Because urban children seldom have the opportunity to garden, I wanted to expose them to the process of planting something and watching it grow. We received the school's permission to plant crocus bulbs with the children. The school instructed us that there was a nice spot out by a bench in the side yard that we could use. On planting day we were prepared with bulbs, composted cow manure, and shovels. After a brief lesson on soil, we prepared our plot and set thirty golden crocus bulbs in the ground.

The following week I was astonished to find that the children greeted me with the exciting news that our bulbs grew already! One little boy declared, "It must have been the cow poop!" Not knowing what to expect, I told them we would check out the spot after our winter food hike on the trail. When we stopped by the bench, we discovered that the school had planted a foot and a half tall "burning bush" immediately adjacent to where we planted our bulbs. The children seemed so proud and absolutely certain that this foot and a half bush sprouted from our tiny crocus bulbs in just one November week.

What is an educator to do at a moment like this? Could it be that I left something out of the lesson or said something that led their thinking in this direction? Do I tell them that they were wrong and replace their adorable and preposterous image with something that we all can accept as reality?

CNE's environmental education philosophy was cultivated decades ago by John Weeks, who sums the learning process up as a series of steps. First, learning about nature involves building awareness through becoming sensitive to and familiar with its presence in your surroundings. Next comes the knowledge building step, which grows from the "need to know" which flows from awareness. Finally, action results when people develop a proprietary attitude about their surroundings. All three steps are important, but in this results-oriented world, we often put the emphasis on the final, action step and lose sight of its most important precursor, awareness. While we want the children to know the right answer, we cannot underestimate the power of the emotions that led to the "wrong" conclusion. As Rachel Carson so beautifully put it, "It is not half so important to know as to feel."

One factor contributing to the mistake was the children's lack of familiarity with the process of plant growth. Many of these children have scarce opportunities to experience learning in the outdoors. However, if I insist on "the right answer" I fail to encourage children to explore and make inferences from their observations. Instead of telling the children they were wrong about the bush, I decided to ask them to observe the spot again in the spring. In my opinion, it is far better for them to come to their own conclusion - even if there is a risk that they won't see their perspective error, than to have me dash their curiosity and enthusiasm with "the right answer".