A dear friend messaged me in late December. Her small-community Montessori school in upstate New York had suffered a fire about halfway through their Chanukah break. She had started, directed, and taught this single Primary Classroom for decades in a beautiful classroom in her home. Persuaded to open an Elementary program by parents not eager to leave the nest after Primary, she re-doubled her efforts, took training for this new level, and secured separate spaces for both classrooms at a local temple. After the requisite two years of trial and error, mistakes made and lessons learned (by both students and teacher), they had reached a state of peace and learning, in space and spirit to match the Primary room.  “It wasn’t perfect, but it was lovely”. The fire destroyed the library and all the musical instruments. The smoke damage rendered the classroom materials unusable. As any founder/owner knows, most every piece was purchased and maintained by her, a summing of a life’s work and devotion. “I am gutted.”

Soon after, she sent photos of the fire, taken by a firefighter who is also a photographer. After a career that spans four decades, I have been in countless Montessori classrooms, and with rare exception, they are oases of beauty and learning, simple and elegant, color and contrast. Designed to be welcoming to children, they are equally welcoming to adults. In these photos, however, fire fighters in heavy suits and trailing hoses, walk through a classroom across sodden and charred building material. The juxtaposition is startling and upsetting. Our association with a Montessori classroom, the peace, the beauty…. and elemental destruction.

A second set of photos glimpsed the first day back for the children. The Primary classroom was back in its original location, in her home. There is a paucity of materials on the shelf, those saved by being in deep storage, but the children are doing what they do, getting on with it. There are sandpaper letters forming words on a rug. A child is spooning a practical life exercise on the right while others are gathered near a window in the Sensorial area. The Elementary students, with only pencil bags and journals, are pictured in a spare church room, devoid of even appropriate furniture for children, let alone any Montessori materials. But the children are gathered at circle, as they would, most turned toward the viewer, all of them smiling. They are children, they are classmates, this is their teacher, they are together. I remarked that it was reminiscent of that scene from the Grinch that Stole Christmas (which I’m pretty sure isn’t a Chanukah movie). The presents don’t make the holiday, and the materials don’t make a Montessori classroom. I will sometimes ask my adult learners to make a hypothetical choice. Do you want to work or send your child to Classroom A that spent $50,000 to fill it with the finest, brand-new Neinhuis materials, but where there is no community, love, respect, peace?  Or Classroom B, with no materials, but loving kindness, support, mindfulness, and energy. In over 30 years of teacher education, not a single teacher has made the wrong choice.

I’ve been spending more time this month in Primary Montessori classrooms, mostly due to circumstance, opportunities consulting at schools, and a change in role here at the Cornerstone School. After completing a Coaching Course (shout out to Elizabeth Slade and Montessori Public in Action) and finding a new teacher to work with the Junior Class on the farm, I’m afforded more time to observe in classrooms. As an Admissions Director, this is a task I should have been doing all along. 

Last week I found myself at a small school in Louisville, Kentucky. Eight children were already engaged in their morning work cycle when I opened the door so very slowly and eased into the nearby wooden observer’s chair. The focus of the group, including the teacher (along with my stealth ninja skills) was strong enough that my entry and presence was undetected. A blonde and braided three-year old was working her way through a basket of small towels, raking them across a washboard with its end in soapy water. She carefully rinsed it in a small tub of water before clasping them onto a clothesline with wooden clothespins. A four-year old worked his way through the knobbed cylinders while two friends on the floor were matching labels to planets on a circular rug. 

Right before my time was up, I watched the girl in practical life carefully tip the waste water into a bucket, and I could practically here her reciting all the steps necessary in her head. It was flawless. The walk to the sink was equally deliberate, methodical, and present. Her steps were measured, her gaze locked onto the water line sometimes coming precariously close to the top of the bucket, but never cresting the edge.  Later, the teacher caught me in the hall and I thanked her for inviting me into her classroom. She leaned in. “I knew the observation was going well because you were smiling almost the whole time.”  “Really”, I responded, “I had no idea. I think Primary classrooms are my happy place.” 

