The Lessons Beyond the Classroom

My father had a workroom where he kept all of his camping gear. An Eagle Scout at heart, he kept it impeccably organized: tents, sleeping bags, cooking gear, and other supplies. A small wooden cupboard sat tucked in the corner holding freeze-dried dinners, Tang (“What the astronauts drink!” or so the commercials promised), beef jerky, and mysterious chocolate bars and mint cakes that somehow never melted. My father loved camping, canoeing, and hiking. The outdoors was a welcome respite from his full life as a physician and father of three.

I am convinced he never earned a meteorology merit badge because he somehow always managed to schedule our wilderness trips on rainy weekends. Whether we were trying to row across Maine’s Rangeley Lakes in what felt like a gale or pushing through long slogs on the Appalachian Trail—the torrential downpours were ever present—they never dimmed his spirit. We usually went on these trips without my mother, who was untempted by the prospect of being cold and wet.

Once I entered high school, my participation faded. While my father kept heading into the woods, I stepped back, swept up in a steady dose of teenage angst, weekend athletics, and furtive attempts at a social life. Looking back, I didn't realize those experiences in the woods were already shaping who I was becoming.

That realization is why Virginia Pease’s founding vision for Poly resonates so deeply with me. In 1907, Ms. Pease boldly insisted that as much learning should take place outside the classroom walls as inside them. Her ideas, much like the school’s early architecture on California Boulevard, were revolutionary. Photos from our archives show students working with wood in open-air shops and learning under the sky. To Ms. Pease, books and chalkboards were essential tools, but the real goal was to teach students to learn from each other and the world around them.

A generation later, Mike Babcock pushed those classroom walls even further, expanding them to the mountains, the ocean, and the desert through Poly’s Outdoor Education program. His logic echoed Ms. Pease's: a true Poly education demands an expansive view of where learning happens.

I came to appreciate that same philosophy long before arriving at Poly, through experiences outdoors with my father. He was not one for long soliloquies of advice or overt displays of emotion, yet on the trail or the river, his peace was palpable. Without lecturing us on resilience or self-reliance, he demonstrated it every time he pulled out a dry pair of wool socks or a piece of mint cake from his pack at just the right moment. He let the environment teach.

I see that same dynamic on our Outdoor Ed trips today. Our students might occasionally grumble about heavy packs, leaky tents, or being away from their devices, but out on the trail, when the sun breaks through, or an unexpected ridge opens up to a spectacular view, something shifts. They discover what they are capable of when things don't go according to plan, or the work is hard. Decades from now, they won't remember the lesson plans most; they'll remember those unscripted, shared moments of wonder, perseverance, and discovery. What a gift we give them, and what a legacy to carry forward.