Summer Stories, 2026
It was snacktime on the first day of camp. I peeked out my window to see six little children, 4 of whom were Cottage students on this day for the very first time, seated at the snack table, in two neat rows. On either end of the table sat a Cottage Teacher, anchoring the little group, and playing a game where Teacher Kathia asked the children, “where is ____?”, and the children pointed to the child who was being named. They got some of them, and for some of them, they needed a little help to get it right. They had sung some songs that included all the names at their Morning Meeting, and now they were practicing. I turned back to my computer, and when I looked back a while later, 3 or 4 of the children were still there, now listening to a story together. They sat there together for a long time!
Those same children thoroughly enjoyed snacktime on Wednesday, too, because while eating, they began to hear music coming from the Big Yard, where a Rainforest-age child was drumming rhythmically on the table, while rhyming long and difficult words with ease. The Small Yard children sat and listened, saying how good it sounded, that big guy making his own music.
A child told me about the popsicle they were looking forward to having after school, and I told them it sounded yummy. The next time they came to school, they had insisted on bringing me a popsicle so I could have one, too. We ate them together in the shade of the front yard trees after school.
Often my favorite moments in the week are when one child or another grabs me by the hand or asks me to play. It feels so good to be invited, and it especially delights me if it’s someone I have not spent a lot of time with, who seems to just know I’ll be game for whatever they have got cooking. This happened on Thursday when a child I just met called to me from the boat, and warned me about sharks. I paused, not sure I had heard him correctly, so he repeated himself, helpfully pointing to where I was standing, which was apparently shark infested waters. I asked if I should get in the boat, and yes, that was the idea. We sailed the seas for a bit, and then he pulled me inside, where a dance party was starting.
It was such a fun week at school, but my favorite part this week was actually our June Board meeting, which was last night. Members of the outgoing and incoming Board were there. It was a short agenda, and we quickly adjourned to tasty snacks and socializing. At one point, I sat down with 4 of my favorite dads, who were talking about something like sleep or potty training– something parents of young children love to talk about. After a while, someone was saying that they were working less, but really glad it allowed them to be around for their child, and the others were agreeing.
I am continually so thankful to be living in a time when fathers really want to be dads. They’re in it, doing the hard, long, and usually thankless work of parenting. And here we were, parenting side by side in a co-op, with these dads all serving on the Board, so involved. I don’t take it for granted, and I wonder what the future might be like for a bunch of kids with super involved, caring fathers.
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Some of the games I am seeing this week: the Storm Game, where children build shelters with Nugget couches and sheets and tablecloths, and then they get a grownup to play some lovely classical music that signifies sunshine, and all the children come out and enjoy the sunshine. They dance and spin and lie on the rug. And then it starts to rain, by which I mean a rain sound plays on the music speakers, and all the children take shelter inside their buildings, or seashells, as the case may be. Repeat for 30 minutes.
Wildlife Crossing, where children ride bikes down a big ramp, and cheetahs and other wild animals cross the road, and the bikes have to wait. Sometimes mischievous cheetahs obstruct the ramp runway, and they have to talk about it.
I was fed some delicious cake and fruit salad in the mud kitchen. Some of us were sniffing a sprig of mint. People were taking turns holding it and offering it to other noses to sniff from their hand, but everyone wanted to hold it themselves. One person decided to try chewing a mint leaf. They crumpled their face in disgust and spit it out.
Sometimes a kid really, really, really likes to use one particular piece of play equipment, and it can feel really hard to give other people a turn. They might turn away for a brief moment, and another person has their hands on it. Sometimes the kid might scream and cry, and tell the other people loudly and passionately that they were still using it, or that they want to use it alone. Sometimes the grownup who comes to help explains what the kid is yelling about, because it can be difficult to understand. And also sometimes that grownup might explain that Cottage is for everyone, and that it is actually okay for this other person to have a turn. Sometimes that conversation takes a while, and is super loud for others nearby. That can end up ruining the game, or the kids might run away.
