Abstract
In this column, the author shares insights on teaching-learning uncovered in considering the experiences of growing up on a farm, illuminated by insights from a treasured childhood book as perceived through the nursing theoretical lens of humanbecoming. Suggestions for planning and planting for the future of nursing are offered and questions are asked as a guide for the nurse teacher.
When we sow a seed, we plant a narrative of future possibility.
Sue Stuart-Smith (2021, p. 66)
Growing up as the sixth generation on a thriving family dairy farm in northeastern Ohio, I gained an early appreciation for the land and the bounty that could come from well-tended fields, gardens, and orchards when quality seeds or plants were placed in the hands of a skilled and knowledgeable farmer or gardener, given the right conditions. In living on a farm, learning the precariousness of relying on the produce of the land was essential as severe, crop-damaging storms could hit unexpectedly, frosts might come late or early, or rains, seemingly capriciously, might flood or alternately fail to quench the thirst of the land. Another lesson, often taken for granted as obvious, was what was harvested was inherently dependent on what was planted. If oats were planted, oats would be harvested; if corn were planted, corn would be harvested; and if zinnias were planted, zinnias would be harvested. Reflecting on the work my father so highly valued as a farmer, the notion arose that teaching-learning is planting seeds in fertile fields, assuming the risks of knowing all may not go as planned with a keen awareness that the rewards of the harvest come only with persistence and unfaltering patience. In the teaching-learning of nursing, the seeds of new knowings, when judiciously chosen and planted with care in fertile well-prepared soil and monitored with care, hold the promise to produce a bountiful harvest, all in due time, given the right growing conditions and inherently dependent on planting the seeds of what is desired to be harvested.
Coming from a family of librarians and teachers, as children we were surrounded by books of all kinds. One of my favorite books as a child was The Secret Garden, by Frances Hodgson Burnett, first published in 1911. Although this book may have fallen into recent disfavor because of biased language and perspectives perceived in the script, there are significant opportunities in this piece of what has long been treasured as a classic in children’s literature for illuminating insights into teaching-learning. Therefore, this column will explore new understandings of teaching-learning gleaned from childhood experiences of living on a farm and growing a garden, with insights from a childhood favorite story about a magical garden, and illuminated further through the theoretical lens of the humanbecoming teaching-learning model.
Planning and Planting
As any teacher of nursing knows, the work of nurse faculty must begin in earnest long before any students appear in the classroom, including determining what will be taught, creating fertile spaces for learning, and selecting and preparing students to enter the classroom. Likewise, it is for a farmer or gardener. I often observed my father selectively choosing seeds to be planted with great care and walking the fields to diligently check the condition of the soil before plowing and tilling the soil, all in preparation for planting the seeds. If a harvest is to be realized, the fields must be well tended and prepared before seeds can be planted. The planter of seeds, whether in the corn field, flower garden, or the field of nurse education, must roam and explore the fields, preparing the soil, long before planting seeds.
In The Secret Garden (Burnett, 1911/1990), upon the unexpected death of her parents, little Mary was suddenly removed from the only life she knew in India to the moors of England to live with her widowed and lonely uncle, Mr. Craven, who was now her new legal guardian. As might be expected in a home unprepared for a potentially inquisitive and independent child such as Mary, this lonely little girl, who became known facetiously to the house staff as “Mary, Mary quite contrary” (Burnett, 1911/1990, p. 10), was often left to her own whims in exploring the house and the gardens of the previously well-tended but now essentially neglected massive estate. The unanticipated benefit of this transplantation of sad and sullen Mary was that she was gaining a newfound freedom to explore, such “that the fresh wind from the moor had begun to blow the cobwebs out of her young brain and to waken her up a little” (Burnett, 1911/1990, p. 56). Having vivid childhood memories of the creativity that unfolds in romping about in fresh air and open fields, I have an appreciation for the seemingly unending possibilities for learning arising when one is allowed the freedom to wander and roam.
