Legacy Magazine

By Sarah Hopkins and Peter J.F. Stobie
Originally published January/February 2011

The glaciers sculpted what we see in Cooper’s Glen today.
The rolling hills of steep moraines and glacial outwash plains
Forests, prairies, and wetlands emerged from the land so fair.
Walk with me, I’ll show you why we’ve learned to care.
—Verse from the Kalamazoo Nature Center Song ©2010 Foster Brown

A favorite spot at the Kalamazoo Nature Center, a hanging spring, boasts an explosion of marsh marigolds each spring on the Beech Maple Trail. Photo by Torrey Wenger, KNC

On a beautiful autumn afternoon, a solitary figure seeks refuge on a favorite trail that leads to an overlook above an old gravel pit. As she walks through a mature beech maple forest she thinks about the concerned citizens who, 50 years ago, rescued this lovely ravine from an expanding gravel mining company. Through their efforts, the Kalamazoo Nature Center was created.

Today, the nature center’s 1,136 acres include areas of beech maple forest, two reconstructed prairies, wetlands, river bottom lands, and farm land. This diversity of habitats is a legacy of the Wisconsinian glacial advances and retreats. At the height of the most recent advance, all of Michigan was covered by several thousand feet of ice. This ice contained huge amounts of soil and rock debris carried from more northerly parts of the state. As the ice melted, sometimes slowly and sometimes rapidly, various types of hills and depressions were left behind.

As the individual continues her walk, she crosses a spring-fed stream at the bottom of a depression and then puffs her way up a gravelly hill. She is well aware of the variety of small rocks under her feet and of the larger erratic boulders poking up from the blanket of leaves. The boulders are primarily igneous granite and metamorphic gneiss, rocks formed more than one billion years ago and subsequently shaped and transported by ice and flowing water from sources as far away as Canada.

Naturalist Richard Chamberlin uses a spray bottle to highlight the definition on some KNC Gravel Pit rocks of the for some Mattawan third graders in 2010. Photo courtesy Kalamazoo Nature Center

At the top of the gravel pit she sits in an open area and studies the rocks in front of her. Soon she finds some fossil relics from 350 million years ago when Michigan lay under a warm shallow sea. Small corals patterned like honey bee combs, tiny rings from an unfathomable number of crinoids, pieces of fossilized shells, and even the plain grey limestone tell the story of an ancient ocean filled with invertebrate life. These fragments were also plucked from bedrock and carried by the ice.

In pre-settlement time this gravel hill was covered by a beech maple forest and stretched nearly one-fourth of a mile to the Kalamazoo River. In the late 1800s and early 1900s the demand for gravel grew. Many thousands of tons of gravel were removed from various sites at what was to become the nature center. One of the areas targeted for mining was very close to a lovely location that was popular with picnickers and college biology students. The alarm was raised and in 1960 the Kalamazoo Nature Center (KNC) came into existence.

A 1960s school group explores a glacial erratic at the Kalamazoo Nature Center. Photo courtesy Kalamazoo Nature Center

Since then children of all ages have come to the old gravel pits for a glimpse of Michigan’s geologic past. Local school groups put together a scale model of a glacier (15 feet of PVC piping and a Monopoly house become ice a mile thick towering over your home) and push ice cubes through the sand to observe how ice plucks rocks. Cub and Girl Scouts search for fossil fragments, weathered limestone, and colorful granite as they work toward geology awards. College students and other visitors enjoy bird-watching from the deck that overlooks the regenerating forest.

The visitor walks across the aptly named Trout Run. This lovely stream rises in a wetland, another glacial legacy, and is fed by numerous springs. With great foresight and much persistence, the KNC has acquired all but a few acres of Trout Run’s watershed. Various trails accompany many sections of the stream, but the portion that flows from the gravel pit bridge to the Kalamazoo River is the most heavily used. For more than a half-century, students have recorded the tiny animals hiding under the stream-smoothed rocks. Middle school students create an artificial oil spill with popcorn and then discuss the impact on wildlife and people. The startling reality of this activity became evident when nearly one million gallons of oil poured into the Kalamazoo River upstream from KNC in July 2010.

