Expeditionary Learning vs Traditional Public School: What I Learned Switching My 5th Grader
The oatmeal crumbs were sticking to my 10-year-old Jax’s sweater when he looked up from his worksheet and mumbled, “My stomach hurts again.” It was the third Tuesday that October, and the third time that month we’d missed the bus because of that same line. A year earlier, that line had been a daily occurrence at Jax’s neighborhood traditional public school. Back then, I’d spent hours scrolling late at night, toggling between “why is my kid always tired before school” and “Expeditionary Learning vs public school: is it worth switching?”
At Jax’s old school, his teacher told me at parent-teacher conferences that he was bright, just unmotivated. He daydreamed through reading, rarely turned in homework, and distracted the kids sitting next to him. I left that conference crying in the parking lot, convinced I’d failed at teaching him to care about school. When we got a lottery spot at our district’s expeditionary learning public program a few months later, I jumped at it, even though it meant a 20-minute longer drive every morning and carpooling with three other kids.
The first month threw me for a loop. There were barely any worksheets sent home, no weekly spelling tests for the first six weeks, and the big math unit was planning a 5th-grade camping trip. Jax was in charge of calculating how much water the group needed, based on 2 liters per person per day for three days, for 12 people. He came home complaining that the other kid in his group wanted to cut back on water to fit more s’mores supplies, and they spent an hour debating the numbers at our dinner table. Halfway through the argument, I realized he’d done a dozen multiplication and fraction problems without even asking for my help. That was something he’d refused to do for homework the year before.
It hasn’t all been smooth, though. Last month, Jax spent six weeks working on a watershed project: his group tested water quality at the creek near our neighborhood park, interviewed a park ranger, and presented their findings to the city parks commission to ask for more trash cans near the water. He came home with a B- because he misplaced 17 commas and misspelled “sediment” three times. He threw his report on the kitchen table and said, “No one cares about my commas when we’re trying to stop trash from getting in the water that fish drink.” I had to agree with him, but I also stayed up that night worrying: what happens when he takes the SAT, when he needs to write a college essay? Will this hands-on style leave him gaps in the basics that he can’t catch up on later?
I’ve talked to a dozen other parents since we switched, and almost all of them ask me which is better: expeditionary learning or traditional public school. The answer I give them isn’t the one they usually expect. It’s not that one is inherently better than the other—it’s that they’re built for different goals, and different kids need different things.
If you’re trying to decide for your own kid, I tell them, don’t just look at state test scores online. Go visit the school, and ask three specific questions that will actually tell you what you need to know. First, how much time do kids spend each week working on projects that connect to people or places outside the school building, versus doing worksheets or test prep? Second, how do teachers adjust grading when a kid understands the big idea of a lesson but struggles with small skill work like spelling or basic math facts? Third, what does a typical daily schedule look like for a kid who gets overwhelmed by open-ended work? These questions will tell you more than any glossy website or open house speech.
If you can’t switch, or switching doesn’t make sense for your family, you don’t have to upend your life to bring the best parts of expeditionary learning home. If your kid is learning fractions at their traditional public school, have them plan the next family road trip budget or double your favorite cookie recipe. If they’re learning about ecosystems, have them count the types of plants in your backyard and write a short note to the city about adding native flowers to the park down the street. It takes 20 minutes a week, and it connects the random facts they’re memorizing at school to something that actually matters to them.
My next door neighbor has an 11-year-old son with ADHD who tried the same expeditionary school last year. He hated the open schedule, the constant group work, the lack of clear daily routines. He went back to the neighborhood traditional public in January, and now he thrives with the consistent structure and explicit daily lessons. Expeditionary isn’t some magic fix for every kid, and traditional public isn’t automatically bad for every kid.
This morning, Jax left for his second creek testing trip, his waders slung over his shoulder, a crumpled list of test supplies sticking out of his pocket. He left his spelling flashcards on the kitchen counter, and I haven’t reminded him to study for Friday’s quiz. I still have bad nights where I lie awake worrying that he’s falling behind on the basics that will matter when he gets to high school, when he applies to college. Last week, the parks department approved his group’s suggestion to add three new trash cans and a sign about not dumping pet waste near the creek. Jax taped the confirmation email they sent him to the fridge, right next to his C spelling test from last month. I look at both of them every morning, and I still don’t know if we made the perfect choice. But I know he hasn’t had a stomach ache before school in eight months, and that counts for a lot more than I ever expected it to.
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