are connected, but we still need to break bread and eat bacon and laugh and tell stories and wander around the forest. This has a humbling effect while also expanding our worldview. And when this happens, our creative work is able to expand.

 If we want our students to grow into creative thinkers, we need to move beyond the makerspace (and please note that I’m a huge fan of makerspaces) and out into the natural world. That 3D printer is awesome but picking the first strawberries from a garden can feel magical. With my trusty Macbook, I feel like I can do just about anything but a forest will nearly always remind me of my own limitations.

5. Nature Makes Us More Creative

When you think of the future of space travel, chances are you’re not thinking about geckos. But actually, it turns out that innovations in adhesives lead to faster, stronger, and lighter weight spacecraft. While it may sound unsettling most of our world is “glued” together. Our cars. Our jets. Our computers. These complex machines often require advanced adhesives to keep the parts in place.

Enter geckos. See, it turns out that gecko feet have fascinating properties. I don’t pretend to understand it. I’m not a biologist or a chemical engineer. However, the folks at NASA are studying gecko feet in order to develop more innovative adhesives.

And it’s not just NASA. Southwest Airlines studied ant colony behavior as they developed the choose-your-own-seat system. When Japanese bullet trains were creating ear splitting “tunnel booms,” engineer and birdwatcher Eiji Nakatsu collaborated with a team of designers who created a mash-up design from three different bird species. Engineers have studied shark skin, spider webs, and armadillos in developing new surfaces.

While we often think of nature as an inspiration for poetry and art, our natural world often serves as a source for inspiration in design and engineering. This is all part of a field of design called biomimetics, pioneered by the biologist Janine Benyus. Check out this video by Vox and 99% Invisible:

Five Ways to Make This a Reality in Schools

Here are six ways we can make this a reality in schools.

1. Create more access to natural spaces.

If possible, find ways to get students outside more often. We need need to create green spaces that inspire students to observe and ask questions but also relax and recenter themselves. In a digital world of virtual reality, augmented reality, and instant access to information, there is something deeply relevant in learning to slow down and pay attention to the natural world.

This might mean longer, extended periods of outdoor learning. But it can also involve doing a scavenger hunt outdoors when studying ecosystems. It could mean a brain break where students go for a ten minute walk before coming back to solve math equations. In other words, it doesn’t always need to be a massive project or an extended expedition (though there are immense benefits from this approach as well). We can create more frequent breaks throughout our hurried schedule to connect with nature.

 

2. Let students play more often.

The seemingly spontaneous questions about the natural world are often the result of deep, relaxed, unstructured time. In other words, they’re the results of play. I’ve written before about the power of deliberate play.  But this is actually something different. This is the notion of unstructured play time where students can be outside in a space free of digital devices. It might mean solitude as they wander a playground or a natural space. It might be deeply collaborative and imaginative as they negotiate norms and engage in story-telling. It might be a fast-paced sport.

While we tend to think of this as vital for younger children, I actually think there’s a space for outdoor play at the secondary level as well. It looks different for sure but I don’t think it’s something youth grow out of.

I was actually part of a middle school that added recess to their schedule. We kept the same contract time but ended school fifteen minutes later. We also had a block schedule that reduced passing time. The net result was an afternoon recess of twenty minutes. That might not sound like much but it was huge. Teachers got a break. Students got to play. And the result? We actually had deeper learning and fewer discipline issues in the late afternoon.

 

3. Help students learn how to observe.

When I had to teach about adaptations, I brought in insects, crustaceans, and plants for students to observe. Instead of taking pictures, they had to sketch out what they saw. But first, I asked them to spend five minutes looking at the organism in front of them.

They hated it at first. It was boring without any stimulus. It was pointless when they could just snap a photo on their phone. Several students actually complained aloud and I’m not too proud of how I responded (with a curt “too bad, just do it.”).