A few hundred yards downstream she comes to a hanging spring where the water flows downhill into Trout Run. In the spring, scores of yellow marsh marigolds grow between the rocks but in late fall only the mosses show green. In a way, this spot summarizes the history of the area. Potawatomi people, pioneers, and early nature center campers drank the very cold water. Area farmers mined marl from a nearby seep. Picnickers came to enjoy the beech maple forest with its beautiful spring wildflowers and many nesting songbirds. Across Trout Run the very edge of the gravel mine looms under the fallen leaves.

The visitor walks to the deck overlooking the confluence of Trout Run and the Kalamazoo River. She tries to imagine what this river looked like 12,000 years ago, when it was perhaps a mile wide and filled with icy glacial melt water and tumbling rocks. What Pleistocene mammals visited here? What people paddled past here? She watches the clear water bubbling past and thinks about the nature center’s varied post-glacial topography and how it provides so many rich experiences for the nearly 5 million visitors that come each year.

A bald eagle flies overhead, a tribute to the returning health of the river. And thanks to the foresight of the nature center founders, this lovely spot will be preserved for both wildlife and for future generations of people. What a legacy!

Kal-Kalamazoo Nature Center is here for you…
Inspiring people to care for the land that we all share.
Gentle rolling hills, open prairies, and sparkling water views.
Kalamazoo Nature Center is here for you.
—Chorus from the Kalamazoo Nature Center Song ©2010 by Foster Brown

Sarah Hopkins is the senior interpretive naturalist at the Kalamazoo Nature Center. Reach her at shopkins@naturecenter.org. Peter J.F. Stobie, CHI, is the education director at the Kalamazoo Nature Center. Reach him at pstobie@naturecenter.org.

By Stephanie Kyriazis
Originally published January/February 2011

Some Native American tribes attribute the postpile of Devil’s Tower to the clawing of a giant bear trying to eat seven young women who fled to safety on the rock. Photo by Erik Marr

All organisms are profoundly shaped by the landscapes upon which they are born and live. Seedlings flourish in sheltered crevices, condors roost upon craggy aeries, and bighorn sheep elude predators on precipitous slopes. Geology is the foundation of every biotic landscape, and human landscapes are no exception. Civilization is constructed on the banks of rivers, lakes, and oceans, nourished by the fertility of the soils, and challenged in battles whose outcomes are dictated in no small part by the lay of the land and the contenders’ intimacy with it.

When we interpret geology, our task is to facilitate “emotional and intellectual connections between the interests of the audience and meanings inherent in the resource,” according to the NAI Definitions Project. Getting folks to think about rocks is simple, since geology is a science replete with stimulating concepts like deep time, evolution, and tectonic motion. Yet many interpreters struggle with the emotional dimension of geology interpretation. How do we get people to feel about rocks? How do we get them to recognize that something so apparently silent, slow, and sedentary could be relevant to our noisy, rapid-fire, mobile human lives?

This past summer, I sought to answer these questions for my masters thesis in resource interpretation from Stephen F. Austin State University. I traveled to 12 national parks and monuments, video-recording geology-themed interpretive programs, administering questionnaires, and conducting focus groups with visitors. What follows is research-based insight into how interpreters can help audiences consider rocks both in their minds and in their hearts.

Meeting Them Where They Are
When I asked visitors about their interest in geology, several common threads emerged. Many folks brought up fond childhood memories of rock-hounding or geode hunting. Both children and adults expressed fascination with fossils and dinosaurs. Finally, attachment to scenery back home or to a peak experience during travel to a geologically spectacular locale stimulated enthusiasm in visitors. This final thread, the aesthetic enjoyment of rocks as scenery, tended to provoke a general interest in how things got to be that way, which motivated most folks’ attendance of geology-themed interpretive programs.

You may recognize that the geologic interests expressed above are casual. The extent of most Americans’ formal geology education occurs during a semester-long earth science class in middle school. In terms of depth of understanding, this compares pitifully to the year-long biology (or physics or chemistry) courses taken in high school. Herein lies the challenge of geology interpretation. While interpreters can expect a general audience to understand the fundamentals of predator-prey relationships, the role of decomposers in an ecosystem, or the nuances of photosynthesis, they may not possess the same expertise when it comes to geology. Recalling that semester of middle school earth science, audiences can probably summon the names of the three rock types, and will know that earthquakes and volcanoes have something to do with plate tectonics, but they are ill equipped to look at a landscape and extract information about its origin.