One person was having a big upset that was tricky for them to get out of all by themselves. A Teacher came close, and instead of using a sad face and asking them if they were okay, this grownup thought they might be, at least partly, playing a game of being super duper upset. They tried moving their body the same way as the kid, who was on their back laying down. The kid decided that it was a game, and they “yes-and”-ed them both into the next thing, leaving their upset behind.
A child asked me to bury them in the sand, like we did once before. They liked having the cool, slippery sand poured over them, weighing them down. Another friend joined, a younger child, who was less in control of the direction of their shovel. Some sand got in the person’s face, and they grimaced and wiped it off. Another littler child joined, and wanted their feet buried, too. We buried, wiggled free, buried, wiggled, and buried again. The big kid and the little kid had started digging a big hole with trucks, while the other little kid and I buried and dug up fancy jewels. The big kid found more jewels and passed them to us. We played until their grownups started to come back.
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This week, my favorite story was told to me in my office. A Teacher came up and told me how much they love Emergent Curriculum, which is the name for how we teach. Generally, it means that the curriculum arises from our observations of the interests of the learners. In this case, the Teacher told me about having been a part of a game, ostensibly soccer, that lasted an hour and a half, with several children playing. The children had her write down the number of goals they made, while they narrated songs and stories, and added tricky elements like traps that can freeze you for a few seconds if the ball touches it. The game went on and on, as they kicked the ball back and forth across that section of the yard, their chosen work covering math and literacy, gross motor, crossing their midline, turn taking, problem solving, and cooperation, and all kinds of critical skills.
Some baby cheetahs built themselves an enclosure to escape from, and recruited a Mommy. Once the Mommy was playing, three more cheetahs wanted to play. At first, the initial cheetahs were not sure they were playing the same game. The three new cheetahs got plugged into chargers instead of sleeping. The Mommy had to tell everyone it was time to go to sleep, or time to charge their batteries, and they did. All was quiet. And then they all woke up and escaped!
After school one day, as the Teachers were leaving, three of us sat in our cars in the driveway, loathe to interrupt the joyful work of two last children who had been patient through our cleanup and now were deeply immersed in a chase game together on the front lawn. It was their own version of Freeze Tag, where they chased, until the person chasing said “freeze!”; then the other one would freeze in place, allowing themselves to be caught. A moment’s pause, and then they were chasing again, but in reverse, until the other child said “freeze!”, and they would catch the other, and so on, again and again. It was a clever agreement where everyone would win, and rather an improvement on the conventional game.
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An alumni kid with us for Summer Camp pulled up on their bike, and I asked them how they liked their new school, where they had spent this past year. They told me that they liked TK but that they had SO much homework. They said they might come back to Cottage next year, they hadn’t decided yet. Then they added that what kept them really busy was that they had to fight with their grandmother’s insurance company, who were the worst. They told me they had to get a lawyer, and that their grandmother was done arguing about it so instead, they were taking it on. I said that that must be a lot of pressure on them. They said, yeah. They rode off on their bike. They told another teacher they were glad to be getting some downtime here at Cottage. I’m so glad.
Another alumni kid was using a long, flexible ramp to send cars, and occasionally marbles, down and across an expanse of obstacles and hills built with blocks. A younger child, new to the Big Yard, crashed through the careful arrangement of blocks supporting the ramp. They wanted to play, but they didn’t have a lot of practice yet using words or joining games where people were going to need a little more finesse. They had practiced with their sibling, but siblings yell and whack each other but forgive quickly. Other kids need a different approach.
On this occasion, the other children were older and were, at this moment, well regulated, so they sighed with disappointment and tried to explain to the younger child what they were doing and not to crash the blocks. The younger child was not at a point where they were able to take that under advisement. Their main technique for entering play was to destroy whatever was being worked on. That approach was frowned upon, but the children were so patient in making room for this tiny Godzilla, walking back and forth through the block and track setup, before settling into the part of the game where you pick a car and run it down the track.
