“I been longest here—like, even longer than everybody.” —Louis, 5

A cloudy day outside, chillier than usual for the time of year. The children and I gather into a close huddle and I pull out a sheet of paper and begin writing.

“I have a question for you guys today and I am wondering what you think.”

A couple of the children ask me what the question is. Another tries to take the felt-tipped pen from my hand, asking if she can draw. Someone is pushed aside, prompting a cry of “Ow!”

I reply, “I want to know, what does ‘nature school’ mean to you? Like, what do you like about nature school?”

Children experience the world through place. Where they are, where they spend time, what is familiar, and what is beyond—each of these is a component of place. For the children in NOLA Nature School, their places are the winding paths of the forest, the muddy banks of Mississippi river offshoots, and the grassy underbrush of a forest filled with oaks. Their “beyond” is a vine-blocked path just out of view, beyond which (classroom lore has it) a red-eyed wolf lurks forever just out of sight and yet, forever waiting to devour anyone who should be so unlucky to cross its path. Their beyond is a barely-beaten trail.