Make A Volcano

Pin It

In my mind, nothing exemplifies a good old fashioned activity with the kids more than making rock candy and building a volcano. Since I already tried (and failed) at rock candy, I figured that it was time to build the consummate science fair project. As to the fact that I’ve never built a volcano before, I was slightly ashamed (or more appropriately, embarrassed) that I didn’t actually know how to construct the thing. I had a general idea of putting papier-mâché onto a mound with a hole in the middle.

When I started thinking about the practicalities of two children creating a sizeable mound with wet and slimy paper, I realized that I would either need a bunch of paper or something to put it on. Then a coworker suggested that I use chicken wire because it can be easily molded into any shape.

Then there was the mouth of the volcano. I figured that I would use a yogurt container because we, as a household, use at least a dozen a week. Then there was the papier-mâché. I couldn’t remember exactly how to make this important ingredient; all I could think was water and flour.

As it turns out, there are many variations. Some suggest that one uses glue as an ingredient. I thought that this was odd. Papier-mâché is essentially a kid-friendly and natural paste or glue. What is the fun in using a product for making something that ends up being that product? It’s like trying to make a cake from scratch and using boxed cake mix as an ingredient. As it turns out, flour and water is sufficient.

My original plan was to have the kids be part of the entire process of the volcano-making, including shopping for the components. Leigha asked me why I didn’t take them to their pre-school while I went shopping. Then I started to think about any time that I’ve taken the kids in a store that doesn’t have a cart that is shaped like a car, or big enough to hold both of them in seats. Or a place that doesn’t have free samples of cookies, crackers, cheese or some sort of food.

I imagined their crazy switch simultaneously. I envisioned going to a hardware store and asking an employee where the chicken wire was and turning around just in time to see them run around off in opposite directions. Then finding one of them hiding underneath a table saw. Or Emery going into a notorious time that she decides that she doesn’t like me anymore.

I don’t want to paint a picture or depict my children as bad or that they often misbehave. In fact, quite the opposite is true. They are generally well-behaved children but they are three and four years old and I can’t realistically expect them to be good at all times. Plus, you have to plan for the worst and expect for the best. My dad once told me that Leigha is a genius of practicality and I can only agree. Needless, to say, I took Leigha’s advice.

On V-day, I reminded the kids that I was going to pick them up early from school.

“I know dad, you already told us,” Tate said. Then he made a fist and pumped it into the air, doing a little jump, “Yes! Volcano!” Then he ran into Emery’s room and repeated the same the announcement. Then I heard her say, “I know, Dad already told us.”

After I dropped the kids, I went to Theisen’s, a giant farming/hardware store nearby. I was immediately immersed in an unfamiliar world. I walked past the work boots and overalls, past the aisle of products that help you cure the meat that you’ve killed and make your own sausage or jerky. Past the gun section and through the horse section filled with saddles and bridles alike. In the fencing section, I found a six-foot roll of chicken wire for $3. Perfect. When I got home, I realized that wasn’t sure how to cut the wires. So went to the basement and started to dig through our toolbox. While I refer to it as our toolbox, I had nothing to do with the purchase of neither the box nor most of its contents.

I found a pair of pliers and cut two sheets of the chicken wire to overlap and form a mound. This left fifty sharp little edges that needed to be folded back on themselves. An hour and a half later, I finally had a reasonably sharpless mound with an empty water bottle poking through the top. I was also a proud owner of a bunch of tiny lacerations across my hands. It was at this point, that I was really glad that the kids went to daycare. But now I was finally ready to get started.

When I picked the kids up from daycare, the place was abuzz with volcano talk. When I walked into both of the kids’ rooms, I was bombarded with volcano questions from the other kids. Tate stood in front of me, facing the other children with his arms outstretched as if he was protecting me from paparazzi. At this point, I hadn’t shared with the kids any of the processes. They didn’t know how we were going to assemble it or how it would work in any way, they merely knew that we were going to make a volcano. As much as he would have like to answer the questions, Tate didn’t have any of the answers yet.

At home, we mixed the flour and water and covered the kitchen table with paper. We took a fat Sunday newspaper and started tearing it into strips. We dripped these into the wet papier-mâché and laid them across the chicken wire. It didn’t take long to realize that it would take the paper a while for the paper to dry and harden. Our hands were covered with goop that we freely dripped on ourselves and the table alike. Emery kept looking at me with a smile and telling me, “This is a good project, Dad.”

This was the exact moment that I was hoping for in these projects; the affirmation of cool and educational. Because of the former, I was allowed the later. It is called an eruption when lava comes out of the volcano. When you mix vinegar and baking soda, it creates a chemical reaction, causing them to bubble.

At this point, we had to shelve the project, until it dried. In the morning, it was still wet, so I put it outside in the summer heat to bake while the kids were at school. By the time they got home, it was ready to be decorated. I was surprised how hard it had gotten. As it turns out, people have been using papier-mâché for centuries for this exact reason. In ancient Egypt, they used it for coffins and death masks. In the 18^th century, Europeans used it to manufacture trays, chair backs and strengthen structural panels. In the US, during the civil war, soldiers used small pieces of winged papier-mâché on their bullets or shots that would disintegrate when it hits the end of the barrel of the gun called sabots. These papier-mâché sabots were used to raise muzzle velocity. But these days, papier-mâché is really only used in mask-making, floats, theater and crafts.

I let the kids decorate the volcano however they wanted. They used markers, crayons, colored pencils and paint. Unfortunately, we had to wait for the paint to dry, too. For those of you that are thinking of doing this activity, I recommend using either white paper, or if you use colored paper, only using one color if you plan on decorating in this way. It was bit too hard to see what the kids were drawing, over the print and pictures of the newspaper.

The next day, when it was finally ready for eruption, I filled the bottle with vinegar, a bit of red food coloring, and a touch of dish soap. This adds a bit of viscosity to the bubbles and keeps them from popping as quickly. We took the volcano outside on the patio table and added the baking soda. I can’t honestly say that the volcano erupted, spilling over is a more appropriate description.

Tate got really excited and kept saying, “You’re so cool, dad!” I was glad that he was so happy, because I was honestly a bit disappointed with the eruption. Then I reached underneath and squeezed the bottle. The bubbles shot up and poured down the mound and onto the table. “WHOA!” both kids really liked that. In fact, they liked it so much that they wanted me to take the volcano to school and show the other kids.

So that is exactly what we did. I came after naptime and was assailed by questions from children from both of the kids’ classes. Tate once again resumed his role as liaison between me and the other kids. I deferred questions to him to reinforce what he had learned. “It’s called an eruption,” he said matter-of-factly. I laid the volcano on the ground and the kids crowded around it. Tate ensured that he and Emery had a clear view of the next showing. The kids were proud of what they had built and excited to show it off. I was proud to be part of this. It wasn’t just the volcano, itself, that was on display. They were excited to be showing off their dad that helped them make this fun project. I was also proud of the fact that they had embraced more than just the fun aspect of making the volcano; they embraced the educational aspects, as well.

“My Dad’s really cool,” Tate said, turning around to smile at me. I smiled back at him, fully aware that this time is limited, and I am more than willing to embrace all of the time that my kids still think that I am cool and want to share me with their friends.