On a recent tour of TSCS, one of our faculty members remarked that we would rather have an imperfect campus that bears the mark of our students and staff rather than an immaculate campus in which everything is outsourced to professionals. I thought about this recently in relation to “the pond” or Pondonata, its technical name dubbed by a 4th grade science teacher (from odonata, the taxonomic order of the dragonflies that make their home there). The construction of this space has been one of the most rewarding experiences I’ve had as a teacher, precisely because it involved so much of our own labor and vision.

The “pond” began as a dry retention basin, mandated by city code to provide drainage for the Kindergarten buildings our school added in the summer of 2023. Whether we liked it or not, the centerpiece of campus was suddenly a 1500 square foot puddle that quickly filled up with trash, PE balls, and undoubtedly, thousands of mosquito larvae. After walking past this eyesore for a few months, a group of teachers came up with a plan to make the space more useful and presentable.

We originally sought outside help. But when a landscaper gave us an unexpectedly high quote for the project, we realized that the only choice was to do it ourselves. Propelled by the tireless work of our grant writer, the plan began to take shape in the Spring semester. First, our high school engineering class spent weeks coming up with a design and then began constructing the pier, which became the focal point of the project. Our gardening classes sprouted dozens of native grass plugs and wildflowers in paper cups. We began loosening and amending the badly compacted soil.

Our budget for the project was small, and the majority of it went towards boulders. When the pallets of boulders arrived on campus—totaling several thousand pounds—we joked nervously that maybe we had bitten off more than we could chew. Also, as it happens, when the boulders arrived, I was nursing a minor injury that prevented me from doing heavy lifting. Fortunately, help arrived from every corner of the school community.

Critically, a TSCS parent generously donated his time and a crane to arrange the boulders into a path across the pond. In Gardening class, a group of 5th grade girls installed the huge boulder steps leading down to the pond, using only leverage and determination. Not wanting to be shown up by the girls, the boys in the class helped build a sled from scrap lumber and a fifteen-foot chain. For weeks, these students would hoist the boulders onto the sled and drag them across the courtyard to the desired location. A cynic might assume that lifting heavy things in the Houston sun would elicit complaints from students. But honestly, my students showed tremendous pride in their work and never complained at all.

Indeed, one of my fondest memories of the project was the way in which random people gravitated to the work. The little kids germinated and planted flowers. One day a PE class joined in the work. On another day, a group of overly energetic 4th graders were granted a short reprieve from class to come outside and do manual labor. On yet another day, our head of school sent me an email, informing me that he would be clearing his afternoon schedule to come move rocks.

There’s more: Once the main work was done, a group of parent volunteers came out in the August heat and laid several yards of river rock around the boulders. Our Parent Guild has spent hours this year weeding and planting the area. One family connected to the school donated money for a path around the pond. Another TSCS family member made the benches from oak trees that fell during Hurricane Beryl.

The pond has now become an unlikely focal point on campus, constantly bustling with the buzzing dragonflies and the laughter of students. It needs maintenance and will continue to evolve. It‘s certainly not perfect, but we did it ourselves; it bears the mark of our students and staff. And there’s something to be said for that.