Indian Clay

What smells?! I feel like I asked this question about a hundred times today, but never got any closer to finding a suitable answer. At afternoon circle, during the Feelings unit that Harald was teaching this month, he asked the four-year-olds to talk about a time they remembered feeling frustrated. “I felt frustrated today when Campbell took my Indian clay,” said Ella. Ah, Indian clay…our kids get so territorial about the stuff! They dig and dig in the sandbox for the elusive dark, iron-rich material that is valued like gold to them. There is little to go around, and today Ella really wanted to lay claim to excavating the buried treasure. But Campbell had beaten her to it. Harald listened patiently…but in the deep recesses of his nostrils, he too began to smell it…something just wasn't right. “Let me see this Indian clay,” he said to Campbell, who was holding a small piece in her hands like a prized possession. After careful examination, he exclaimed in horror, “This isn’t Indian clay, this is cat poop!” At first, she couldn’t take in the words. But slowly, her face began to shift to a deep shade of crimson as she realized what she’d been coveting was in fact some feral cat’s droppings – a gift left in what amounted to his or her own personal litter box. Only one face looked happy now: Ella had the distinct beginnings of a small, four-year old smirk appearing across hers. Indian clay will never hold the same charm and power in the South Class after today.