Hidden beneath towering trees and winding pathways, the UBC Botanical Garden revealed itself not simply as a collection of plants, but as a living library where every leaf held a story waiting to be discovered.
The botanical garden is an interesting place because, on one hand, it is tranquil, beautiful, and full of fascinating plant specimens. On the other hand, our discussions prompted us to consider the implications of where these plants come from, including the colonial legacies of removing plants from their original lands and cultures to collect and display them elsewhere. We were able to hold both perspectives at the same time, appreciating the beauty and tranquility of the garden while also critically reflecting on its complex history.
Our journey began with Elecampane. Long ago, it was said that a Turkish knight carried this remarkable plant as medicine during his travels, trusting its healing powers to restore strength and ward off illness. Standing before it, it was easy to imagine ancient travellers relying on nature long before pharmacies and hospitals existed.
The Elecampane plant
Nearby stood the elegant Fang hornbeam, whose sharply toothed, textured leaves looked as though they had been carefully carved by an artist rather than grown by nature. Every branch reminded us that beauty often lies in the smallest details.
As we explored further, the garden became a classroom of living history. We learned about the Musqueam, Squamish, and Tsleil-Waututh Nations, whose deep knowledge of the land has guided sustainable living for countless generations. Among the plants they carefully tended was Great Camas, whose nutritious bulbs were harvested, pit-roasted, and shared as an important source of food. Yet this beautiful plant carried an important lesson: its close resemblance to the poisonous death camas means that careful knowledge, passed from one generation to the next, could mean the difference between life and death.
The delicate Nootka Rose, known as the most fragrant of our local roses, filled the air with its sweet perfume. For Indigenous peoples, it was far more than a beautiful flower. Its petals, hips, roots, and stems were used for food, medicine, and ceremony, reminding us that every part of a plant can have purpose when understood with respect and care.
Towering above us stood the magnificent Garry Oak, a symbol of resilience. These remarkable trees thrive in ecosystems shaped by fire, and today they stand as quiet witnesses to our changing climate. As climate change alters temperatures, rainfall, and wildfire patterns, Garry Oak ecosystems face both new challenges and renewed importance, reminding us that protecting biodiversity is inseparable from protecting our future.
Back at the Orchard Garden, we broke into groups to finalize our plans for our upcoming workshops on Saturday and the Solstice Festival. There were so many great ideas, and collaborating with my classmates has been both exciting and inspiring. Saul was back today, and we were all glad to have his guidance. We also continued with several garden tasks, including stripping bark from blackberry, removing suckers from tomato plants, drying creeping vine plants for our upcoming workshop, and completing other small work party activities.
I've been thinking a lot about the past little while, especially after yesterday's workshop. I've been reflecting on outdoor learning, risky play, incorporating gardens into classrooms, and the idea of the garden as teacher. I find these concepts much easier to grasp when I'm learning alongside a group of adults. However, when I begin thinking about bringing children into these experiences and the practicalities of implementing them in a classroom, it starts to feel a little daunting.
UBC Botanical Gardens
On one hand, this work feels incredibly important. It represents the kind of teaching I hope to do, and the potential benefits are enormous—from self-regulation and confidence to bodily autonomy, curiosity, and developing a relationship with the natural world. Risky play, gardens, and land-based learning all intersect in powerful ways that support children's holistic development.
On the other hand, as a new teacher still developing my classroom management skills, I have real questions about how to make these experiences work in practice. During my kindergarten practicum, I built strong relationships with my students and had good classroom routines, but keeping children on task was not always easy. Depending on the needs and behaviours of a particular class, facilitating outdoor, child-led learning presents additional challenges that teachers must thoughtfully navigate.
Still, I keep coming back to something I learned during practicum: the experiences that felt the most challenging were often the most worthwhile. I remember asking my advisors whether it was better to choose activities that were less messy and easier to control, or whether I should embrace the uncertainty and dive in. They all encouraged me to go for it. I think the same lesson applies here. While these experiences may require more flexibility and trust, they also have the potential to be the most meaningful learning opportunities for children.
