by Bob Flasher
Isn’t experiencing life through personal discovery, cooperative challenges, and self-directed learning more enjoyable and exciting than listening to a recitation of facts, no matter how interesting those facts are? Since the unfortunate advent of No Child Left Unscathed—or is that No Child Left Behind?—many nature and history interpretive programs have begun to teach to state standards.
Experiencing the lake instead of drowning in factoids.
This switch to teaching standardized facts instead of interpreting, discovering, and encouraging children to experience life firsthand often helps teachers justify the class field trip. In this manner, the current neurotic concern for teaching to standards is not only negatively impacting schools, but our interpretive efforts as well.
Freeman Tilden, the father of interpretation, defines this art as “an educational activity which aims to reveal meanings and relationships through the use of original objects, by firsthand experience, and by illustrative media, rather than simply by communicating factual information.” Three of his six principles of effective interpretation remind us that:
- information alone is not interpretation; interpretation is revelation based upon information.
- the chief aim of interpretation is not instruction, but provocation.
- interpretation addressed to children should not be a dilution of the presentation to adults, but should follow a fundamentally different approach.
We need to ask ourselves whether we are simply intending to impart information and dry facts or whether we seek to create ecological and historic awareness and appreciation, transform lives, and possibly even save the Earth.
Tilden reminds us that “perhaps it is truer to say that interpretation is a program of re-education. We have let ourselves forget our need for direct experience and appreciation of beauty. It is the duty of the interpreter to jog our memories.” To have real historic sites and natural areas at our disposal and not use them to provide firsthand experience and opportunities for discovery is a tragic waste.
Resisting Imparting Factoids
We must resist the focus on memorizing factoids and take the braver course of action. We can be inspired by others who have pointed the way toward more holistic and powerful ways of learning. Tatanga Mani, a Native American of the Stony Tribe, spoke to Americans in the 19th century:
I learned to read from school books, newspapers, and the Bible. But in time I found these were not enough. Civilized people depend too much on…printed pages. You know, if you take all your books, lay them out under the sun, and let the snow and rain and insects work on them for a while, there will be nothing left. But the Great Spirit has provided you and me with an opportunity for study in nature’s university—the forests, the rivers, the mountains, and the animals which include us.
Steven Van Matre describes the problem similarly in his landmark book Acclimatization:
It appeared logical to teach nature study by asking the student to commit to memory the name of everything within reach. Thirty leaves, 30 insects, and 30 wildflowers became the hallmarks of the outdoor educated child. To say this bordered on idiocy would be kind. What do we care if a student fails to remember the name of a wildflower? Does he remember its fragrance, the texture of its leaves—does he know where to find it and what lives in its community? And does he know not because someone told him he should know, but because for him it is a thing of enjoyment and beauty?”
Van Matre then gives us a prescription for the cure:
There is an alternative to these time-honored methods which have fallen just short of being disastrous. We can help students acclimate themselves to the environment, to understand it on its own terms and merits. Let’s subject each student to the most sensory experiences imaginable, with all of our senses in total operation.”
Rachel Carson points out in The Sense of Wonder that “children need a sense of wonder so indestructible that it would last throughout life, as an unfailing antidote against the boredom and disenchantments of later years.” And what better place to promote a sense of wonder than in the constantly changing, evolving, and stimulating outdoors? All we need to do is to make sure that we don’t put too many words between students and firsthand experience.
Creative fun outdoors—the antidote to nature-deficit disorder.
As Rick Van Noy reminds us in A Natural Sense of Wonder, “Outside lie stories to unfold, miracles to witness, hardships to overcome, fears to stare down, people and animals to meet—life in its full range of experience.” I believe that we need to keep asking ourselves whether listening to our words is as valuable as providing a direct experience. If we are being honest, I think our answer is “No.”
Techniques or True Experience?
What techniques would be more effective than simply imparting information verbally? This question presupposes that a technique is the solution. But what if Parker Palmer is correct in The Courage to Teach?
In the training of therapists, there is a saying: “Technique is what you use until the therapist arrives.” Good methods, in other words, can help a therapist understand a client’s dilemma, but good therapy does not begin until the real-life therapist connects with the real life of the client. [Similarly], technique is what teachers use until the real teacher arrives.
This implies that we not only need to know our subject matter, understand visitor interests and learning abilities, and have some techniques up our sleeve, but that we also must take a close look inside ourselves to see what makes us tick, what we enjoy the most about life, and how we can best share that with others. Who we are, what we truly care about, and whether we are willing to communicate that are as important as what visitors learn about nature or history.
Parker Palmer puts it like this: “The most practical thing we can achieve in any kind of work is insight into what is happening inside us as we do it. The more familiar we are with our inner terrain, the more sure-footed our teaching—and living—becomes.” Palmer encourages us to share our love of nature or history by immersing ourselves in it and encouraging students to jump right in as well. We must find ways to share our enthusiasm and interests with visitors to help them learn and enjoy doing it.
An important part of this is to re-familiarize ourselves with what we enjoyed about learning the most. Our most exciting times were probably not when we were listening to someone talk for 45 minutes. Many of us enjoyed lunchtime and recess more than class time. We enjoyed our physical abilities and the exhilaration of running wildly about, or simply talking animatedly with friends. We discovered where we fit into life socially. Don’t current students and adult visitors enjoy learning similarly?
The Options
I’m sure we are creative enough to devise more interactive ways to interpret. Using as many of the five senses as possible is a good start. Playing simulation games that illustrate environmental principles is another exciting way to involve visitors. Forming small groups in which participants discuss issues among themselves, help each other explore, or solve a riddle can transform what might otherwise be a lecture format. Providing a living history experience involves students more fully than simply looking at historic artifacts. Active participation can inject life and energy into learning.
