I was dropping my friend Sarah’s daughter off at school last month when I accidentally took a wrong turn and ended up in the basement hallway of Roosevelt Elementary. Honestly? It felt like walking into a nuclear bunker. Fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, beige walls stretching forever, and this weird stagnant feeling in the air that made me want to immediately turn around and leave. But what really got to me was seeing all these eight-year-olds shuffling through that space every morning, looking about as enthusiastic as I feel during my Monday morning team meetings.
That’s actually how I ended up hearing about Maria Santos and her underground classroom situation. Sarah mentioned that her friend taught third grade in the basement level and was basically losing her mind trying to keep twenty-six kids engaged in what she described as “educational solitary confinement.” I’d been writing about biophilic design for a couple years by then, mostly experimenting in my own apartment and reading everything I could get my hands on about how spaces affect our brains, so I reached out to see if I could help.
When Maria first called me, she sounded genuinely desperate. “I’ve tried everything,” she said, and I could hear the exhaustion in her voice. “Colorful posters, bean bag chairs, I even bought one of those essential oil diffusers until the principal made me get rid of it because apparently lavender is a ‘safety hazard.'” She laughed, but it was one of those tired laughs where you’re not really finding anything funny.
The first time I stepped into her classroom, I understood why she was struggling. No windows – which I’d expected – but also these horrible buzzing fluorescent lights that made everything look vaguely green and sickly. I’d been reading about how artificial lighting affects cortisol levels and attention spans, and spending just twenty minutes in there, I felt like I needed a nap. If I was having that reaction as an adult, I couldn’t imagine what it was doing to a bunch of third-graders who had to spend six hours a day in there.
But here’s the thing – I’m not a professional designer or anything. I don’t have any formal training in educational spaces or child psychology. I’m just someone who got really into this stuff during the pandemic and started noticing patterns everywhere. Like how certain coffee shops make you want to stay and work for hours while others make you anxious to leave. Or how some offices feel energizing while others drain your soul. There’s actual science behind why spaces make us feel certain ways, and most schools just completely ignore it.
I started researching everything I could find about classroom environments and learning. There was this fascinating study from Texas A&M about how even fake nature views can improve kids’ attention spans, and another one showing that full-spectrum lighting can reduce behavioral problems. I found articles about how certain plants can actually clean indoor air – not just decoration, but functional air purification. None of this was expensive or complicated stuff. It was mostly just understanding what humans need to feel good and then figuring out budget-friendly ways to create those conditions.
The lighting was my first priority because I’d experienced firsthand how awful those fluorescents were. I spent weeks researching LED systems that could mimic natural circadian rhythms without breaking the school’s limited budget. What I found was this programmable LED panel system that gradually shifts color temperature throughout the day – cool blue-white in the morning when kids need to be alert, warming to neutral white during active learning time, then softening to warmer tones in the afternoon when everyone typically crashes.
Getting the administration to approve it was… an adventure. Lots of meetings where I had to explain why spending money on lighting made sense when they needed new textbooks and playground equipment. I brought printed copies of research studies and before-and-after photos from other schools that had done similar upgrades. Finally convinced them by emphasizing that better lighting could reduce sick days and disciplinary issues – stuff that actually costs them money.
The change was immediate and kind of shocking. Maria texted me after the first week saying the usual post-lunch zombie hour had basically disappeared. Kids were staying alert during afternoon lessons instead of melting into their desks. She’d had three students who complained about headaches almost daily, and those complaints stopped completely. I mean, it makes sense when you think about it – we wouldn’t expect adults to be productive under crappy lighting, so why do we think kids should just adapt?
Next came air quality, which was trickier because I had to work within all sorts of safety regulations. I’d been reading about NASA’s research on air-purifying plants (yeah, NASA studies houseplants – space stations need clean air too), and I picked out species that could handle low light while filtering common indoor pollutants. Snake plants because they’re basically indestructible and produce oxygen at night. Pothos for removing formaldehyde from building materials. Peace lilies because they process ammonia and benzene – stuff that’s common in older buildings.