The good news is, despite a lack of formal education, most park visitors’ casual geologic interests hinge on basic human curiosity. At Glacier National Park, a visitor framed it this way, “You’re in the mountains and you don’t have any basic knowledge or understanding of geology. It’s kind of like being in an art museum and all the names of the paintings and the painters have been taken off…. It’s pretty and nice, but you don’t have a good understanding.” Harnessing aesthetic appreciation for and curiosity about geologic scenery is a great place to start. Other techniques for stimulating emotions during geology programs include playing the extremes of geologic time, building a biophilia bridge, and situating visitors in their own geologic experience.

The Ephemeral and the Eternal

The spectacular formations at Badlands National Park are geologically ephemeral and will some day erode away. Photo by Stephanie Kyriazis

When gazing at the stone edifice of the Rockies, one is inclined to imagine the mountains have been around forever. Because so many people think of rocks as everlasting, park visitors are often surprised to discover that geologic phenomena can be ephemeral. At Badlands National Park, where an interpreter pointed out that rock formations are soft and the erosion rate high, one woman reflected, “I felt a little sad when I realized in approximately 500,000 years it won’t be here.” Conversely, the apparent eternity of geologic time also stirs feelings.

“I love that sense of insignificance you have,” a visitor declared at Craters of the Moon National Monument. Both of these statements highlight the dichotomy of geologic time—that it encompasses both the enduring and the fleeting—and the emotional responses that can result.

A Biophilia Bridge
In 1984, renowned biologist E.O. Wilson coined the term biophilia to describe “the innate tendency” of humans “to focus on life and lifelike processes.” He subsequently hypothesized that this tendency is genetically hardwired in our species, a supposition largely supported by more than a decade of research. Sadly, no analogous geophilia has emerged in the scientific literature. However, when discussing geology, an interpreter can leverage visitors’ biophilia to foster a connection to the rocks.

The spectacular formations at Badlands National Park are geologically ephemeral and will some day erode away. Stephanie Kyriazis

A preteen girl I interviewed at the Grand Canyon declared, “I don’t really like rocks, but I like what it does to other things, like habitats for animals…. A lot of animals like to live under rocks, and there are snakes and lizards that like to sun on rocks.” Interpreters at Craters of the Moon National Monument emphasized the protective quality of cracks in the lava rock, where nutritive soil gathers and seedlings hide from intense wind and sunlight.

A ranger at Zion National Park pointed out tiny snails that exist only on spring-drenched sandstone walls. In a lava tube at Hawai’i Volcanoes National Park, a guide explained that while the island’s porous basalt prevents rain from gathering at the surface, Native Hawaiians could collect drinking water as it dripped from cave ceilings. In each of these examples, geology equals survival, a powerful universal concept that stimulates empathy toward living organisms, and builds appreciation towards the rocks that support them.

Describing the intimacy between Native Americans and their geologic environment using mythology or oral history can also engage visitors emotionally. Most North American indigenous cultures consider rocks just as animate as living things. For instance, at Devils Tower National Monument, local tribes explain that seven young women pursued by a giant bear found sanctuary upon a rising rock. According to the story, the frustrated bear’s claw marks are preserved as the postpile ribs of Devils Tower. At Hawai’i Volcanoes National Park, interpreters invoke Pele, the capricious volcano goddess to whom Native Hawaiians attribute the islands’ eruptive behavior.

Historical figures can summon a similar geologic kinship. At Wind Cave National Park, interpreters ask visitors to imagine themselves under the care of Alvin McDonald, the 16-year-old boy who led tourists on guided adventures through the caverns in the 1890s. MacDonald’s promotion of the cave at the World’s Fair and beyond ultimately led to the cave’s protection as a national park. Tragically, the young man died at the age of 20, but his legacy of speleological enthusiasm endures in the heart of every visitor who witnesses the cave. At Mount St. Helens National Volcanic Monument, visitors connect emotionally to the story of volcanologist David Johnston, who died engulfed in the debris of the erupting volcano. As a young woman shared with me, “One of the things that has always touched me in terms of this spot in particular is this is the place where Johnston died for his job.”