The flight from Louisville back to Boston was routed through Detroit. With a layover there, a late flight to Logan, and then a bus ride to southern Maine, it was three in the morning when head it pillow and my wife Sandi murmured a sleepy acknowledgement. There was a Parent Coffee Chat that morning and I made my drowsy entrance at 8:45. That whole trip log resulted in “note to self” regarding late night travel. In any case, I was also scheduled for an observation in a Primary classroom that morning (I know, right?). Coffee cupped in hand, I settled into a very comfy, perhaps too comfy, observation chair and took in the environment, and took in the immediate deja vu. Had I not been here 24 hours earlier? I soaked in the peace, the gentle voices, the methodical pace. And no more than ten minutes in, a first-year boy, done with his watercoloring of a map of the united states, made his was across the room from a work table to the sink. His steps were measured, his gaze locked onto the waterline sometimes coming precariously close to the top of the bowl, but never cresting the edge. I was flat-out exhausted, not gonna lie. But I think I was probably smiling.

As the “New Year” quickly approaches, the day after Labor Day for me and for many others, I’ve started to invite prospective parents to come visit, tour, and observe, starting in mid-Ocotober. It’s hard to imagine, by today’s heat and humidity, that by then the leaves here in southern New England will have their autumnal colors, the farm@cornerstone will be well-harvested, and we’ll have had at least one frost. I noted this morning that one eager family has already signed up for the first available day!

Most first impressions of Montessori take place through glass. A parent or student teacher schedules an observation, arrives at the appointed time, receives a badge, a clipboard, and a brief introduction, and then heads down a hallway and stops at the first classroom. Observers have heard of Montessori certainly, from friends or a relative, a magazine article, a blog, a lecture, or a textbook. But to many, that is just like reading the recipe without actually tasting the cake. The observers’ scrawled notes afterward are nearly uniform in content:

“I had the great experience of observing a lesson. The children had to display patience and courtesy. They teach so many things through the course of the day.”

  “Children helping each other with their work. Children do work then pick up and return work once completed. Teachers move around and help children if needed. Self-correcting work.”

  “Older children helping younger ones.” 

  “Children are all very calm and happy. Classroom is very beautiful and bright. Kids are extremely well behaved.”

  “I loved that every child was working on ‘hands-on’ activities.” 

  “I love seeing kids conversing and problem-solving together—not being “shushed.” Great cooperation. Lots of imagination.”

  “Everything with purpose.” 

“Good room flow. Teamwork and pairing. Routine and organized.”

  “Teachers kept voices low. Gentle redirection, very good patience.”

  “So many different activities happening at once. Amid all the activity the kids learn and grow.”

  “The children’s independent play—completing a task and then picking it up and putting it away before starting a new activity. The room felt very quiet, calm (no chaos). The children feel free to move around the room from activity to activity.”

  “Soft voices, individual projects and small groups. Clean and organized space. Teachers guide by example. Bright and open classrooms. Education everywhere and focus on learning.”

  “Beautiful classroom!”

To understand a functioning Montessori environment, one must see it in action, with children interacting with Montessori materials and with each other, with direction from Montessori-trained teachers, in a Montessori “prepared environment.” In this way, we can think of Montessori as being a dynamic process and, in fact, a dynamic process that is greater than the sum of its parts. If your child is in a Montessori classroom, you will eventually be found out at your neighborhood barbecue, your Thanksgiving get-together, your Christmas party, or elsewhere, having been asked something along the lines of, “So, what’s Montessori, anyway?” You will find that it is difficult to describe just one aspect of this pedagogy with any sense of completion. Those beautifully designed manipulative Montessori materials? They are certainly fundamental. The integration and crossover of curricula? Well, sure, they are important, too. The interplay of child, peer, and teacher in a carefully prepared environment? Yes, of course that. The elements of movement, the use of the hand? The nurturing of independence, of self-awareness, of self-control? Yes, yes, and emphatically, yes, they are all essential components! The 3-year age span, the developmentally based presentations, the attention to sensitive periods, the long, uninterrupted work periods? Yes, all of these points contribute to the Montessori pedagogy, but none of these points in isolation will do it justice (we can assume here that the person you’ve been speaking to at the party has, perhaps, regretted broaching the subject). A Montessori education is all of these things, integrated in play, in harmony, in success and failure, in falling down, in learning from the spill and trying again, and in growth, for children, parents, and teachers alike. To understand Montessori, you have to first look through the glass and then step through the door.