You may have seen a video that shows a view of the Earth from far away in the Solar System, then gradually zooming into our home planet, getting closer and closer. As the camera view whooshes toward the Earth, we can start to discern familiar landscapes and places we can name. Then the camera might rush right toward our own town, neighborhood and home, getting as close as a blade of grass. When teachers deliver content, we need to be intentional about the depth perception we are giving students. My experience of the Iditarod throughout my life is a great model for this.

For example, if we start at the Solar System level, that might represent a person’s very hazy view of the Iditarod. They might or might not have ever heard of it.  Then as we zoom toward the Earth, the Iditarod comes closer, but mostly as a reference to Balto or Togo that we might have picked up from popular culture, a Hollywood movie, or a book our teacher read to us in elementary school.  These views of the Iditarod, and other subjects you want your students to learn, are still very superficial. We know what it is, but we are not connected to it through our emotions or senses.

If we zoom into the Earth further—say we are able to pick out North America—this could represent familiarity with the Iditarod to the extent that students have read an article about it.  They know it is in Alaska, involves dogs, and perhaps even when the Iditarod takes place.  It’s possible that students have even seen pictures of it or checked out a book about sled dogs from their school library somewhere along the way.  The level of learning at this depth is still pretty basic—it’s where I was as a kid. If you want students to be connected and willingly engage with the content, we have to zoom in further, all the way to Alaska.

Chugiak Mountains from the Dena’ina Center in downtown Anchorage, where the Musher Banquet was held. Photo: K. Newmyer

When we see the outline of Alaska and are able to pick out mountain ranges, rivers, and inlets, it’s then we are getting a level of detail that we can hold onto with our minds.  The scenery of the Iditarod becomes much more intriguing.  This level of engagement with the subject matter could be like that of a race fan, someone who follows the Iditarod on social media during February and March or has even been to Alaska and visited Iditarod headquarters in Wasilla—my depth perception in 2018. It’s at this point that a lot of teaching stops. We’ve taught the content, given our quiz, and it’s time to move on.

Our camera should move even closer to the Iditarod, to the checkpoint level. The trail this year winds through twenty-four checkpoints. Some are readily accessible, and some are remote. Ten checkpoints have a population fewer than 100 people, and of these, four have a population of zero. Being on the ground at an Iditarod checkpoint is a memorable experience. I arrived at Yentna station, pop. 8, just after sunset of the Jr. Iditarod. Dogs yipped and howled, visitors bustled in and out of the lodge, and after supper, I got to be outside under a full moon as the Jr. mushers arrived.  Getting students to experience the content you are delivering at this level means you will need to use a strong engagement strategy, such as Socratic circle, debate, gallery walk, scavenger hunt, story building, analyzing data, or anything that gets students thinking and evaluating deeply.

Within the checkpoints, we can zoom into individual Iditarod dog teams. At the banquet tonight, mushers drew their bib numbers out of a furred mukluk, then picked up corresponding dog tags.  Many mushers in this year’s race are familiar to me from past years of following them. Some mushers I met for the first or second time at the musher meet & greet just before the banquet. You can really get to know a musher by visiting his or her kennel and taking a tour—part of the Iditarod Education Winter Conference. You can ask questions, have conversations about dogs and training, and see the operation firsthand. These stories can’t be gotten any other way.  Consider doing reader’s theater, reenacting historical events, writing using descriptive techniques, hands-on experimentation, or engaging in the design-engineering process.

I got to meet musher Sean Williams, who has a connection to my hometown. Photo: K. Newmyer

Once you’ve reached this level of intimacy with your content, it’s possible to go further. I like to think of this as forming a bond with a sled dog. This has happened to me twice while visiting Iditarod racing kennels, and no doubt will again. This deep level of emotional involvement in a content area happens when students are asked to evaluate motivations, explain experiment results and their impact on people’s lives or the environment, write persuasive letters to real recipients, visit sites or the outdoors, examine artifacts, and have guest speakers come into the classroom.  As a teacher, you are facilitating the connection between content and emotion, generating lasting learning.

Georgia from Turning Heads Kennel. Photo: K. Newmyer

What is the result of this way of teaching? I hope you’ll indulge me as I take this metaphor all the way to its logical conclusion: students will always carry the pawprint of your impact.

What are ways you give your students depth perception? Email me at emailtheteacher@iditarod.com.