The Making of Forestia

Time and stories flow freely when children play, especially for 5- to 8-year-olds. The world is a wondrous place, and reality is a pliable concept. It’s the perfect age to try all sorts of new things, even start a new country! This article tells the story of one group of children in kindergarten through 2nd grade and what they accomplished with just enough guidance and just enough freedom.

Every morning in our early-childhood classroom in Apison, Tennessee, U.S.A, we focus on Bible, literacy, and math. Science and social studies concepts are sometimes integrated during this time, as well, through read-alouds, class discussions, writing projects, and occasionally thematically related activities during math time, such as measuring or graphing. We have art on Fridays.

We break up morning classwork with a short nature walk and recess. Then, after lunch, rest time, and sometimes music class, we enjoy roughly two hours of forest school.

Forest school is child-directed, play-based learning in a natural setting. Its purpose is to assist in the development of the whole child physically, mentally, socially, and spiritually.¹ Teachers in forest schools are facilitators of learning, staying close by and providing support for everything from salamander identification to supervising tree-climbing, to helping with negotiations during disagreements. For the children, forest school is a time to play unhindered except by established guidelines for safety and kindness. The benefits of forest school and how it can be implemented are for another article, but it should be added here that both current research and Ellen White’s writings² support the guiding principles of forest school.³ Forest school provides a rich soil for project-based learning. It was during forest school that the country of Forestia was born.

Getting Started

One day in January, during our second year of forest school, children were working busily on making forts and stick houses. As we neared the end of the day, I overheard one child say to another, “We should make a city!”

The next morning, I brought the book Roxaboxen⁴ to school, a book I had been saving for just the right moment. As we gathered on the rug for our usual read-aloud, I commented on the conversation I had overheard the day before and suggested they might enjoy hearing a book about real kids who made a town.

The children listened with rapt attention as the story unfolded. Afterward, they began talking loudly among themselves about how to choose a president for their own city. My assistant and I stepped back and gave the children space. After about 10 minutes of loud but productive debate, the children settled on a method. First, they asked the four oldest children to go to the front of the room—but first, they had to figure out who was the oldest. Then, each child was asked to place a hand on the student he or she believed would be the best president.

The result was a landslide. Jacob⁵ was president, and everyone accepted the decision without question.

The students didn’t know what to do next, so I stepped in and offered choices. Did they want to have a city or a country? Usually, I told them, presidents lead a country, and mayors lead a city. The children enthusiastically decided to have a country.

Figuring It Out

At this point, I wasn’t sure how to proceed. Over the weekend, I ordered a book⁶ for kids about how to make your own country. It was above my students’ level, but it gave me ideas for guiding them. The next week during our morning read-aloud time, we learned about different kinds of governments and considered each. A theocracy didn’t seem plausible; a dictatorship had no appeal, and while having a monarchy was tempting, they ultimately decided they wanted a democracy, somewhat patterned after the United States.

A small disclaimer is in order here. I am aware that some adults would argue the United States is a republic rather than a true democracy,⁷ but let’s set aside that discussion until they are a bit older. The specifics of government, including nuanced definitions, take a backseat with young children; for these kindergarteners, 1st graders, and 2nd graders, the emotive experience is key, and it provides a foundation to build on when they are older.

With a decision to create a democracy, it was important to talk about voting, so I briefly outlined how adults help shape their government by voting. Oh, they all wanted to vote! They all wanted to help decide things! We talked about how the privilege of voting includes an agreement that we don’t always get what we want but that, over time, the decisions usually are good because what most people want is what happens. They agreed, and over time, they learned how this worked in practice.

The first thing they wanted to do was name their new country. This involved reading a book about flags⁸ simply to hear the way national names sounded: Ireland, New Zealand, Cambodia, Switzerland, Liberia. They noticed many country names end with “land” or “ia.” One day, they suggested names for their country, and I wrote everything on the board. We voted and narrowed it down until only one remained: Forestia.

Deepening the Experience

This was enough country-making for a while. Children seemed to forget Forestia until one day the president made a law that upset some of the citizens. This was the moment, amid much talk and big feelings, when we learned the United States has a three-branch government to balance the power. The children were riveted as I drew a tree with three branches and explained it in simple terms, using examples to which they could relate. We had further elections, more formal this time, with persuasive speeches and a ballot box. Soon we had a vice president and a three-person Congress eager to make laws (a judiciary branch came later). Being generous and democratic, Congress immediately asked the citizens of Forestia to help write laws.

No one knew exactly how to proceed, including me. I grabbed some printer paper and cut it into wide strips. “Here,” I said, fanning the strips across my teacher table, “you are welcome to write laws on this paper.” Everyone participated, down to the smallest kindergartener. Those who needed support, received support. Those who could “sound spell” their own words did so with enthusiasm. Soon we had a pile of law submissions, many with helpful illustrations alongside difficult-to-decipher student writing.

