It Was More Than Just a “Pet Day”.

What We Created Together at the Renaissance School

Celebrating “Pet Day” — Fall 1998

Fifth-grade students at Renaissance Charter School in Eagle Point, Oregon

Photographed on film by Shannon Bruce Ramaka

Warm memories of the Renaissance School are never far from me, and this photo is an iconic one. So much led up to it—and followed—that it is difficult to capture briefly, but this now feels like the right time.

Though the school and multi-age classroom of approximately fifty students across grades 5–8 only operated for one year, the learning and relationships impacted all of us deeply. I have always appreciated what we created together, but it has taken me 26 years—and the experience of living and teaching in seven different countries—to return to it with a broader perspective and clarity. I now feel ready to reflect more deeply on what was realized in such a short time. It was a visionary school and curriculum, ahead of its time, with stories that feel especially relevant today.

We had been reading about the Sudbury Valley School of the 1960s in Massachusetts, and the concept of students making decisions about their learning and directing their daily schedules resonated deeply with us. At the same time, we were responding to the students in front of us. In Southern Oregon, it didn’t seem right to have children who didn’t want to go to school.

Our students were, for the most part, those who were not finding success in traditional settings—those who didn’t like school, who struggled within it, or who were labeled “gifted and talented” yet still didn’t fit within mainstream classroom experiences. In many ways, we were creating a fully inclusive classroom before we had the language to describe it.

There were no specialists or administrators. It was simply Katherine Leppek and me, responsible for the entire group. We were supported by a remarkably organized and dedicated classroom assistant who also served as our secretary, and by a deeply committed community of parents. They contributed in countless ways—bringing vegetables from their gardens for shared meals, reading one-on-one with students, offering their talents as guest artists, and helping us build a library and create curriculum materials.

It was a passionate, collaborative community built around a shared belief in a holistic, arts-integrated vision of education, captured in our motto: “More like life and less like school.”

However, when we visited another school in Oregon operating within the free school philosophy, we came to believe that, in 1998—and with what we were beginning to understand about neuroscience and student development—we needed to find a balance between complete freedom of choice and thoughtful encouragement to explore new ways of learning. We wanted students to learn how to make choices, to build confidence in making healthy, meaningful decisions, and then to expand those choices into broader areas of their lives and learning.

Learning at the Renaissance School took many forms. Students moved fluidly between projects, performances, reading, building, cooking, and collaborative work that often crossed traditional subject boundaries. They helped design activities, organize events, and contribute meaningfully to the daily life of the classroom—planning exhibitions, coordinating performances, and even proposing events such as “Pet Day,” where each student could bring an animal to share with the community. These experiences were not separate from learning—they were the learning. What we were cultivating was a strong sense of ownership, responsibility, and confidence that extended well beyond any single activity.

We began each day with a 20-minute “family circle,” where we introduced the agenda, revisited previous studies or events, and opened the floor for ideas, suggestions, and concerns. In many ways, the classroom functioned as a shared governance model, with students actively participating in decisions and direction. One of the first events they chose to plan was Pet Day.

Being housed in the basement of a church presented some challenges. We wanted to be respectful of the space, but once the students’ enthusiasm took hold, it was nearly impossible to contain. That is how a horse and cart arrived one day from a ranch twenty minutes away in Trail. There were also kittens, a bird, and a lizard. Even now, thinking back on that day brings a sense that when we genuinely listen to students’ ideas and guide them in working collaboratively, the possibilities can expand far beyond what we might expect.

Sara was one of the students in this photo, and I was delighted to reconnect with her by chance after her high school graduation in June 2007, just before I left to teach in Zambia. She was as radiant as ever, and I was eager to hear about her life—whether she was still playing the violin, what paths she was choosing, and how her time at the Renaissance School may have stayed with her. We spoke about our shared experiences of traveling to Japan—hers through modeling, mine as a chaperone for the Showa Mura homestay program with a group of ten students.

I asked if she would be willing to write a reflection about her experience as a fifth-grade student at the Renaissance School, with the hope that one day I might be able to reflect more fully myself and share these stories. She graciously agreed. Her words, written years later, capture something essential about what we created together—and what endured:

When I think back to the Renaissance School, I remember how different it felt from any other school I had experienced. It wasn’t just a place where you went to learn—it felt like a community where everyone belonged. There was a sense of safety there. Nobody was teased or bullied, and no one judged you for who you were.

It really did feel like one big happy family. Everyone supported each other, and that made it easier to try new things without being afraid of failing.

I remember being very shy at first, especially when it came to performing. I didn’t think I would enjoy being on stage, but once I tried it, I realized how much fun it could be. That experience gave me confidence that I didn’t have before.

We learned in so many different ways—through plays, music, art, and hands-on activities. I felt like I learned more there than I ever had before, and the things we learned stayed with me. Even now, I still remember some of the songs and lessons from that time.

What made it special was that we had freedom, but we also learned how to be responsible with that freedom. We were trusted to make choices, and that made us want to do the right thing.

Every school I went to after that, I compared it to the Renaissance School. It set a standard for what learning could feel like—and nothing else ever quite matched it.

—Sara, former Renaissance School student

Finding and reading her words now, after decades of them being saved in a file, I see that what we created was not just a different way of learning—it was a special way of being together. The structures, the projects, and the daily rhythms all mattered, but what endured most was the sense of belonging, trust, and possibility that students carried with them long after that one year ended.

This still amazes me.