The preschool enrollment Walnut Creek play yard supposedly exhibits gravitational attraction. Not lying, a little dubious, we walked in and were instantly surrounded by a kid parade. Their feet hit the ground, voices ringing like wind chimes. One volunteered: “I have dinosaur socks!” Want to see our rocket? Another, invisible marker in the air. That created the tone. We all departed with a fever if energy is contagious.

It’s great to see the classrooms not scream “Pinterest.” They tell stories instead. Clipped on laundry lines, faded masterpieces Wooden blocks strewn in the corner caught midway through the tower. It didn’t give a damn about flawless. It felt quite brilliantly lived in instead. Ms. Jenna, the head teacher, welcomed us with hands still covered with stamp pad ink (“Blueberry scented this week. Never again she said, confessing). She started straight in: “We’re about to make moon sand,” without any stuffy introductions. Would be interested in helping? My grown-up intellect wants to examine. The children wished they could squish.

Snack time performed for its own show. Ignore oat milk and twelve-step smoothies. They gave animal crackers and peeled oranges. Children argued noisily, wondering first fruit or first crackers. Politics with crabs. Ms. Jenna converted the argument into a fast counting game. If we split this packet, how many crackers do each of us get? In actual life, the clever technique is genuine math.

From what I understand of the preschool’s ideology, it’s like a tightrope walk. They combine huge amounts of free play with supervised activities such painting, story time, song circles. Not one shadow followed the children. They trusted them to create games, settle arguments, create personal moral compasses.

I saw a puppet missing an eye on a shelf filled with more dings than awards. I originally questioned whether things should be somewhat more shiny. Then I watched a small child slink into the reading tent clutching the limp puppet and recounting amazing adventures involving dragons, a magic pizza, a Cheese Volcano. I understood this. The location showed little enthusiasm for breeding show ponies. It sought children who could transform trash into stories, free-range thinkers.

Drop-off and pick-up timings certainly get erratic. Parents share news; young hands hold scissors; a chorus of “can I show you something?” resounds down the corridor. There is some anarchy, a good bit of paint on shirts, but also laughter and no boredom.

“It doesn’t look like a catalog, but it sure feels like home,” my other guest said. “Leaving,” I had to admit as well. The frenzy is not only noise. This location strikes a genuine resonance. And Hey, the rocket did fly. somewhat somewhat of.