In Last Child in the Woods: Saving Our Children from Nature-Deficit Disorder, Richard Louv shows how far we still have to go:
Nature-deficit disorder describes the human costs of alienation from nature, among them: diminished use of the senses, attention difficulties, and higher rates of physical and emotional illnesses. Nature-deficit disorder can be reversed: We can become more aware of how blessed our children can be—biologically, cognitively, and spiritually—through positive physical connection to nature.
Let’s make connections that are more powerful than standardized, memorizeable, testable curricula.
Bob is a ranger-naturalist and teaches ecology and park resource classes at San Francisco State University.
It’s been popping up in most newspapers and parenting magazines for years—the warning to get our kids outdoors before they become completely sucked into the world of technology and video games and we lose all hope of them ever becoming healthy, active young adults. Never mind that they will not be able to appreciate our natural resources if all they’ve ever done is sit on the couch.
by Alan Leftridge
No Stone Left Unturned: The Role of the Interpretive Parent
by Gladys J. Richter
Often, I leave the electronic world to reminisce about my childhood—a childhood filled with days chasing butterflies through a nearby field, hours spent catching creek crawdads, and time just playing outside with no particular goal in mind. I remember my father, a single parent raising his only child, asking me what I was doing as I looked under rocks along the river. My answer was simple and that of a youngster: “I plan to leave no stone unturned.” Quietly, my dad began to look under rocks with me as if to help me reach my goal, and as we turned over stones and gently replaced them, he taught me about the animals living beneath.
The author’s son leaves no stone unturned.
Working as an interpreter, perhaps the one thing I hope for my visitors the most is that each generation will pass on the importance of our natural and cultural heritage to the next generation, and that the next generation will be ready and willing to receive this important message. I hope that each child of today can say to their grandchildren tomorrow, “I belonged to a generation in which no stone was left unturned; we explored it all and stood in awe of it all.”
Richard Louv’s work, Last Child in the Woods, published in 2005, actually caused me to shudder to think that there were children that desired not to explore creeks, woodlands, and grassy knolls, but instead stay indoors with all the electrical outlets. I felt as though my hope had been dashed and that the next generation may not be ready or willing to receive messages about our outdoor heritage. It seemed so strange to me, for I strongly believe that the outside world is not only fascinating, but necessary to one’s overall well-being—physically and otherwise. Staying indoors has always been a source of cabin fever for me. Cabin fever is called fever for a reason, and having fever almost always signals illness.
Is it any wonder that children today have vitamin D deficiencies (an easily obtainable nutrient from the sun in just a few minutes per week) or that more seem to be turning up with cases of severe allergies, obesity, diabetes, and attention disorders? Would the next generation be able to realize that what may help them cope with the stress of the electronic age was absolutely free and waiting just outside their very door?
What would happen if, like so many of our cultural traditions (oral and hands-on), physicians and teachers simply ceased to pass on real medical and educational knowledge to new ranks of professionals? Would the human race survive without this accumulated wisdom?
I pondered this question, but had no answers until I became a parent. Surely, parents wouldn’t let their children fall through the cracks of industrialized sidewalks without noticing the succession of crabgrass growing there. Or would they?
Media articles regarding topics such as teaching your child to garden the natural way, new stress-busting facts about children and the great outdoors, and what getting outside can do for your attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) child had caught my attention. So my big question of, “What would happen to the human race?” was replaced with the following: Where are the parents? Even more so, where are the interpretive parents?
Children cannot learn about our natural heritage in a vacuum or by simply staying inside where the electrical outlets are located. Nature shows on TV are not your everyday walk in the park.
Nature author Rachel Carson wrote, “If a child is to keep alive his inborn sense of wonder, he needs the companionship of at least one adult who can share it, rediscovering with him the joy, excitement, and mystery of the world we live in.” However, just how involved do today’s parents want to become after hours at work in front of a computer screen, text-messaged about deadlines, or frustrated because the home microwave went on the blink just when another mad rush meal was needed?
One would think that after such a harried day it would be worth the effort to stop and smell the roses or at least take notice of the lone dandelion poking its yellow head above that asphalt crack. Going outside just to relax seems like something that would be desired if not acted upon. As my father used to say, “Go outside and breath some new air.”
Louv emphasizes the important role of parents in forging an understanding of nature. He also points out that outdoor exposure does not have to be elaborate, and I totally agree. Just going outside is the answer. Turning off one 30-minute TV show and taking a leisurely walk once a day or at least once a week with your children is a tremendous step.
Yes, it is true that thousands of families live in the middle of bustling cities, but at some point there is downtime. Why not use that time to get back to our natural and cultural heritage?
Depending on whom you ask, one may say that a person who spent his or her early years skipping creek stones or building forts led either a glorious or boring childhood. However, children who have never done these things know not if it is a glorious or a boring childhood. They know only of their four walls and the gadgets plugged into outlets.
Parents today have many options. They can take their children to the park, creek, or zoo if it is nearby. They can go to an orchard or berry farm and enjoy the fruit they may pick there as an added nutritional bonus. Even many rooftops in cities are “green” with living plants these days. The key is to appreciate what nature you do have, and teach your children to appreciate it. Every child, from a 14-month old to a 14-year old, can have a good time outside doing something.
In my opinion, Last Child in the Woods beautifully articulates that parents do not need specialized training to give their kids a dose of nature interpretation; but parents do need to maintain a sense of wonder and a desire to turn over a stone or two with their children.
For More Information
Carson, Rachel. The Sense of Wonder. (New York: Harper & Row Publishers, 1965).
Louv, Richard. Last Child in the Woods: Saving Our Children from Nature-Deficit Disorder. (North Carolina: Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill, 2005).
Gladys J. Richter is an interpretive freelance writer.
Posted in Commentaries, Connecting Children to Nature