A little friend is wrapping up their day at school when I come help get kids settled at Lunch Bunch. We like to have a little visit before they go use what they call the Dino Potty inside, and then head home for lunch.
A particular child likes to save me a seat at Lunch Bunch. Saved seats are respected even at a crowded table, and even though I don’t eat my lunch at that time. I sat down between two children, near the end of the table where quiet eaters comment repeatedly about leaves falling from trees onto our table, incredulously. We noticed that our half of the table was sitting in the same places as we had sat the previous class day. We noticed how many people had strawberries in their lunch, and talked about if we like them sweet and red, or sour and pale.
A child kept showing me their carrot sticks as they picked them up to eat them, and I kept pretend-crunching them. After a while, I opened my pretend lunch to eat my own carrot sticks, since we don’t share our food at school. My lunchbox and food was invisible. I opened a container and ate my carrots, crunchcrunchcrunchcrunchcrunch. Then I ate a really, really big sandwich, which I split with another child, since it wasn’t real. Then someone asked if I had donuts, so I opened my invisible donuts and gave one to each of the kids who were playing the game.
For a classroom that doesn’t so much as have the alphabet on the wall, we have a literacy-rich environment. Reading and writing was happening everywhere– a pile of Gerald and Piggy books being moved from one corner of the yard to another, to another still, on a reading tour. Books upstairs in the loft being read in a small group on the little cot. A grownup on the couch with 5 children clustered all around them, everyone vying for space and a good view of the book, All About Scabs. Children playing in a pillow fort drawn out by the sound of Bad Kitty being so very, very bad. Children writing letters, and insurance documents, and sending them in the mail to people living in the fort. Someone making tickets for the big dancing show. Someone writing numbers all in a line across an expanse of masking tape.
At the end of the day, the group was reading a story, but one child asked me to come sit with them just outside of earshot. They asked which book it was, so I told them the story was about stealing. They were surprised! I said, “”yeah, the first page of that book says, ‘This is not my hat. I just stole it’”. He was scandalized. And then he told me that sometimes he steals things too, like from Cottage. And I said that I thought a lot of kids steal small things from Cottage, because kids often ask me if they can take something home, like a matchbox car, and when I tell them no, they slowly put it in their pocket right in front of me. Kids aren’t very good at being sneaky. We talked about sneaky plans and stealing for a long time, nonjudgmentally, but this child told me very seriously that they would never do such a thing, other than the times they already had. They already knew it was wrong to steal. Sometimes people just do anyway.
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It can be difficult to walk into a classroom or yard where a lot of children are already playing. It’s even harder if the person you were planning to play with is not there. In Summertime, the social groups get all mixed up, as families go on vacations or choose different camp days. This can be quite magical; a child who was wanting to play battling games all year is suddenly collaborating and being welcoming to new friends, or a child who has had trouble sharing is suddenly able to be so generous.
The yard was full of adults as some of the children had a slow transition in, looking for someone to play with. A parent was pushing their child on the swing, another was off to the side with their child, watching and looking for an opening, another was giving some last squeezes and words of affirmation. Several children were on their own, doing some activity but keeping an eye out for a game with other children in it.
At last, three children got on the tire swing together. They wanted me to push them, so I sat close by to be at eye level, and pushed a bit, in a sort of ellipse motion. One of the children objected and told me they wanted to just go back and forth, so I slowed them down and directed the tire swing as she had instructed me. One of the children moved to sit astride the tire like a carousel horse, and said that’s what it was; the other two children aligned themselves so that they were all facing the same way on the carousel. Then their toes were moving the swing in a circle. The back-and-forth person told me about it, alarmed. I said, “Tell her about it”. She turned back, and seemed to decide that it was okay if she did it too.
Now all three were tiptoeing the swing in a circle, with the ropes winding tighter and tighter. When they released, they all spun backwards, laughing. They did this maybe twenty more times.
