October 9th, 2023—What do you know about swallows? Do they carry any significance for you? Have you ever watched them dive and swoop for insects and wondered how they manage such acrobatic moves? What might educators gain from a close examination of swallows and their habits?
I ask because I was recently stopped at a traffic light. A busy urban intersection with multiple lanes of traffic. Vehicles turning, slowing, driving through the lights, or stopping. The intersection was a chaotic scene of action and somewhat unpredictable even when you knew the rules of the road. Through all this human traffic, noise, and confusion, several swallows were expertly weaving in and out of the cars. They were intent on capturing the bugs that were also inhabiting the intersection.
It seemed that at any moment a bird would collide with a car or at least one of its avian friends who was also chasing the insect bonanza. But this never happened. The birds swooped low, pivoted, and banked in their efforts to capture their prey. How they avoided a deadly encounter with a vehicle and kept track of the flight of an insect is beyond my imagination to comprehend. This is what makes them experts at the craft of capturing bugs. Periodically the swallows gathered on a nearby power line. All lined up and ready to go again. The hunt a primary objective. At some unknown signal the group would dive from the wire and begin the hunt again. The intersection and moving vehicles seemed more like an artifact of the context than something to really worry about. There didn’t seem to be any element of hesitancy or reservation for the swallows.
Dive, weave, and dance over and over again. Abundance and lack of caution seem to be the operating principle, much like good teaching, even in the presence of institutional scarcity. When I’m at my best as an educator I find myself keeping an eye on my heart, the center of my teaching gifts. I swoop and dive through the classroom, weaving around desks and chairs. I twist and turn as unconcerned as possible about intellectual obstacles that I might collide with. My attention monitors and tracks the trajectory of sparks of learning flowing through the classroom space.
I anticipate where the learning will next move. I don’t catch all of them, as the swallows surely miss many insects. But that is the nature of the chase. A faith in the abundant possibilities, knowing that one missed chance at transformation will be replaced at some point by another moment of deep learning. Like the swallows, I’m at my best when I use my inherent gifts to adapt to the unexpected and novel. I dance and twist in what might seem like random movements to an outsider. But to me there is intention and commitment to the tasks of learning and being present to the moment.
Periodically the swallows take a break from their frenzied flights and gather on nearby powerlines. I think this is a reminder that teaching is more than continuous action. Rest and renewal are important too. A chance to survey the scene and take note of the patterns and where the bugs are most abundant. For me this is when I gather with colleagues or students to talk about the art and craft of teaching. We exchange ideas and strategies. We dissect the near misses when we avoided disaster or simply turned the wrong way and learning slipped through our grasp. We ask critical and difficult questions intended to refine practice. A pedagogical community is as important to the solo act of teaching as a group of swallows is to the capturing insects. Not every swallow catches every bug, but it does seem that even a missed fly can turn in a way that another swallow might snatch it. I can’t teach every student and I’m sure for many students the learning is incomplete. I take solace that my missed teaching opportunities will result in a learning course correction that another teacher can capture. Teaching at its best is a communal activity.
A perennial challenge for educators is the institutional imperatives that mark out the obstacles of teaching and learning. There are student learning outcomes to consider. Sequences of courses and experiences that mark out a student’s course work plan to graduation. There is necessary content to cover that sets the stage of learning in a future course. These are the hard facts of teaching. They are not going away, but they can be treated as fixed elements. They can be noted, and like the swallows, avoided but not of central concern. I’m aware of these facts in teaching but my awareness is focused on the present moments of learning in the classroom.
How often do you experience teaching as a swallow experiences the ecstatic flight in the midst of heavy institutional traffic? How often do you find or create time to gather in a flock with fellow teachers and talk about your teaching? Where are the wires you can perch on and watch the sometimes chaotic nature of teaching, searching out the patterns and just the right moment to launch out into the air in pursuit of learning?
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