Personal Geologic Experience
Geology-influenced natural disasters like landslides, earthquakes, floods, volcanic eruptions, and tsunamis afflict humanity with a frequency that fuels our news cycles. Consequently, almost everyone has an emotional reference to such events, from general mourning for victims to personal experience with a tragedy and its aftermath. Chances are, at least one disaster has shaped the geologic landscape of your site. Even if the event pre-dates human occupation, the associated feelings can still be used as a touchstone in an interpretive program. Emotion can even transfer from one type of disaster to another, as seen in this survey comment from Hawai’i Volcanoes National Park: “Amazing that people got so close to active eruptions. Sad to see the town that was wiped out by lava flow—reminds me of Hurricane Ike (Galveston, Texas – 2008 – destroyed our beach house).”

Natural disasters may permeate our knowledge of the world, but not everyone can think of a geologic experience that touched them personally. Most folks are willing to visualize themselves embedded in different environmental circumstances, however, which inspires another technique: resource immersion, real or imagined. At the Grand Canyon, a ranger asked his audience to consider the process of personal fossilization, starting with giant dump trucks burying the audience alive in sediment.

“I gotta admit,” one man responded, “I hadn’t thought about what it’d take to be a fossil till today.” Similarly, on an exposed ridge at Mount St. Helens, the interpreter viscerally guided his audience through the eruption. “When you are out here and he starts telling you about…how the trees were mowed down, and this part was blown down and that part was shot-gunned, and that part was incinerated, it brings the shock of the thing to you,” a visitor pondered afterwards.

Cultivating emotional connections between visitors and geologic resources is fundamentally about shifting their frame of reference, from a world where rocks are merely a passive backdrop, to a world where rocks set the stage for all action—animal, plant, and human. Whether you start with scenery, invoke the mysteries of geologic time, leverage biophilia, or situate visitors in their own geologic experience, you provoke your audience to recognize that rocks are relevant contributors to human life, and worthy of emotional ties.

Acknowledgments
The author thanks the staff and visitors at the public lands in her study. She is also grateful for the support of her advisor, Dr. Theresa Coble, and NAI for a 2009 scholarship award.

Stephanie Kyriazis feels a strong emotional connection to rocks and hopes you do too. She is the education specialist at Death Valley National Park and an academically trained geologist. You can contact her at stephanie_kyriazis@nps.gov.

By Robert J. Lillie, Allyson Mathis, & Roger Riolo
Originally published January/February 2011

Geology tells the story of our past, establishes the foundations of our present, and reflects how we sustain our future. It provides the stage, furnishes the plot, and determines the cast for the episodic drama of natural and cultural history. This theme can help guide a holistic approach to interpretation by creating opportunities for a variety of audiences to find deeper meanings in the places they know and cherish.

The National Science Foundation recently published a list of Earth Science Literacy principles (www.earthscienceliteracy.org) that the public should know about our planet’s landforms, processes, and connections to society. One of the “Big Ideas” is, “Earth is a complex system of interlocking rock, water, air, and life.” This “Earth Systems” perspective is interpretive, as it highlights connections. Matter and energy move from one system, or sphere, to others and large changes in one sphere are likely to affect the other spheres. Ecosystem dynamics, climate change, landscape development, and human population movements can be understood by emphasizing how we affect and are affected by Earth’s spheres. We’re part of life (biosphere). We breathe and pollute air (atmosphere). We drink and contaminate water (hydrosphere) and live on a dynamic layer of rock (lithosphere) that shakes, breaks, erupts, and erodes to form inspiring landscapes.

Geology adds meaning and understanding to biology, ecology, and human history. It provides the foundation for formulating whole stories. An Earth systems-based theme such as “Geology sets the stage for life, ecology, and human history” can foster new perspectives to audiences at many parks, forests, historic sites, and heritage areas. Yet it is only one of many concepts that can be used to interpret a site’s geology and its deeper meanings to the visiting public.

Methods and Strategies for Incorporating Earth Features and Processes into Interpretive Programs
In many ways, interpreting geology is similar to interpreting any other topic: know the resource, understand the audience, make it relevant by employing interpretive techniques, and present a compelling story. Yet, interpreting geology offers some unique and challenging opportunities, as it may seem foreign compared to other natural or cultural history topics.

