Building Swine Castles in the Wild Classroom

Teaching Lord of the Flies presented a distinct challenge, largely due to the fact that numerous students struggled with the novel’s intricate themes and its dense, formal language. The sophisticated vocabulary and 1950s style of storytelling did not resonate with my inner-city students, hindering meaningful discussions and critical engagement. To address these difficulties, I introduced clips from contemporary programs like Survivor alongside various interactive group tasks, which effectively animated the novel’s striking characters and intense conflicts. Among these, my favorite group activity involved students building shelters from "natural" resources, then subjecting the huts to a simulated tropical storm they created themselves with a giant fan and multiple squirt bottles.

In the initial years, I asked students to construct their shelters at home and then assessed their work individually. Although they approached the task with enthusiasm, it failed to ignite a genuine interest in the novel. Despite the activity’s good intentions and its hands-on link to an event in the story, the lack of collaborative challenges or real-life context led students to treat it merely as a routine assignment instead of an engaging exploration of the novel’s themes. This insight underscored the need to integrate more interactive and social components into the project to effectively encourage and inspire students to engage deeply with the material.

Since South High is encircled by concrete, students were asked to collect natural materials such as twigs, leaves, straw, and bark from their homes or local parks to bring into class. Using these gathered items, they constructed small shelters reminiscent of those depicted in the novel. This experimental project bridged the gap between the rustic environment described in the story and the students’ real-world experience, while also promoting collaboration, creative problem-solving, and an appreciation for nature’s offerings. Through building these miniature shelters, I aimed for the students to deepen their comprehension of survival techniques and the cleverness necessary to create secure refuge in the wilderness, thereby transforming the literary experience into something concrete and unforgettable.

Upon arrival with their materials, I promptly divided the students into teams to encourage cooperation and inventive thinking. Each group was assigned the challenge of designing and assembling their own huts from the supplies they brought, which immediately sparked enthusiasm and teamwork. Observing them gather in close discussion, exchanging ideas, and distributing responsibilities was truly motivating: some groups drafted plans on paper, while others tested various methods to ensure their structures were stable and well-connected. The variety of strategies was intriguing—some opted for straightforward lean-tos, while others pursued more elaborate designs. This tactile exercise not only nurtured communication and problem-solving skills but also empowered the students to take pride in their work, making both the creative journey and the finished huts deeply fulfilling.

Once the students had meticulously built their miniature shelters, we moved to a table situated at the back of the room to evaluate their durability. To replicate the severe weather conditions described in the novel, we directed strong blasts of wind at each tiny structure using an industrial fan, observing closely how they endured the strain. While some shelters flexed and groaned yet remained intact, others teetered precariously or even gave way, providing important clues about their design’s resilience and flaws. To further enhance the experiment, we sprayed the shelters with water from squirt bottles to imitate rainfall and assess their resistance to moisture. This test uncovered surprising weaknesses—certain absorbent materials quickly became drenched, whereas others effectively resisted wetness. Throughout the activity, my students cheered each other on and laughed together as their shelters braved the simulated storm. This engaging experience brought us closer and turned learning into an enjoyable adventure.

Evaluating the structures was a simple process, guided by an easy-to-follow rubric. Each team was required to build a hut with a door large enough for a Lego figure to pass through. They were not allowed to construct the hut around the figure; instead, the Lego person had to be placed inside the completed hut once it was moved to the back table. After activating the fan and starting the water spray, we began a thirty-second countdown. Once time expired, we assessed each hut based on these standards:

·       The hut remains standing and the Lego people stay dry = A

·       The hut remains standing but the Lego people get wet = B

·       The hut leans and is close to collapsing = C

·       The hut collapses and the Lego people are gravely injured = D

·       The group fails to build a shelter and the Lego people are killed by the beastie = F

In a whimsical yet meaningful gesture referencing the eerie motifs of Lord of the Flies, I presented the victorious team with an unusual prize: a roughly cut paper pig’s head taped to a popsicle stick. By earning this unique trophy, the winning group received a vibrant symbol of the story’s lasting influence, making their triumph both memorable and rich with literary significance. The "extravagant trophy", along with their hut, was left on display for all my subsequent classes to admire. I aimed for this distinctive award to both honor their achievements and inspire reflection on the novel’s profound examination of humanity, power, and chaos. It delighted me when my younger students inquired about the book, eagerly anticipating the chance to read it as seniors.

When the Covid lockdown abruptly shifted traditional in-person teaching to online learning, my students responded with imaginative and heartfelt participation by presenting videos of their homemade huts being tested at home. These projects quickly became the most enjoyable part of our virtual lessons, as each student crafted distinctive designs that showcased their creativity and grasp of architectural concepts. Listening to them describe the construction process, justify their design decisions, and prove the sturdiness of their huts not only added enthusiasm to the digital classroom but also nurtured practical skills, resilience, and a profound sense of achievement during an otherwise difficult period. Among these, my favorite was a life-sized hut built in a small backyard, carefully excavated into a hillside and topped with tree branches bound together with twine. Smaller branches were layered on top and secured with mud. Though the student lacked a fan large enough to test its stability, he sprayed it with a hose, and the water effortlessly ran off, leaving the interior dry. The structure was truly a sight to admire.

Reflecting on the journey, it’s clear that adapting teaching methods to include hands-on, collaborative experiences transformed how my students engaged with Lord of the Flies. The shelters were no longer just props for a novel; they became tangible symbols of survival, cooperation, and the power dynamics so central to the story. More importantly, these creative assignments fostered a classroom culture where students felt valued, confident, and invested in their own learning.

As in the novel, where the adolescents must confront the unpredictable forces of nature and human nature alike, my students faced their own challenges — physical, academic, and emotional. Together, through shared effort and innovation, they built not only huts to withstand a storm but also the skills and resilience to navigate the storms in their own lives. This experience reaffirmed for me that education thrives best when it bridges the gap between literature and lived experience, transforming abstract themes into lessons that resonate long after the final page is turned.