By then, I was across the sandbox, near a few children who had each started out the morning feeling a little grouchy. I saw that two of them had fallen into a long game together, with some adults coaching through the conflicts so they could keep playing, even when somebody was getting mad. Another was practicing their tricks, telling me, and any adult who came within shouting distance, that they were getting tall. They referenced their growth over and over, at the monkey bars, at the art table, pouring water, getting changed into dry clothes. They kept demonstrating and telling about how much they had grown, acknowledging themselves. I bet it was exhausting to be growing so much.
A parent, too, was noticing to me how much everyone has grown. Kids have skills they weren’t showing just a month ago. A shift has happened for so many of these children. Someone who was passionately proclaiming themselves a demon hunter a little while ago and looking for scary demons to hunt was instead making sure that everyone knew there was a beautiful beetle that you should go see. Someone who can be a little shy or slow to warm is learning to take up space. Recently, I saw a picky eater enjoy community snack for the first time. I can see that this place feels safe. That’s the best thing a school can do: make sure the children feel safe enough to take risks.
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Early in the week, Teacher Ariana asked me a question about how to handle it when six children are all calling your name, as a teacher. How can we try to meet their needs and not get overwhelmed from the constant pulls on our attention in every direction at the same time? It definitely can be overwhelming to be that adult. I first pointed to the need I thought they were trying to meet: they want to be witnessed. “Look at me!” can be to show us a new trick they are proud they can do, but it can easily be just, do I exist? Am I important to you? Am I a part of the game you are playing? Can you see me over here?
Once we understand what is being asked, I think we would all want to provide that base of reassurance. I often simply say, “I see you!”. When it’s so many children at once, that’s less effective. I suggested narrating what everyone is doing, or just telling what she could see. That could sound like, “Oh, I see M. coming down the slide so fast. I see P. swinging from the monkey bars. I see H. has built a car that he is driving to the store. Oh, T. says that button turns him invisible. Where did he go!?”
Later in the week, our staff group chat was sharing curriculum ideas, in lieu of a staff meeting, so I was home cleaning out the closets. I showed a photo of my son’s writing notebook from Cottage, from 15 years ago. It was totally blank, as he had been in a phase where he refused to write or draw anything, because his hands were not able to make it perfect. It was so frustrating for him to not be able to make it the way he wanted, that he just didn’t draw at all. This, I have learned, is very common for kids that age, even ones who have taught themselves to read (which is an uncommon skill, by the way. Reading independently in these years is called hyperlexia, and often it is paired with other uncommon skills and very real challenges).
Teacher Ariana asked me about the notebook, and I was telling her about my ideal environment to encourage emergent writing in a 4-5 year olds class, citing the text A Child’s Work: The Importance of Fantasy Play by Vivian Gussin Paley, a hero in the field of Early Childhood Education. A snippet of our text conversation in italics below:
J:In my perfect class, teachers offer dictation as a play option on a regular basis (write down kids’ stories on a notepad or something), model writing more throughout the day, and offer kids to act out the dictated stories at closing circle
A: So like, how could I implement this with the robot game for example at the end of the day? Write down their quotes verbatim I see. Then do I kind of like talk about it at closing circle?
Kk I’m gonna bring out a writing device to the yard tomorrow bc it’ll be the robot crew and we’ll see what happens!
A: Today E. was at “2% battery” and O. was the charging station that added “infinity %” so O. said he was at “infinity plus 2 %”. It was so so cute. But like this would be so good to write down I think
J: Yes, you could write on a clipboard for example or on big paper. Once kids see that you’re writing they crowd around to be witnessed, the way they do when they call your name
A: Omg, It works perfectly for that too
J: And usually they start writing themselves
A: Instead of me repeating it and disappearing into the universe I’ll write it down
What follows is the text of what Teacher Ariana wrote down from the game:
E. made a robot out of the Zoobs and was showing friends.
E.: Let's play robots!
J.: this one makes you freeze. This button makes me be like a baby robot. This button makes me go side to side or up and down. This button is just the holding button.