But eventually, something clicked. They noticed things they hadn’t paid attention to before. Nearly every group had at least one big “aha” moment that couldn’t have happened if they were snapping pictures. Students need to learn the art of observation. When we then transitioned to sketching what we saw, they actually understood the adaptations at a deeper level.

As students improve with their observational skills, we can find opportunities for students to engage in self-directed, sustained inquiry about ecosystems and organisms and let them chase their curiosity.

Not every student will grow up to be an engineer who uses biomimicry to solve complex problems. But that’s not the point. It’s not about preparing students to be engineers. It’s about helping them learn to think like engineers. There’s something powerful that happens when they can look at the natural world with a sense of awe, wonder, and curiosity and then connect those ideas to new designs that solve real-world problems. When this happens, they learn to think differently and ultimately grow into problem-solvers and creative thinkers.

 

4. Integrate natural observations into the research process.

When we think of STEM and STEAM, we often connect engineering to physics or maybe even chemistry. Sometimes we dive into environmental science, with a push toward using human-created design to solve environmental issues. But biomimicry reminds us that innovation in design often works the opposite way – that nature can inspire solutions human problems as often as the manufactured world.

So, what does this mean for teachers?

When I taught a STEM block, I rarely, if ever, considered the role of biomimicry in design. Although we looked at green design for our eco-friendly kitchen products, we never really considered how our biological ecosystem could influence the design process. I wish I had asked students to make connections between the systems within an ecosystem and the design challenges in our human-created systems. We often talk about the role of empathy and human connection within design thinking. But what if we asked students to explore both the physical characteristics and the behavior of the biological world as well?

When students work on design thinking and engineering products, we can find  ways for them to observe the natural world before they ideate or prototype.

Last May, I worked with Chris Kesler (a STEM curriculum expert) and A.J. Juliani on a set of STEM projects. One of my favorite projects involved students looking at various bird beaks in order to solve an engineering challenge. It was the first time I had seen the connection between adaptations, natural selection, and engineering. At first, I wondered if this was truly a STEM activity at all. Do engineers really think this way?

 

5. Use the natural world as a starting place for open-ended design.

When we first moved to Oregon, people said that all we would get is a “light dusting” of snow. But in late December, the “light dusting” was more like a dump of snow and our Phoenix-raised kids had their first ever snow days. They played around with it, building snow men, snow women, and, of course, snow unicorns – because . . . unicorns, why not?

At one point, Joel asked which items would melt the snow the fastest. From there, he tested out vinegar and oil (which is basically salad dressing), rubbing alcohol, shampoo, salt, sugar, and pretty much everything else he could get his hands on. When he discovered that rubbing alcohol worked better than salt, he decided we should make a de-icer for our car windshield. I realize that’s not an original idea. But it was groundbreaking to him.

This was a small example of using a design process that began, not with a scenario or a problem or even empathy with an audience, but with a sense of wonder and curiosity about the natural world. It started with playful observations, which led to questions, which led to experiments, and eventually ideation, and design.

Nature has a way of creating positive disruptions by pulling us out of our interests, ideas, and systems and into something that is often humbling. This is what happens when kids go into the forest or walk beside the beach. But it’s also what happens when kids get to work in a garden.

As a teacher, you can ask questions like, “What fascinates you?” and “What does this make you wonder?” From there, students enter that place of curiosity and experimentation that often leads to design. They start to pay attention to how the world works and over time, it inspires them to create something new.

This approach has its limitations. It tends to be serendipitous, which can be a challenge when you have a highly-structured curriculum map with tight deadlines. There’s also no guarantee that curiosity will always lead to experimentation or that experiments will always lead to design.

 

Final Thoughts

I would love to see more schools incorporate a full outdoor learning experience with wild green spaces that students can use. I would love to see courtyards with big gardens that fight against the industrial, corporate aesthetic of school. And, to be honest, it makes me sad that these elements are almost always luxuries found in private schools or the rare public magnet schools. But I do think there are little ways we can bring in the natural world as we shift toward a more low-tech learning option. And these little things turn out to make a big difference.