When Learning Gets Itchy: Embracing the Lessons of Outdoor Teaching

I had combed the area ahead of time for poison ivy and found none, and since it was just one student, I hoped it was in their head. “Try not to scratch. It’ll pass!” I assured them.

But all too soon, one voice became two, then six. Arms reddening, legs covered in hives, middle school faces transformed from fascination into frustrated discomfort.

I had to act fast. I rushed my class inside, wet some paper towels, and had students cover their rashes to cool them. I contacted parents, flagged my principal, and got consent to try an antihistamine lotion—but the nurse didn’t have any. So I found someone to watch over my class, then hustled to the nearest pharmacy and back, Caladryl in tow.

The kids slathered it on, and then…we waited. Minutes felt like hours, but it worked. The rashes began to fade.

I slept tensely that night, faulting myself and anxious that the hives would return. Thankfully the next day, my students were back at school, rash-free. They didn’t blame me, and they begged me to take them outside again.

But I was wracked with guilt. What did I miss? I sifted again through the area where we were working, looking for anything that could trigger an allergic reaction. Stinging nettle? Brambles? Nothing.

I noticed something else, though. Virtually every species growing was invasive. Amur honeysuckle, white mulberry, garlic mustard. I came to the realization that the culprit was likely an invasive pollen my students had never come into contact with before.

Climate change drives the migration of invasive plants, whose pollen triggers stronger allergies than native pollen we are exposed to generationally. The most welcoming soil for invasives is the asphalt deserts near where my school was located. It’s no coincidence that half of my students had some form of asthma or environmental allergies.

You’d think that after this experience, I’d be done teaching outside. But I came to the opposite conclusion. Students need to be allowed outside more often, and beyond just the playground—especially in areas where schools are the only green space.

Here are some steps that teachers can take to support outdoor learning across the educational landscape.

1. Get Outside

The first step is guaranteeing a minimum amount of time outdoors. Early exposure to nature is not only good teaching, it makes students healthier and more confident. Playing in mud and being exposed to biodiverse pollen makes for much stronger immune systems.

In fact, the CDC recommends all schools offer at least 20 minutes of recess a day. But only ten states actually require this, usually just for elementary grades. Kids spend less time outside than they used to, with harmful impacts on physical and mental health.

But teachers can still get kids outside without changing our scope and sequence. Students are great readers under a tree, and a clipboard is all you need to write in the garden or practice math on the lawn. Find a place outside that you can hear clearly and see well. Select an already established routine and pick a day in the week that has predictably good weather. Then, explain to your students that you’re going to try that part of the lesson outside, and set guidelines together. Treat the first time like practice, with ample feedback about how they’re meeting your expectations.

When I first started outdoor education, it was challenging, and felt unstructured. I had to internalize that being outside was a right, not a privilege. After I did it once, however, I was able to ratchet the frequency and duration to my comfort level, and adjust my procedures as needed. You can do the same.

2. Give It Meaning

Second, we should collaborate to make outdoor learning purposeful. I took my students outside again a week after the hives incident. This time, I planned an archaeology lesson with our social studies teacher, tying in the geological concept of superposition.

We dug through a debris pile of old bricks where construction workers were going to lay turf, and after ten minutes, brought our evidence inside. We then analyzed old maps of the area. Students were amazed to discover that our staff parking lot used to be a road that crossed a canal we didn’t even know was still there.

Outdoor instruction can address many learning goals. Consider introducing “author’s purpose”—what an author wants the reader to understand—by analyzing traffic signs, teaching angles by creating sundials, or transcribing birdsong in music class.

3. Take a Stand

Even at schools with quality green spaces, however, teachers are unsure where to start, and administrators often discourage outdoor instruction. My previous school was no exception— the following year, my administration prohibited outdoor lessons without prior approval, and when my colleagues asked, they were denied. At the same time, many schools have cut recess in favor of indoor academic instruction, particularly at lower-income schools.

Educators must advocate for the instructional power of outdoor lessons in our schools. And we should elevate students to join us in this advocacy. As teachers, we expose them to observations, curate informative texts, task them to draw inferences, and cultivate the strength of their voice through writing and feedback.

When my school moved to prohibit outdoor learning, my students were devastated, but we found a way to make an academic case. I worked with the math teacher to develop a project where student teams would compete for a build contract to design a garden shed. The project integrated many challenging math standards—calculating surface area, scaling fractions, creating models, and budgeting materials. But students engaged with each challenge willingly because the task was worthwhile. They also regularly spoke to school leaders about how excited they would be to authentically implement their plans. Thanks to their advocacy, we were permitted to take our learning outside once more.

Every student learns better with an encounter than a worksheet. It’s thrilling, enriching, and fun. As teachers, we have the ability and the responsibility to find ways for students to engage with nature. It may be a bit scary, but I promise it’s well worth the courage.