When a student is having a hard day at Price Middle, they go to the chicken coop. Not the office. Not the counselor. The coop.
Something about the rhythm of the birds — the warm, the soft, the not-asking-anything-of-you — resets the day. We didn’t plan that. The students did. The farm became a place to regulate, not just to grow.
A third space, exactly as intended — somewhere you can show up and just be.
Teachers know the route now. So do we. Some infrastructure you build on purpose; some of it the neighborhood builds for itself, and your job is just to keep the gate unlocked.