Twenty-seven third graders slouched against a wall of the building in the center of Hogs Head Island. This group was my first class and like any good first year teacher, I planned and tried new things. A field trip that began with a boat ride on a Friday in June in Massachusetts seemed like a great idea. We’d come to the small island in search of flowers and plants to connect with one of my science units.

The locked building provided a desperately needed four-foot swath of shade from the June heat. After an hour boat ride, wading from the boat over a rocky beach, and hiking in waist deep grass on the so-called trail we decided to rest for lunch.

I sat down and opened my brown paper bag. I found a spot a few yards away from the kids. They kept their spirits up, but the trip hadn’t been the fun day I’d planned for them. Hopefully the ice cream that awaited us back at school would somehow make up for the hot, sticky and prickly hike.

Peanut butter and jelly some chips and a much needed bottle of water filled my bag. My feet rested against the crumbling cement walkway and I could feel the heat rising from it. I grabbed the water and plunked the bag down. After a long drink, I pulled my sandwich out of the bag. I opened the wrapper and noticed an ant zigzagging over it. I brushed it away and then noticed that there was a bunch of ants crawling around my lunch bag. I swatted them away.

Just then a noise erupted from the end of the building. Kids were popping up like popcorn. One frantically brushed at her shoulders and back. I went over to help. The commotion grew as one by one, the kids bounced around getting rid of the ants in their pants—literally.

After shaking and brushing ants from each other, we leaned against the wall, and munched anything ant-less left in lunch bags. I took a bug box from my bag of tricks and we checked out our crawly friends. Not the science unit I had planned, but insect review couldn’t hurt anything, right?

The sun climbed higher in the sky and our shade oasis dwindled. We’d have to set out to get back to the boat in time. We all cleaned up and I carried the trash bag. Alex was the last to get into line. I stopped to wait for him. He carried a package in his hands. I went over to him to see what he had.

“What’s that, Alex?”

“It’s my antwich,” he replied simply.

This story is dedicated to my first class. They taught me so much.