Congress, with a little bit of encouragement, sorted the proposed laws (bills). They voted on the ones they wanted to submit to the president, and he signed them into law.⁹ Bills ranged from “No killing the president” to “No hurting trees” to “Be kind.” As usual, I did not participate except to help them with the process. The laws were kept in a pocket chart and referred to on an as-needed basis by the children (for example, when someone needed a reminder to “be kind”). Later, our three judges were tasked with simply reading the laws that applied to a given situation. Having students serve as judges in a classroom is a tricky business and requires close teacher supervision. I wondered if this kind of exacting adherence to a law would be a point of conflict, but it usually wasn’t. After all, primary-age children love things to be cut-and-dry. Even more importantly, every citizen felt ownership of the laws and understood why they were important. No one has ever challenged student-created laws in my primary-level classroom. (5th graders would be another story!)

Challenges and Transformation

For the rest of the third quarter, Jacob was president. Being a strong-minded fellow, he sometimes burst forth with presidential proclamations. This did not go over well with the citizens. During one of these moments, I reminded him that presidents sign bills into laws, but they don’t create them, and they don’t generally make a lot of proclamations.

“Yes, they do!” he argued. “President Trump is doing it with the wall [on the U.S./Mexican border]!”

“True,” I agreed, “but Congress is trying to stop him.”

At this, Jacob gazed across the forest where his classmates played. Tears welled for a moment as he felt the frustrations of dealing with a balance of power. But at 8 years old, his leadership was effective and confident, and something to nurture. I encouraged him in his strengths, affirmed that leadership is hard, and reminded him we don’t have to do things perfectly. The moment passed, but as the weeks progressed, Jacob began asking others to share leadership with him.

Personal Revolution

One of those co-leaders was Andrew, a quiet 1st grader struggling to learn to read. One day he became disturbed because citizens were digging holes in “the mountain,” a pile of dirt that would, in later years and with different children, become a much-loved place to dig. In the early years of our forest school experience, however, the mountain was pristine. Andrew implored the diggers to stop. As a member of the Forestia Congress, he tried to get a bill passed to protect the mountain, but it fell flat. One of the diggers, a fellow congressperson, simply kept digging while she registered her vote regarding his proposed law: “I vote no!”

Andrew wandered off, discouraged. I took him aside. “Andrew,” I said, “they haven’t really heard your concern. If you tell everyone why you want to protect the mountain, they will listen. They might even agree with you. Would you like to try again?” He reluctantly agreed, and citizens were formally invited to hear a speech from Congressman Andrew. He gave a simple but impassioned speech, and afterward, there was a citizens’ vote that turned the tide: Everyone wanted to protect the mountain! This time, Congress approved the proposed law, and it was a turning point for Andrew. From that point on, he was an engaged and confident leader.

Culture and Community

One weekend, a grandmother made a flag for our country. Another day, we saw a king snake in the forest and decided to make it the official national animal. The children also wanted to have a national anthem, but they didn’t know where to start.

I realized they needed help, but I was also at a loss. A few weeks went by, but the children didn’t drop the idea. Finally, I brought two beautiful picture books¹⁰ to school, which I sang for them—and no, I am not much of a singer. One book contained our United States' national anthem; the other contained the song “America the Beautiful.” This caused all of us to feel very patriotic, and we immediately made a word cloud of what we loved about Forestia. They chose the melody of “America the Beautiful,” and I helped by inserting their words into the tune. “Forestia the Beautiful” became a much-loved song, often enjoyed at the end of the day.

The following year, Andrew, now a second grader, was elected president of Forestia. He was in the middle of a successful presidency when members of the Forestia Congress, hoping to avoid losing their positions, voted to propose a law prohibiting any future elections. This created distress throughout the classroom. Sharp words were exchanged, tears flowed, and a feeling of panic took over the class as children realized the repercussions of never having elections again. In the middle of the mayhem, I quietly took President Andrew aside and asked, “So, Mr. President, did you veto the bill, or did you sign it?”

“Oh!” he cried exuberantly, spinning to face the class, “I have an announcement to make! I vetoed the bill!” At this, everyone cheered, even members of the Forestia Congress.

Partly as a result of our forest school program, our school grew and added a fourth classroom, and I went from teaching K-2 to just K-1. Second grade moved up to a class shared with 3rd grade, and they, too, have forest school daily in a different area. This was a loss for our class, I was to discover. Still, even without 2nd grade providing leadership, every class makes a country of its own each year. With younger children, I keep things simple, but students often surprise me.

