Pedagogist: Gloria Albarracin

Educators: Megan Becker, Lyndsay Spencer, Zezhang (Dara) Wang and Sara Wittig

Children: Jack, Melody, George, Sarah, Theodore, Ivonne, Gloria, Masson, Travis, Emily, Angela, Laura, Emilia*

With support from ECPN leadership team – TK Hannah, Meagan Montpetit & Veronica Pacini-Ketchabaw

Living and working in Canada, a nation marked by complex histories of immigration and dispossession, I remain committed to reflecting on how visible and invisible differences shape our understanding of who and what belongs in a place. My role as an ECPN pedagogist in northern BC invites me to critically reflect on how our practices in can resist normalized discourses and open more complex ways of relating to the land and its human and more-than-human inhabitants.

In my collaboration with an early childhood centre located in a college campus, the educators and I focus on cultivating connections with the human and more-than-human world we live with. These relationships extend beyond merely sharing space together, deeply engaging with questions of visibility, difference and belonging in our interactions with the place, materials, and other living and non-living beings. Our work emphasizes creating intentional spaces where these questions are thought about and worked with in everyday moments.

The following moments narrate collective engagements between children and their surroundings, as some mysterious footprints in the fresh snow capture their attention, inviting the children, educators, and I into playful speculation about an “invisible chicken” inhabiting the space. The wonderings about the invisible chicken becomes a connection point, encouraging the children to deepen their engagement with the place. As children share ideas and follow clues to find the invisible chicken, the boundaries between the visible and invisible blur, opening new ways of encountering the world and sparking curiosity, attention, and shared experiences.

Following the footprints ignites conversations about belonging and challenging preconceived notions of the more-than-human world. As the children trace the tracks through place, their ideas about where animals belong and how these animals might look surface, prompting deeper reflection. The children rethink established familiar ideas of the more-than-human world, co-creating new ways of seeing, relating to, and engaging with place  

An Invitation to Pause

On a walk on a chilly morning, we find intriguing footprints in the fresh snow that instantly draw our attention. Children excitedly follow the footprint trail, which leads to a small hole in the snow. Pausing at the hole, we speculate about how the mysterious marks were created. 

Jack says, “Look here. What are these marks?” as he points to the marks on the snow.

Melody: “Those are critters’ footprints,”   

George: “Let’s follow the footprints; maybe there’s a critter here.”   

Jack: “I found an animal cave. We need to dig to help the baby critter; he’s stuck.”.   

Sarah: “No one is stuck here.” 

Jack: “Yes, you can help me dig to save him.” 

Jack: “He doesn’t want to come out.” 

Theodore: “The critter is out. I see his footprints.” 

Melody: “Those are chicken footprints; it’s a ginormous chicken.”   

Theodore: “Yes!” 

Collective Thinking  

The educators and I bring a photo of the footprints, inviting children to continue to think with the footprints. We gather around a table, revisiting the photos and notes from our walk and sharing memories and theories from our encounter with the “ginormous chicken” footprints. The children enthusiastically speculate about the unseen animal—why it might be here and why we can’t see it. As their theories unfold, tensions emerge, with some disagreeing about the nature of the animal.

Melody: “The chicken is hiding. We need to find her.”   

George: “The chicken is not from this world.” 

Melody: “Yes, they are from this world!”

George: “No! Animals just live on farms.” 

Melody: “No, I have seen animals here.” 

Ivonne: “Yes, bears come to my house when they are hungry. Maybe the chicken is hungry.” 

Melody: “Maybe the chicken is hiding because she is trying to protect her babies.” 

George: “The chicken is invisible.” 

Gloria: “How do we find something that is invisible?” 

George: “We can see its tracks.” 

We bring campus site plan, and we invite the children to wonder about where the invisible chicken might be hiding. Excitement builds as we gather around the site plan, and the familiar campus landmarks become visible. The children’s fingers trace these familiar landmarks—the playground, parking spaces, greenhouse, and amphitheatre—while we imagine possible hiding spots for the invisible chicken.

Ivonne: “This is the front playground.”   

Masson: “Here is the igloo,” referring to the greenhouse dome.

Melody: “The chicken is right here in this barn. He’s there, and he took the other chickens to be its babies.”   

 

Masson: “The chicken went here,” pointing to the parking space near the amphitheatre. “He’s hiding his babies to protect them.”  

Melody: “Maybe it’s hiding here to keep them safe.”  

George: “Maybe the chicken is scared of us.” 

Melody: “Maybe we can find him and tell him he is okay.”

 

As we continue to imagine ways, we might find the invisible chicken, Travis eagerly suggests making a map.  We gather around the table once more, this time with site plans, graphite pencils, and tracing paper in hand. Theodore focuses on drawing to map out where and what happened in our first encounter with the footprints.

Theodore: “We saw the footprints leading up all the way here.  

Here is the slide; the chicken’s feet were right over there.  

And then the chicken went all the way here.  

And then I was going, going, going, but the chicken went to the parking space. 

And then Jack! he was right here digging for animals.” 