Upon meeting Miss Mary, Mr. Craven wisely gave his new charge permission to have as much earth as she wanted and instructed her caregiver to “let her run wild in the garden . . . she needs liberty and fresh air and romping about” (Burnett, 1911/1990, p. 143). Perhaps without full understanding, Mr. Craven showed an appreciation of the mystery unfolding in his new charge by giving Miss Mary what she needed to thrive in her new surroundings, the freedom to not know while being free to explore in learning about herself and her new world.
Soon after her arrival at the estate, in her first experience of early spring in England, Mistress Mary was asked by the gardener Ben if she could smell the emerging spring (Burnett, 1911/1990). Thinking a moment, Mary responded, “I smell something nice and fresh and damp” (Burnett, 1911/1990, p. 76). Responding “that’s th’ good rich earth,” Ben told her “it’s in good humor makin’ ready to grow things. It’s glad when plantin’ time comes. It’s dull in th’ winter when it’s got nowt to do. In the flower gardens out there things will be stirrin’ down below in th’ dark. Th’ sun’s warmin’ ‘em. You’ll see bits o’ green spikes stickin’ out o’ th’ black earth after a bit” (Burnett, 1911/1990, p. 77). Little Miss Mary was learning about the joy of witnessing warm spring weather arousing the earth with new life beginning to emerge. Likewise, teaching-learning is dwelling in the dark below the surface, stirring what is yet to be, shining a warm light of sunshine to awaken the imagination and illuminate the way for the seeds of future possibilities to break through the rich soil of the classroom in becoming what they were meant to be.
Like a farmer must be patient in watching the fields come to new beginnings each spring, a wise teacher remains patiently attentive in bearing witness to living with the ambiguity of not knowing all that is or will be as each new student enters the classroom and rejoices as sprouts and buds of new knowings begin to emerge. I learned this lesson clearly helping my grandmother tend her rock garden on the hill just outside her front door. Enmeshed in the long, cold Ohio winter, together we would plan the rock garden and choose the seeds to be planted, well before signs of spring emerged. Grandma taught me the beauty of seeking diversity in the garden by choosing many varieties of seeds, including our favorite, the vibrant and boldly hued nasturtium. Although seemingly dainty and fragile, these trusted friends of gardeners proved resilient, providing a glorious diversity to Grandma’s collection of flowers and wildflowers. Although others might consider some of Grandma’s wildflowers to be weeds, such as Queen Anne’s Lace, under Grandma’s careful eye and tutelage, those wildflowers provided a glorious richness and diversity to the beauty of her rock garden. Grandma prepared the soil by hand, unable to use a large tiller, given the unpredictably rocky environment in which she worked. Once planted, throughout the season, we would walk among the rocks and budding plants to weed and water the garden, clearing space around the flowers and providing water when rains were not enough, allowing them to reach their full potential. Then by mid-summer until frost, given the right growing conditions, Grandma’s rock garden would burst forth in glorious color and form, adorning her yard with an abundance of flowers to be admired, both in her yard or displayed in a vase or basket within our homes. What was only visioned in the dark winter of planning and selecting seeds, yet knowing all could not be known in choosing, planting and tending, would fulfill the promise in uniquely surprising displays each summer.
A View Through the Lens of Humanbecoming
Sowing a rock garden is like living with ambiguity in teaching-learning, where patiently living with not knowing in coming to know is essential in realizing the promise of the budding nurse. From a humanbecoming perspective, the notion of living with ambiguity in teaching-learning has previously been explored in this column (Yancey, 2018). Parse (2021) identified living with ambiguity as “moment-to-moment moving with the vague . . . being patient with what is not yet clear in coming-to-know something in the becoming visible-invisible becoming of the emerging now” (p. 182).
In sowing a rock garden, there may be rain or sunshine, sometimes not enough, sometimes in excess, and yet other times in seemingly perfect balance and harmony. It is unpredictable and unknowable, even with modern weather forecasting capabilities. As well rocks in a garden create an uncertainty, possibly blocking the work of the gardener by making it more difficult to rid the garden of unwanted weeds or serving as the foundation for a beautiful display of cascading phlox in vibrant hues. Living with ambiguity in teaching-learning is sowing flowers in a rock garden. The rocks in the garden of teaching-learning, such as lack of time, limited resources, personal challenges facing students or faculty, or the inadequate preparation of faculty in theory or nursing science, may be the obstacles that stymy the efforts of the faculty or students by blocking the sunshine and air from reaching the roots of the plants. However, in the hands of the gifted gardener, these same rocks may become the solid foundation of success over which the rich display of diversity in the blooms amid the uniformity of purpose become evident in planting the seeds of nursing. As Mary learned in her early forays in the garden (Burnett, 1911/1990), it is essential to clear the space around plants to allow them to find their way to the surface and bloom as they were planted.