One day last spring, two 1st-graders—one the president, the other a congresswoman—were discussing a proposed law written by that congresswoman. The bill stated, “No play fighting in the woods.” The children know fighting of any kind is discouraged, so it was a reasonable bill, but the president felt it was too harsh. She vetoed the bill and advised the congresswoman to rewrite it, and the two girls briefly shared thoughts on the nuances of controlling “bad” behavior while also being “friendly.”

On other occasions, I am reminded of how young my students really are. One fall, our Congress of two kindergarteners and one 1st grader attempted to vote among themselves on whether to send a bill to the president. However, they kept getting a 2 to 1 vote. This did not seem right to them; they wanted it to be unanimous. They tried again and got the same result. They even changed their method of voting, but it didn’t affect the outcome. When I stepped in long enough to remind them only two votes are needed for a majority, they remained unsatisfied. They tabled the vote.

Play-based Learning

In his book Free to Learn,¹¹ Peter Gray highlights play as an exercise in both freedom and restraint. Allowing children freedom to direct their own play—pretending various scenarios and building forts and making mud pies and negotiating all the varied issues along the way—requires them to practice self-control. Group play always includes stated or unstated rules, and every participant must attend to both personal wants and the wants of the group—a delicate balance, and one that helps develop social-emotional skills for life.

True play is always a choice, Gray adds, and includes the option of not playing. This rings true in my experience as a teacher. If someone chose not to be a citizen of Forestia, for example, it would simply open up an entirely new direction of discussion. Daily opportunity for students to make choices, I have found, is integral to a joyful classroom where children are actively and personally engaged in learning. This is no surprise. We are all more creative and better at solving problems when we work within enough personal freedom to explore and try new methods and ideas.

This is why I have learned to remain on the outer edges of my students’ play. If they bring me a mud muffin, of course, I join in and pretend to relish eating it. But I do not attempt to direct their sociodramatic play. They choose what to play and how to play it, as long as choices are kind and within Christian principles. Even if I step in and offer them ways to expand their play and learning, I do it with a light touch, giving them options and helping them succeed in whatever conversations may be needed for them to reach their goals.

Imagine if I were to require my students to create a country, and then required a particular student to be president, and then required each child in the class to propose three laws. The light would go out of it! While I remain on the scene and very close by, and while they know I will step in and help them resolve difficult situations, they also know forest school and projects such as Forestia are their own. It is a wonderous thing for a teacher to be a part of children working hard at play.

This is true not only for making a country, but also for playing with earth science, studying bird nest construction, and developing map skills.¹² As their teacher, I am not exactly “in” their play, yet I can cheer them on and join them enough—just enough—to make learning fun and exciting. They are leading me, and I, in turn, help them reach for more.

Authentic Curriculum

David Sobel calls this approach to learning “authentic curriculum,” and in his book Childhood and Nature: Design Principles for Educators,¹³ he emphasizes the teacher’s role and compares guiding an authentic curriculum to the martial-arts principle of taking your opponent’s force and using it to accomplish your ends. We don’t have to be martial arts fans to understand his analogy; if you can harness the playfulness of childhood and attach it to learning goals, the results are lifelong lessons, deeply rooted.

James Tucker, author, professor, and prolific writer, tells of taking walks with his father at a young age and his father asking daily, “What do you notice, James? What is different?” Later, as a young Adventist teacher, Tucker opened the world for his students by asking the same questions. Later, he wrote nature-based devotionals such as Windows on God’s World,¹⁴ which many of us grew up hearing each morning in grade school worship. One day, a few years ago, I found myself in a university classroom, listening with rapt attention as Tucker expounded on his theory of Natural Learning: let children be children, as God intended, designed to learn through playful curiosity.

A picture came to mind: Jesus is on a hillside, surrounded by adults who resent the young ones who have climbed onto the Savior’s knees. But Jesus holds the children close and reminds His friends that children are important, and their ways and needs don’t always match our expectations. How easily we forget! And how beautiful when we remember!

Emergent, play-based, project-based learning is worth experimenting with. For the teacher, the journey can be joyful, and our adult role, though different from the students’, can sometimes feel like play. Here is the rich and lovely irony of joining children in their world: The closer we come to allowing young children to learn naturally, the way God designed them to learn, the more we, as adults, can discover deep joy in mentoring them and helping them grow.

This article has been peer reviewed.

Karen Williams

Karen Williams, MSEd, received her Forest Kindergarten/Forest School training and later her Master’s degree with an emphasis in outdoor education from Southern Adventist University in Collegedale, Tennessee, U.S.A. She taught Grades K-1 at Lester Coon Adventist School in Apison, Tennessee, where a Forest Kindergarten/Forest School approach to outdoor education was adopted in 2017. Mrs. Williams recently transitioned from classroom teaching to start the Free as Lambs Forest School Initiative, a nonprofit to help promote awareness of forest school and to share its benefits and methods.