Held in the Hand: Touch, memory, and meaning in the Montessori environment

Touch as a Way of Thinking

When I selected the materials available for the children, I was deeply attentive to how they feel. I was drawn to the multitude of qualities and textures that speak not only to touch, but also to sight and sometimes even smell. Silk scarves offer smoothness and a cool temperature; felted baskets and figurines provide fuzzy warmth; crocheted cotton balls bring a bumpy, comforting softness. There is wood—tinted and textured, painted and smooth. The coolness of clay, the yielding softness of playdough. Treasure baskets filled with glass, shells, fir cones, loofahs, and so much more.

These materials invite the child into a rich sensorial dialogue with the world. Touch is never isolated—it is layered, relational, alive.

The Hand and the Mind

We cannot think about touch without thinking about the hand. Maria Montessori spoke extensively about the intimate connection between the hand and the brain, challenging the hierarchy that places abstract intellect above embodied, experiential cognition.

In his book The Hand, neurologist Frank R. Wilson expands on this idea, emphasizing the significance of manipulation and intuitive, embodied knowing as essential to complex and integrated learning. He draws on compelling examples—from musical virtuosos who depend on a refined lightness of touch, to mountaineers whose success relies on the surest grip.

The hand appears to access a form of knowing that does not stand apart from intelligence, but rather informs and collaborates with it. Thinking happens through the body.

You might wonder how all of this relates to caring for babies and toddlers. Magda Gerber offers an eloquent answer when she advises us to provide children with objects they can do things with, rather than objects that do things for them. This distinction honors the child as an active explorer and meaning-maker.

As Wilson writes:

“The desire to learn is reshaped continuously as brain and hand vitalize one another, and the capacity to learn grows continuously as we fashion our own personal laboratory for making things.”
—Frank R. Wilson, The Hand: How Its Use Shapes the Brain, Language, and Human Culture

Experiencing Treasure Baskets

A few weeks ago, I was fortunate to attend Georgina Hood’s Treasure Baskets workshop at the Montessori Conference in Chelmsford. It was a beautiful opportunity to revisit this concept—not just intellectually, but experientially.

What stood out most was the intentionality behind the curation of objects. The tactile experience was never isolated; it was interwoven with natural oil scents, the awareness of temperature, and visual delight. Each item held a quiet invitation to slow down and attend.

At the end of the workshop, we collaboratively created a transient art piece by placing a favorite object into a designated space. This mindful ritual felt grounding and deeply connecting. It prompted reflection on the richness of experience a baby encounters when given freedom of movement, sensorial exploration, choice-making, and belonging within a community.

Georgina’s delivery was profoundly intentional, creating a refined and almost spiritual atmosphere. As a practitioner, I felt deeply moved to be surrounded by mentors and inspired to carry forward the legacy of pioneers such as Elinor Goldschmied.

Memory, Touch, and Meaning

One of my most vivid childhood memories is climbing into the loft of a barn where my grandmother stored wheat. I would immerse my feet and legs into the bronze grains—their gentle pressure enveloping my skin, the coolness of the wheat contrasting with the blazing summer heat. Nearby, the scent of hay mingled with all these sensations.

Touch is a joyful, grounding way of connecting with the world—but it is also a way of thinking.

Reflecting on an exhibition featuring Montessori materials alongside the design work of Bruno Munari, architect and art director Fabio Fornasari beautifully articulated this idea:

“Touching something carefully is a way of thinking, not just of seeing. We don’t bring the object itself back home with us; we bring back the gesture that we learned through our tactile exploration of such object.”

Perhaps this is what we offer children when we honor touch: not just experiences, but gestures of knowing—memories held in the body, shaping how they relate to the world long after the moment has passed.