One of the things I love most about teaching writing is that I get to help students learn how to use sensory language.  Sensory language just means that writers are telling about what they see, hear, touch, smell, and taste. It’s a skill that takes a lot of practice because it’s not something we really think about when we talk to others. Sometimes we might say, “I heard a loud noise!” or, “that tasted terrible.” Authors who are skilled at sensory language can really draw a reader into the story and make the reader feel as if they were there. 

Even if you are not a writing teacher, sensory language can be a valuable tool to help students engage with the world around them. Paying attention to what we take in with our five senses can enrich our experience. At the same time, doing so helps reduce anxiety and helps focus our brain. Applying sensory language to all kinds of topics is a great way to help students engage more deeply in their learning.  Imagine if students could write a sensory language description of a battle, geologic event, science experiment, personal experience, the process of making art, or doing a sport.

Something my students struggle with is getting away from the phrases, “I saw,” or “I heard,” and others.  Typically students start with writing about their own experience, and it’s a process to get them to move toward stating what is truly happening so others can experience it without having to go through the “I” of the narrator.  The narrator is not the focus—the sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and touches are the focus. 

Let’s say I’m describing the incredible experience of being an IditaRider at the Ceremonial Start of the 2024 Iditarod, which was my immense privilege and joy to take part in as part of my job as Teacher on the Trail today.  My gracious host on the back of the sled was Josi Thyr, a musher from Idaho who handled for Aaron Burmeister and trained with Jessie Royer, both of whom are also in this year’s race. The sled I rode in today was made by her grandfather.  

Instead of saying, “I heard,” I’m going to tell about the sound: “The barks and yips of dogs filled downtown Anchorage with a riotous chorus.” In this sentence, “the barks and yips of the dogs” is the subject, and then the sentence describes what the sound is doing. Here’s another example: “The movement of the sled gently jostled up and down.”  The movement is doing something interesting in the sentence. Because of the way the sentence is written, the reader can place themselves right into the experience. John Muir, 19^th century explorer, traveler, and protector of wild spaces, was a master of this kind of writing.  

I hope I’ve given you many great reasons to use sensory language in any class you teach. I think it’s a wonderful way to think and to write. Here is my experience of being an IditaRider today.

Fellow Teachers on the Trail Erin Montgomery, Linda Fenton, and Jim Deprez and I left the Lakefront Hotel while the sun was still giving the sky a milky glow. Our boots crunched on the snow as we hurried to the staging area in downtown. Once there, dog trucks rumbled in, and the scent of smokehouse barbecue wafted into our noses. Josi, bib 22, was unmistakable in a bright orange jacket and black coveralls. Her handlers, J.J. and Michaela, greeted me with warm friendly tones. As the morning lengthened, the streets swarmed with visitors, sponsors, volunteers, and dog handlers. Snippets of conversation floated on the crisp air. Josi rigged her sled carefully, twining the brightly colored ropes and lines to the correct places. She flapped out her white bib–number 22–and laid it across the sled, along with a black parka, its fur ruff wispy in the freshening wind.

Josi hooks lines to the sled. Photo: K. Newmyer

Then dogs appeared out of Josi’s truck—brown, white and black spotted, tan, their fur thick and heavy. The dogs were large, muscular, and with affectionate brown and blue eyes. Some leaped for affection, some waited, still among the commotion, and one crawled under the dog trailer to wait patiently, its smirking face barely visible. Josi and her team carefully sorted cherry-red harnesses for each dog, then wiped paws before placing a blue bootie on each foot. She gave quick instructions in her gentle, high voice. Finally it was time to sit on the smooth plastic seat of the sled, tuck fleece blankets around my legs, and settle myself against the carved back. I was suddenly viewing the world from the same perspective as Tide, Admiral, Seabiscuit, Royal or Spears, canine athletes of Josi’s team.

Each time a dog leaped up, banging to go in its harness, the secured sled jolted forward. The announcer’s deep voice reverberated across the city blocks. One bit at a time, the sled moved forward, whooshing across the snow, until we reached the starting chute. A swarm of camouflage-wearing holders leaned over the sled, their faces bright in the sun, animatedly talking and laughing. “Three, two, one, GO!” the announcer boomed and at the same time, Josi’s sweet voice said, “ready, all right!” to the dogs and we were off. Furry tails bounced in my vision, the crowd cheered, and cold wet tears of joy streamed down my face.

Through the streets of Anchorage we went, slowing briefly at the sharp right-hand turn at 4^th and Cordova, where Josi leaned into the turn and sailed past the crowds. Only briefly did the dogs have to be coaxed through a dark, round culvert, and on the other side, the sun shining with snowy peaks in the distance, we began the journey out of town to the airstrip where the Ceremonial leg of the race would end. Along the trail, spectators cheered excitedly and clapped, bells clanging. A Rice Krispy treat dropped into my lap and Josi handed me a box of Girl Scout Cookies to hold. A foil-wrapped hot dog appeared in my side view, but I couldn’t catch it with my hands swathed in giant mittens.

Returning down the runway at Campbell Airstrip. Photo: K. Newmyer

Through the quiet of the snow-covered bike trails we went—the rhythm of the dog’s feet going before us. Evergreen trees dripping with white snowfall loomed around us, and the sun peeped through the branches. Smoke from a campfire drifted on the air. The dogs nipped at bites of cold fresh snow along the trail. All too soon, the trail emptied out onto the wide, bright tree-lined trail on Campbell Airstrip.  Dots of people came into view, with more and more figures appearing at the side of the trail, yelling Josi’s name. I blinked back more tears of joy that I had gotten to experience this wonderful event. In a matter of moments, I was back with my smiling friends and thanking Josi for the ride of a lifetime.

Email me with your descriptive sensory language at emailtheteacher@iditarod.com.