Insights from the experience of Mary in her early days at the estate on the Yorkshire moors can shed new light on the notion offered by Yancey (2018) that “creating a teaching-learning space where students are comfortable in acknowledging not knowing is essential in illuminating a path where students can learn to let go of” (p. 229) preconceived notions. Mary shared the view of others that she was an unattractive, isolated, and unloveable child who expected to have her needs met by simply making demands of others. She soon discovered the joy of forging her own pathway of discovery, as those around her witnessed the beautiful unfolding of this previously sullen child in exploring her new world. In living with the ambiguity of not knowing, Mary was allowed the freedom to venture onward in the unfolding mystery of the emerging spring of new beginnings. Likewise, in teaching-learning, preconceived notions can be shed and new discoveries arise when students are free to live with the ambiguity of the known-not known, particularly in the mysterious new beginning unfolding in the spring of their journey.
Upon first discovering the secret garden, which had been sealed and locked for 10 years, denying access to all since the untimely death of Mrs. Craven, Mary found some green shoots just sprouting through the dark, rick soil. Taking a sharp stick, she cleared the grass and weeds from around the sprouts, creating a clear area around the shoots. She noted, “Now they look as if they could breathe” (Burnett, 1911/1990, p. 97). Such is the work of the teacher in teaching-learning, clearing the area of weeds and grasses so the learner has room to breathe, sprout, and grow in the never-ending-journey of coming-to-know. Reflecting on learnings in reading The Secret Garden, it becomes clearer page by page that as Mary learns about planting a garden, she seems to be sprouting wings and learning to soar into new experiences with an emerging energy and enthusiasm for the work of tending a garden. While a seed must flourish where it is planted, in a co-created rock garden of life, the valued priorities of the sower and the seed co-create something new, as new ways of knowing and being arise in the ambiguous unknown. Thus, the gifted teacher of nursing who values nursing science will provide the student a solid foundation in that science while clearing the way for the student to sprout wings and learn to soar in becoming a professional nurse.
Conclusions
If you think in terms of a year, plant a seed;
If in terms of ten years, plant trees;
If in terms of a 100 years, teach the people.
For those who seek to touch the future by teaching and preparing future professional nurses, the work is just beginning. The following suggestions for teaching-learning in nursing, which emerged from this brief consideration of insights gleaned from The Secret Garden (Burnett, 1911/1990) in light of experiences in planning and planting a rock garden, are offered as a guide for those who purport to teach future nurses:
Allow students the freedom to wander and wonder in the fields of nurse education in coming to know, free to not know in living with the ambiguity of what is.
Bear witness to what is below the surface, igniting the imagination, and illuminating the way for students in bursting forth in becoming what they were meant to be.
Clear the learning space of the weeds and grasses that threaten to choke out the seeds of nursing being planted in the garden of nurse education, by judiciously providing students with a solid foundation in theory and nursing science.
Bartunek (2017) identified that while an acorn and a stone may look and seem similar and even be the same size, if you plant an acorn, given the right conditions, it will grow into a glorious oak tree, full of promise for producing more acorns and future oak trees. However, “if you plant the stone in the same soil, under the same conditions, nothing will happen” (Bartunek, 2017, p. 55). Likewise, nursing students, given the right conditions, are filled with the promise of growing into magnificent nurse professionals, who will plant the seeds of the future of nursing by their knowledge, zeal, and example.
Now is the time to plant seeds in the future of nursing. However, once again questions arise that must be asked. Will those who purport to teach nursing be planting the seeds of nursing or of something different? Will faculty indeed teach nursing? Will nursing theory and science be the rocks forming the foundation around which future professional nurses will bloom? Those who teach nurses must be the ones to answer these questions.
