Give me windows or give me death!!!

In the models of education we have been viewing lately. I noticed, specifically with Finland, that in the facilities shown every classroom had windows and lots of them.  This may simply reflect an architectural aesthetic, Scandinavian Modern likes windows, but I would like to think it goes deeper than that.  For me personally, environment drastically influences my ability to learn / produce.  In point of fact, I am currently ensconced in the luxuriously-appointed Cedar Grove room of the Commons precisely because of its large windows, comfortable furniture, and clean modern feel.

            At any rate, I couldn’t’ help comparing my own classroom to the Finish examples.  Before I go into detail, I should premise my observations by first saying that I am privileged to work with an outstanding staff and an administrative team that consists of student-centered practical-minded individuals who value teachers and give autonomy where desired and support where needed.  With that out of the way, the building is possibly the most institutional-feeling, sterile, poorly planned structure I have ever had the displeasure to spend time in.  A super-max prison would be more inviting.  Coeur d’ Alene High School is really an amalgamation of several originally-freestanding buildings connected by a series of hallways and passages erected over time by haphazard construction projects.  The end result is that the overall layout of the building is much like a cinder-block corn maze, and most classrooms have been surrounded by newly-constructed hallways and thus have no windows.  My own classroom literally has no natural light whatsoever.  It feels very much like I would imagine a prison cell would feel, a impression not lost on my students either.  Outside, it could be 90 degrees and sunny or 25 degrees and snowing, yet my classroom remains a eternally-placid 70-degree cinderblock cell illuminated by that shadow-less unwavering fluorescent glow.   I HATE teaching in this environment; I can’t imagine my students feel much like learning in such an inhospitable place. 

            As far as what I can do about this situation, I have gone far out of my way to make the classroom feel as inviting as possible by hanging bright pieces of original art on the walls, bringing in some of my own lighting, and even placing a rug on the floor.  Not a bad effort if I do say so myself.   I do get comments from teachers and students all the time to the nature of, “Oh, it feels so homey in here,” but at the end of the day, it is still just a decorated jail cell for all intents and purposes.  In the interest of my student’s learning, (ahem… awkward eye shift…)I sometimes find myself wishing that a certain teacher, one who is a notoriously poor instructor yet who has homesteaded in a rare windowed classroom, would quit or be fired so that I could make a bid for his window.  Short of knocking a hole in my wall, I’m not sure what else to do.  When the weather is nice and I have student-centered projects going on, I take them outside every chance I get. 

            I should mention that it’s possible I have more baggage than most in this area because in my previous career as a log home builder, I spent every day outside.  I would argue, though, that there is something about sunlight in the morning, about the first snowflakes of the year falling on the still-green grass, about shifting fog, about the way rain runs down glass, that is also necessary.  To miss these events is to miss essential tenants of the human experience, and if being able to see that first snowfall doesn’t impact test scores directly, perhaps it impacts student’s attitudes about school, about themselves and their relationship to the natural world, and that has value too.