Arcadia Arboretum field notes: what children notice in fall (textures, birds, seed pods)
Sometimes the best curriculum is a grove of old trees and a carpet of leaves. On our recent visit to the Los Angeles County Arboretum in Arcadia, the children moved like small naturalists, guided less by our plan and more by what their senses discovered: the crunch of oak leaves, the chatter of scrub jays, the papery rattle of seed pods tucked along a branch. This post is a field note from that morning—what the children noticed, how we followed their noticing, and why fall is a powerful teacher.
If you’re new to Village Playgarden, we’re a nature-rich, Waldorf-inspired playschool serving young children and their families. You can read more about our approach on our About page, explore our daily rhythm and offerings on Programs, or join our interest list on the Contact page.
Textures underfoot (and in little hands)
The first lesson was under our shoes. As soon as we stepped beneath the canopy, the children slowed, testing the ground with their feet. Dry leaves crackled. Damp patches sighed. A few knelt to run fingers through the leaf litter, holding up treasures: a curled live oak leaf that felt like a boat, a smooth acorn cap, a feather that seemed to float even on a still morning.
At school, we talk about “texture vocabulary”—the way children learn through their hands long before they find the words. Fall is a feast of textures: brittle and velvety, bumpy and slick, spiky and soft. Offering time to feel those contrasts strengthens sensory integration and body awareness. Back in our yard we’ll extend this with a simple invitation: baskets for sorting “crunchy” and “silky,” mortar and pestles for pounding dried petals into “forest spices,” and a weaving frame where found grasses and flexible twigs become patterns. If you’d like to try similar invitations at home, peek at our seasonal ideas on the Blog or reach out through Contact and we’ll happily share a family handout.
Birds as teachers of patience
Our second lesson arrived winged. The Arboretum’s birds announce themselves long before they’re visible. Children pointed toward a scrub jay’s harsh call and then—quietly, so quietly—stood still to see if they could spot it. A few minutes of waiting brought a flash of blue and gray. “There!” someone whispered, and a small circle gathered to watch.
Birdwatching with young children is less about naming species and more about practicing habits of attention: pausing, listening, noticing movement, waiting without frustration. We invite this by modeling a soft gaze and whispering questions: Where is the sound coming from? Does it move or stay still? What happens when we step closer? On the walk back, one child used a stick as a “listening wand,” holding it to the ground each time a bird called, as if collecting sound itself.
These quiet practices ripple into the classroom. During rest time, we might say, “Remember how we waited for the jay? Let’s wait for our breath now,” and the memory lands in their bodies. If you’re curious how we weave nature-based mindfulness into the week, our Programs page outlines our daily rhythm and seasonal songs.
Seed pods: tiny containers of wonde
Of all the things that captivated the children, seed pods won the day. Some rattled like maracas. Others split like little books, pages already turning. One child called a silky pod “a pillow for a baby seed,” and the metaphor carried us into gentle conversations about how plants make and protect new life.
We followed the children’s lead with a simple investigation:
Look: What shapes do you see? Crescent moons, starbursts, tiny boats?
Listen: Do the seeds shake? What sound do they make?
Open: With care, how does the pod release its seeds?
Return: Where shall we return the seeds so the wind or the soil can take it from here?
After exploring, we made a collective “map” on the ground: pods in one circle, opened pods in another, a pathway of seeds leading between. It became a story in objects—how plants travel—told by many hands. For families who want to continue this inquiry, we’ll post a photo sequence and prompt on the Blog next week.
Why fall fieldwork matters
In Waldorf early childhood, we honor the season not with facts to memorize but with experiences to feel. Fall invites a gentle turning inward: the light tilts, textures change, animals gather. When children are given time outdoors to notice these shifts, they’re building foundations for science—classification, patterning, cause and effect—wrapped in joy and story. They’re also rehearsing empathy: if a seed needs a soft bed, what does a friend need when they’re tired?
Fieldwork also strengthens our home-school partnership. Each outing becomes a shared reference point for stories at pickup, for snack time conversations, for a weekend walk in a neighborhood park. If you’d like to join one of our upcoming community walks, keep an eye on our Calendar (we post informal meet-ups alongside festivals and volunteer days) or subscribe to updates via Contact.
Bringing the Arboretum back to school
Back at Village Playgarden, echoes of the Arboretum continue:
A texture tray with leaves, bark, and smooth stones for finger tracing before rest time.
A bird corner with picture cards, feathers found on the ground, and a pair of simple binoculars for “window watches.”
A seed studio where pods rest in little bowls with hand brooms nearby, so children can learn the stewardship of sweeping and returning.
These are small, do-able ways to keep a field experience alive. If you’re considering a program where nature is the classroom as much as the backdrop, we’d love to welcome you. Explore our Programs to see how this approach lives in our daily rhythm, check our Calendar on our Events page for upcoming community days, and introduce yourself on Contact—we’ll reply with visit opportunities and ways to volunteer.
A closing note of gratitude
As we gathered for a snack beneath the spreading limbs of an old tree, a breeze lifted the leaf-litter and carried a few seeds across our circle. The children watched them drift, then dashed to see where they landed, already back in motion. That’s the heart of fall learning: stillness that leads to movement, attention that leads to care.
Thank you to the families and teachers who joined us for this outing, to the Arboretum staff who keep these spaces thriving, and to the children whose noticing turns an ordinary morning into a curriculum of wonder. For more reflections like this one—and for seasonal songs and simple home projects—visit the Blog. If you’d like to see how this approach lives in our daily rhythm, explore Programs or reach out through Contact. We hope to walk among the seed pods with you soon.