The unexpected bonus was watching how the kids responded to having living things in their space. Maria started incorporating plant care into math lessons – measuring growth rates, calculating how much water each plant needed. It wasn’t forced or artificial; the plants naturally created these learning opportunities. Plus, I noticed kids being gentler with each other when they were responsible for taking care of something alive. There’s probably research on that somewhere, but I just observed it happening.
Water was the biggest challenge because schools are paranoid about anything that could potentially cause slips or spills. After a lot of back and forth with the administration, we settled on this small tabletop fountain with a completely enclosed system. It’s maybe eight inches tall, bolted to a corner table, with a pump that circulates water through smooth river rocks. The sound is barely noticeable, but it creates what I’d read about as “acoustic masking” – basically, gentle background noise that helps kids focus instead of getting distracted by every footstep and door slam in the hallway.
That acoustic improvement was something I hadn’t fully anticipated. Before the fountain, you could watch kids’ heads snap up every time someone walked by or closed a locker. Their attention was constantly being pulled away from whatever they were supposed to be doing. The water sound created this subtle buffer that let them concentrate more deeply. Maria said it was like watching them settle into their work in a way they’d never done before.
For natural materials, I convinced the maintenance staff to let me bring in a few pieces of cedar – nothing fancy, just some boards I’d found at the local lumber yard and sealed with child-safe finish. I made them into reading surfaces and quiet work areas. I’d read about studies showing that touching wood reduces stress hormones, but honestly, you didn’t need research to see how differently the kids interacted with these surfaces compared to the standard plastic desks and metal chairs.
The most dramatic change came from what I called “fake windows” – large photographs of local forest scenes that I mounted with LED backlighting to simulate natural views. I’d read about this Texas A&M study showing that even simulated nature views can improve attention and reduce mental fatigue, so I figured it was worth trying. I chose images from Forest Park since it was nearby and familiar to the kids, and I made them seasonal so Maria could swap them out throughout the year.
About three months after we’d finished everything, Maria sent me an email with the subject line “YOU ARE NOT GOING TO BELIEVE THIS.” Her class’s standardized test scores had improved by 18% compared to the previous year. Same curriculum, similar student demographics, same teacher – the only variable that had changed was the physical environment. But the test scores barely captured what was really different.
Kids were calmer, more collaborative, and could focus for longer periods without getting restless. Maria reported way fewer behavioral disruptions and noticed that her anxious students seemed more regulated. Parents started commenting at pickup about how much their kids enjoyed being at school, how they talked positively about their classroom for the first time.
The whole project cost $2,847 – I kept receipts because I was curious what this kind of transformation would actually run. The PTA contributed $1,200, the district had a small sustainability grant that covered another $800, and I managed to source some materials through vendors I’d connected with through my blog. When you break that down per student over a school year, it’s like $8.50 per kid per month to create an environment that measurably improved their learning experience.
What really got to me was watching other teachers start hanging out in Maria’s room during their breaks. Not for meetings or planning sessions – just because the space felt good to be in. During faculty meetings held in her classroom, conversations were more focused and productive. Teachers would linger afterward, clearly reluctant to go back to their own sterile environments.
The administration noticed. They’ve approved similar modifications for two more classrooms and are exploring building-wide lighting upgrades. More importantly, they’re starting to understand that classroom environment isn’t just about making things look prettier – it’s about creating conditions that support how kids’ brains actually work.
I’m not saying every school needs a complete overhaul or that these changes are some kind of magic solution. But what happened in Maria’s classroom reinforced something I’ve seen over and over again: small, strategic interventions based on understanding human biology can make huge differences in how people function in spaces. Better lighting, cleaner air, natural materials, water sounds, nature imagery – none of this is rocket science or expensive technology. It’s just paying attention to what humans need to feel good and then finding affordable ways to create those conditions.
Every kid deserves to learn in a space that supports their developing brain instead of working against it. When we stick children in windowless boxes with fluorescent lights and stagnant air, we’re not just missing opportunities – we’re actively making it harder for them to learn and thrive. The encouraging part? The solutions are way more accessible than most people think. You just have to know what to look for and be willing to try something different.
Jeff writes about bringing bits of nature into everyday living spaces — not as a designer, but as a curious renter who experiments, fails, and keeps trying again. He shares what he’s learned about light, plants, and small changes that make big differences for real people living in ordinary apartments.