 

 

Children on the opposite side of the table  plan and map a route for our next walk. As the children draw the path, they debate where to go next and how to find the mysterious, unseen chicken. Horizontal, vertical and diagonal lines mark the parking lot near the amphitheatre, while wavy lines represent the snowy hills where footprints were found. They draw a circle for the greenhouse, visible through the window, and as they sketch a route connecting the greenhouse to the amphitheatre,

Theodore: “We need to go to the other side of the igloo.”   (referring to the dome of the greenhouse located next to the center’s building)     

Travis: “Yes, we have to ask Dara (the teacher)  if we can go to the parking space on the other side.” 

George: “We need to take this map outside.” 

Melody: “Yes, so we know we have to go to the other side of the igloo.” 

With maps in hand and excitement bubbling, we set out to find the invisible chicken. The familiar sidewalk toward the amphitheatre becomes a new landscape as the children, guided by the sketches, we notice previously unseen details in the place we inhabit. The signs they created—lines, shapes, and paths—invite a deeper connection to place, and together we contemplate the question: “How can we find something invisible?” 

Theodore: “Look, they have security cameras.”  

George: “I see two more.”  

Sarah: “Maybe we can see the invisible chicken on the cameras.”  

Theodore, George, and Sarah’s observation sparks a wave of curiosity. As the children consider the idea, Melody shares her thoughts: 

Melody: “The invisible chicken is hiding; we can’t see it.” 

The group nods in agreement, echoing her idea with a collective “Yes.” 

Now fully immersed in the speculation, the children consider how we might find the elusive chicken. Melody enthusiastically suggests: 

Melody: “We call it, ‘caw, caw.'” 

Theodore proposes, “We look for clues.” 

When arriving at the amphitheatre, the children break into small groups and scan the snow and surrounding area for signs. Traces in the snow, small and big holes and tracks, hint that the invisible chicken could be nearby. With every noticing of these traces, new theories emerge about the chicken’s life and its places to hide. 

Ivonne: “Look, I found chicken clues.” 

Melody peers over intrigued. “Maybe they are chicken footprints.” 

Ivonne shakes her head, kneels in the snow, and traces three lines with a gloved hand. “No, these aren’t chicken footprints. My daddy told me chickens have three toes.” 

Melody glances at Ivonne’s drawing in the snow, nods thoughtfully, and then walks over to a group of children gathered in the corner of the yard, seemingly searching for something. 

George calls: “Look! I found a cave.” 

Travis: “Maybe the invisible chicken lives here.” 

George: “No, this is where the invisible chicken hides.”  

Melody: “Here is where it hides its babies.” 

Travis: “They need more space. We have to make the hole bigger.” 

Theodore: “Yes, let’s dig it.”

As the children dig the hole bigger, we continue speculating about why the chicken is invisible. 

Ivonne: “Maybe he does not want humans to see him.” 

Melody: “Yes, and he just comes out at night.” 

On the following week, we return to drawing and continue thinking about why we can see the chicken. 

Masson shares his idea: “The chicken is inside an egg, and that’s why we don’t see it.” 

Emily offers another thought, “Maybe it’s under a blanket.” 

Masson adds, “Or it looks different.” 

Intrigued by Masson’s idea of difference, which suggests we may not recognize things if they appear differently than we expect, we decide to engage with drawing to think about what an invisible chicken might look like. 

Angela: “It has a big head and long legs.” 

Emilia: “It has just a head with one big eye. “ 

Laura: “I think the chicken has a square head, feet with three toes, one long arm with four fingers and one short arm with three fingers.”

Melody, who has been attentive to her classmates’ interpretations of the invisible chicken, exclaims in disagreement. 

Melody: “No, that’s not how a chicken looks.”  

Considering her previous experience and knowledge, Melody draws a chicken with familiar characteristics. 

Melody: “Chickens have a tail, wings and a beak.” 

The children continue to draw, weaving aspects of familiarity and difference into their drawings.  

Angela: “These are chickens with spiky hair.” 

Theodore: “This is a family of chickens. The dad chicken has a mustache like my dad. They are in jail; that is why we cannot see them.” 

As a pedagogist committed to thinking about the consequences of ab/normalization, this field note narrates collective thinking difference beyond human-centric identity, prompting us to wonder about the mattering of thinking about difference with the more-than-human inhabitants we live with. 

The idea of an invisible chicken opens an invitation to deeper questions of belonging. Who belongs in this space, and what might exist here beyond the boundaries of visibility? The encounter with mysterious footprints meets preconceived notions of what a chicken’s tracks “should” look like and sparks a meaningful dialogue about difference. What if the chicken defies our expectations? For some children, this becomes a captivating invitation to imagine the unique possibilities that a chicken might embody. For others, they cling onto normative assumptions of embodiment as they grapple with the collective speculation of difference.  

This inquiry, sparked by our collective curiosity about the invisible chicken, allows us to grapple with ethical questions of visibility, difference, and coexistence. The pedagogical moves in this field note invite us to expand our understanding of the world by attending closely to the traces and presences—visible and invisible—that cohabit this place.