E.: Here's my controller. This is forward/backward. The tall building is left and right. The shoe is home.
Q.: This is my robot. What you do is press the button here and it twists. When it makes it clean!
J.: Hey, do you wanna play robots!
Q.: There's a button here and when you press it, look it makes an archway! But if it’s like this, it’s a bridge. It can also split.
E.: Hey, what button do you wanna push on mine?
He pressed home!
J.: stop and press me!
E.: My walk button is right here!
J.: I’m walking into the wall!
Q.: If you do this, I jump!
I also have a freeze button.
E.: I also have a freeze button!
Q.: I forgot to tell you where my flying button is!
(Teacher pretends to press potty button and we all go potty and have snack. After snack is below)
A performance is getting set up on the stage and the robots are watching…they become the sound crew for the show!
J.: This is my speaker!
E.: I made a speaker too! For the music show, the sound starts here and travels down and comes out on the tire
E.: My speaker is out of charge. Now it’s at infinity charge! At 12:01 the show closes.
J.: my speaker is broken. This is my battery. I’m gonna put my battery in!
E.: I’m pointing it at the dancers!
And the dancers had loud music for their beautiful show
Teacher Ariana: Told the story at lunch bunch. They were freaking hooooooked. That was amazing.
“I want you to tell me the story again” -E., right now 😭
Teacher Ariana told me that she sat with the children from the game at Lunch Bunch and told them she had a story to tell. And as she read the dictation from the game earlier, each child’s face lit up at hearing their name and their words and their game. Each one of them was witnessed, cherished, valued. Her own child asked to hear it again and again later in the day.
We talked about how pretend play is in its essence storytelling, the foundation of literacy. How children have important stories that they are so excited to tell, or act out, and if we offer for them to hear them again, they love to hear their own words reflected back to them. It helps impart the purpose of writing things down, creates value out of the skill of writing, which can be so difficult and discouraging when you are first starting out. But of course, more than anything, it affirms the relationship between the teacher and the learners: the teacher listens to them, cares about what they have to say, and takes them seriously as valuable contributors.
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A delivery robot wanted someone to order packages for delivery. I was in a pretend house trying to tidy up and make it more inviting. I asked the robot for one item at a time, so that they could make lots of trips back and forth, which was the game. Together, we set up the play space for the kids to find the next day. In the meantime, the robot did food preparation and put a baby raccoon stuffie to bed with blankets, and also a bread pan upside down on them, to make it dark.
It was almost noon on a hot day. I came and sat down on the front porch of the playhouse beside a table of three children in conflict. One child had found a fancy jewel in the sand, and while two of the children wanted to use it to decorate a cake, the finder decided to pocket it and walked away to hide it in their cubby. The other two were incredulous, rightfully pointing out that Cottage toys are for everyone, and that they were wanting to put it to use right now on a project they were collaborating to create, while the third person was planning to keep it not just for themselves but put away where nobody could use it.
The two children told me about the situation while the third child walked the long path to their cubby and back. By the time they were back, I was agreeing that those jewels are for everyone, and saying that we have more that I could give them to use, not realizing it was so late and it would have to wait for another day. Conversation shifted anyway, as one child announced they were planning to bury their feet in the sand. As they took off their shoes, the person who had taken the jewel took off their shoes to join them, and they both sat down in the sandbox, facing each other, toe to toe, burying all four of their feet as we chatted.
The third child sat down next to me on the porch, asking me if I was going to bury my feet, too. I told them no, not today, because I was wearing socks and shoes, and I don’t like the feeling of sand on my feet when I’m wearing socks and shoes. They answered that they didn’t like that either, and they also didn’t like sand in their sandals, which I said I also did not like. I told them that I do like sand on my feet when I’m barefoot, and we talked about how it can feel nice and cool to bury your feet, but at that moment, we had both chosen not to.
