What I learned from the first classroom trial
My first classroom trial taught me that telling a story, even with questions and answers woven through it, might not be enough to leave a lasting impression of forest restoration.
The Narratelica sustainability series has always been guided by one hope: that readers and viewers can absorb knowledge slowly, in an atmosphere that feels comfortable, safe, and warm.
That is why we do not use shocking images or frightening videos. We do not want children to remember environmental issues only because they were scared.
But if I chose not to rely on powerful stimuli, what else could I do to help the idea stay with them?
One word came to mind:
Make it tangible.
Folding a forest into their hands
I was back in Taiwan for a holiday and did not have access to a 3D printer, so I could not make the teaching objects I might normally have brought into the classroom.
Instead, I returned to something I had loved at university:
Origami.
I folded leaves, fruit, small animals, and other paper forms that could stand for the forest and its ecosystem.
They were not merely decorations.
I wanted them to become visible, touchable, memorable clues in the lesson. They could help turn the relatively abstract process of forest restoration into concrete images.
If a forest was no longer only an illustration on a page, but something that could be placed piece by piece in front of the children, perhaps they would understand more easily:
A forest grows slowly from many small lives and many small parts.
Walking into the classroom a second time
My second classroom visit gave me the chance to bring what I had learned from the first lesson into my teaching. It also allowed me to try the story with younger pupils.
There was one more interesting detail that day.
It was raining heavily.
And did the picture book not happen to explain what can occur when torrential rain falls on land without adequate soil protection?
The weather could hardly have been more cooperative.
I guided the class step by step, following the lesson I had rehearsed so many times in my head.
When the story reached the heavy rain, I pointed towards the window and asked the children to look outside.
At that moment, the rain in the story was no longer merely story rain.
It was right outside.
The children could see it and hear it.
When the story became tangible
Perhaps the paper figures helped make the idea more concrete. Whatever the reason, the children participated eagerly this time.
They did not simply listen. As I brought out the leaves, fruit, and small animals, they used them to imagine what was happening in the forest.
Forest restoration was no longer contained in the phrase “planting trees.” It could be unfolded into plants, soil, water, animals, and human effort. The children seemed better able to feel how many layers the work involved.
Their enthusiasm was unmistakable when I read the feedback forms after class.
They had understood not only why forest restoration matters, but also how difficult it can be.
One response stayed with me in particular. A child wrote that they had already adopted a tree.
That answer meant a great deal to me.
It showed me that the class had offered more than a period of storytelling. It had connected with experiences and actions that were already part of the children’s lives.
Leaving the screen for a while and working with our hands
After the lesson, many children gathered around me.
They wanted to talk about the class, but they also asked whether I could teach them origami.
That was one of the things that made me happiest.
Children now grow up surrounded by screens and digital devices from a very early age.
I am not opposed to those devices. Narratelica itself includes an app, audiovisual content, and digital tools.
But if my lesson can spark a little curiosity about something entirely handmade, something that can even feel quiet or mildly tedious at times, I consider that an honour. For a while, a child steps away from the screen, moves their hands, and slowly turns a flat sheet of paper into a three-dimensional form.
To me, this has something in common with sustainability education.
Both require patience.
And both ask us to trust that small actions can gradually accumulate into something meaningful.
From the classroom back to collaboration
After the second lesson, I brought the experiences from both classroom trials, together with the origami pieces, back to my adviser for Rukai language and culture.
That exchange mattered to me.
This picture book had never been mine alone.
The story, the details of forest restoration, the cultural perspective, and the use of the different language editions all needed to be discussed, revised, and confirmed between collaborators.
Because we shared our thoughts, observations, and experiences from the classroom so openly, the storytelling event we later held in the mountains became especially rich and lively.
Would you like to know what we did there?
I will tell you in the next instalment.