Imagine a hot summer day next to the waterfront—the kind where heat shimmers off the pavement and all you want is a breeze. Now picture a field full of kids completely unfazed by the temperature, because they’re too busy arguing over crab anatomy or sketching out their dream coastline. This summer, we spent our days at YMCA Castle Hill in the Bronx running summer camp sessions. Without the pressure of bells and strict schedules, our sessions turned into something more relaxed—and honestly, more personal. We weren’t just visiting educators. We were part of their summer, sitting with them during activities, laughing at their jokes, and watching their curiosity take off in ways we don’t always get to see during the school year.
We covered a lot of ground with our usual waterfront and climate curriculum. There were fish identification scavenger hunts that sent kids running around the field, arguing over fins and colors. We passed around a bucket with live fiddler crabs and mussels, watching hesitant fingers slowly reach in to touch their shells. We studied horseshoe crab anatomy up close, tracing the curves of their shells and analysing how little they’ve changed over millions of years. We built marine ecology food webs, stringing
yarn between students as they connected predators and prey, until the whole room was tangled in a web of relationships. And we ran a real-life scenario game where kids had to make tough calls about climate, community, and infrastructure—debating flood barriers, weighing costs, and arguing for their chosen solutions. It was the same important content we always teach, but summer camp gave us the freedom to deliver it differently, turning lessons into experiences they wouldn’t forget.
What made this experience stand out was how much we leaned into games, art, and design. Instead of just talking about a resilient coastline, we handed out sand and craft supplies and asked them to build their own waterfront model. Instead of a lecture on ecosystems, we turned it into a scavenger hunt. We set up a mural project where kids could paint their vision of a healthy harbor. Some painted realistic scenes; others went completely wild with it. Either way, they were thinking about the waterfront on their own terms.
That flexibility made a huge difference. We had kids who normally tuned out during lectures suddenly come alive when they had markers or chalk in their hands. We had quiet students who found their voice during the scenario game, arguing passionately for green infrastructure. We spent a lot of time just sitting with them, answering questions, and watching them take ownership of their creations and learning. By mid-summer, they weren’t waiting for us to give them instructions anymore. They were
testing their own ideas, talking to each other, and getting excited when something clicked.
The most rewarding part was seeing how much they grew over just a few sessions. On day one, a lot of them said they would never touch a crab, or they didn’t know what “resiliency” even meant. By the end, they were throwing around terms like “brackish water” and “riprap” like they were experts. More importantly, they knew about the ecosystems that live in the water and had opinions on how the city should protect its coastlines.
We left Castle Hill with tired voices and ink-stained hands, but we also left with something more valuable — a renewed sense of why we do this work. Watching a kid become a horseshoe crab expert, or seeing a team of students proudly present their resilient waterfront design, reminded us that education doesn’t always have to look like a classroom. Sometimes it looks like a bunch of kids around a table, covered in ink and glue, arguing about the future of their city and environment. And, that’s exactly how it should be. Summer camp showed us that when you give kids the space to be creative and the freedom to explore, they don’t just learn; they lead.