We sat, two pairs, a few feet apart, two with bare feet buried in sand, and two wearing shoes and sitting on the wooden porch. We chatted all together about this and that until the day was done and parents were coming out to find us. We had missed the Goodbye Song, lingering like upperclassmen at the Big Rock, or wherever was the cool place to sit when you were in school, dragging our feet about ending our time together by burying our actual feet. Two and two was a little easier than a three child social dynamic, and we were just enjoying a relaxing time, no other conflicts presenting themselves.
Today, some children shared the Morning News that this was their last day at Cottage. One of them has a loose tooth! I noticed one of the parents had sunglasses on, even though they were in the shade. The big, whole-family transition of a last day at Cottage carries big feels. I know I gave several long hugs today, the kind long and thorough enough to trip your oxytocin into releasing. At the end of the day, a child climbed up the stairs to the loft, and rested their foot against the plexiglass, like a hand at a window. They told me their foot was getting big because of their dad. All these kids are getting so big.
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In this final week of our Summer Stories, I waited until the last day, instead of writing little by little as play happened. At Morning Meeting, children raised their hands and told us this was their last day at Cottage, and several children told us what school they will be going to next. One child joined in, even though they still have another year with us. One child waited outside for Morning Meeting to finally be over so they could go outside and play. Several children arrived just as the meeting was ending, and the gate had just opened. Lots of parents were hanging around, sighing, hugging, remembering.
The kids were telling a story about the party they were having, to be read back to them at Lunch Bunch. It was a big party because it was so many people’s last day of school. There was ice cream and delicious chocolate cake, but don’t really eat it because it’s actually made of sand.
This is the story they told (you should offer to read it to them again):
Island Party
D: This party is really coming together!
E: Alright now we’ve decorated the parking garage! Look! (the climbing dome is a parking garage, and the Island party is in the sandbox, on a big hill with a moat full of water around it).
D: I put a paper lamp on it!
J: I’m adding some plants, and these are tickets (leaves)
E: You have to pay for parking since it’s 12 dollars
D: Do some rules for the party! Like no pushing, even if you’re very naughty.
J: Look, I got some tablets. If kids get bored, they can watch tv on these tablets.
M: I’m going to be teaching kids how to drive motorcycles.
J: I think these have to be the presents! I can’t tell you what they are; it’s a surprise!
M: I was about to go home because I already taught the kids how to motorcycle.
D: Can I have one of those tablets?
J: Actually, they are presents for when you go home.
E: I’m trying to make my whole body pink so I can tell you I love you! (draws on their belly with pink chalk)
*then they heard the snack frog*
I got called to sit with someone who was refusing to come to snack. One grownup had told me that they thought the child was needing a friend. Another grownup told me that they had been trying to get the child to come to snack and they had thrown a full temper tantrum. It was not something I hear people say here often.
I sat down next to them, on the cement, both of us sitting with our legs stretched out in front of us on the cool ground under the trees. They told me that that grownup had been trying to get them to go to snack, but they never want to go, because it’s so crowded and noisy. It really is, I agreed. They told me about how calm and quiet it was out here where we were sitting, with butterflies overhead, and the gentle noise of distant traffic. It really was. We both liked it. They told me at their new school, they will have to go to snack.
Another child was refusing to go use the bathroom with anyone but me, so I took them. I saw in there all the old diapers that this child won’t be needing anymore, as they pulled down their own pants and set up the potty seat and stepstool carefully, all on their own. They decided to change into dry clothes afterwards, soaked from the mud river they had been digging with the team.
A second child told me they wanted to change too, although they were perfectly dry. They showed me their cubby and the favorite stuffed animal they had on it, who would have to stay here at Cottage. They told me about this being their last day. They asked me about their cubby staying here, and I said it could go home with them, and maybe they could put toys in it. They liked that plan. They picked out a clean shirt and shorts, pulled off their other clothes, put these on with no help. They told me with a big smile about how they could do it all by themselves, so proudly.
I told one of the parents, I would be so sad, if this weren’t so nice. Goodbyes are hard, but these guys are ready. As someone reminded me that I told them recently, Cottage is inside of them now.