Geology can be put into social and cultural contexts by using real-world applications. Landscapes can be tied to universal concepts such as change, power, and time that are likely to resonate with most any audience. Rocks can be viewed as landforms and building blocks for landscapes. Rock layers represent an enduring history book. Every rock tells a story. Interpreters can help visitors find deeper connections to the meanings of their site by using methods and strategies that present geology as an integral part of the site’s natural and cultural history.

Interpret Geology as Part of a Larger Story: Geology is the study of landscape features and processes that make the Earth come alive; it is part of every story. Geology dictates climate and environment and determines what life can exist in an area. It tells us how Earth formed and changed over vast expanses of time, and continues to be modified in ways that affect us all. Such stories create interest using high drama, intrigue, life, death, action, change, speculation, and provocation.

Highlight Scenery: The visual impact of scenery can create a connection between geology and the visitor, even if the connection is not initially appreciated. Scenery is a main reason why people visit many parks, monuments, forests, heritage areas, and other special places. Scenery at many interpretive sites is dominantly geologic. If a site has scenery, it has geology! Tell the landscape story by revealing how geologic processes are responsible for scenery. This improves understanding, enhances meaning, and builds a more complete natural history for the site and its surrounding region.

Sunset Crater Volcano National Monument in northern Arizona reveals how geological processes impact society, ecology, and scenery. Volcanic eruptions 1,000 years ago disrupted lives, changed ecosystems, and left behind a picturesque cinder cone. Photo by Bob Lillie

Invoke Sense of Place: Fostering a sense of place, or an appreciation of the meanings and attachments that people assign to locales, is at the heart of interpreting geology. It ties cultural and spiritual values to geological features and processes. An awe-inspiring and continuously active landscape captivates with its beauty, power, energy—and sometimes danger! Interpretation should address the whole person. In order to accomplish this we first must address the whole story, including the sense of place represented by geological processes and their bearing on landscape development.

Relate, Relate, Relate: The use of analogies, similes, and metaphors can draw on visitors’ personal experiences to help them understand and connect to the deeper meanings of geological features and processes. We can compare geological processes and rates to known ones. For example, tectonic plates move at about the rate your fingernails grow; cinder cone eruptions are “volcanic fire works”; lava flows like honey and can crust over like ice forming on a river in winter. Sedimentary layers are stacked like pancakes—the oldest (first made) are at the bottom and the youngest are on top. People living near faults have natural seismometers hanging from their walls—photos that move during earthquakes.

Interpret Deep Time: Earth’s history spans 4.5 billion (4,500 million) years. Such “deep” geologic time can inspire a sense of awe and wonder, and is hard for many people to cognitively appreciate. Geologic time can be put into perspective by comparing the age of the Earth to a day, a year, a yardstick, or other measurement tools.

Present Geology as Part of Human History: Geological features and processes often determine transportation corridors, influence the outcome of battles, dictate cultural activities, and guide humankind’s responses to natural disasters. For example, New York was destined to become a great city because of its outstanding harbor. Much of the history of the American West has been influenced by the region’s great mineral wealth and semi-arid to arid climate. San Francisco is attractive because of the beauty of its natural landscape—but the same geological forces that form the landscape also cause devastating earthquakes.

Demystify Geology: Geology reveals hidden stories. Interpreters should strive to explain the scientific understanding behind statements of geologic facts and theories. Incorporating answers to common visitor questions—such as explaining geologic dating techniques, identifying the sources of knowledge about Earth’s interior structure and composition, and techniques to interpret the climatological history of the planet—help visitors form meaningful connections to a site.

The landscape of Yosemite National Park provides clues for a geological detective story. The large mineral grains within the granite must have formed slowly as magma cooled deep within the Earth. Miles of overlying rock—including ancient volcanoes fed by the magma—were removed by erosion as the Sierra Nevada rose. U-shaped valleys reveal that Ice-Age glaciers are a recent contributor to this process. Photo by Bob Lillie

Connect Geology to Life: Connections may be demonstrated by starting with living things and linking them to the landscape or starting with geology and linking it to living things. Rocks are habitat—home to plants, animals, and people. On a larger scale, Earth itself is home. Rocks provide material resources. They provide raw materials we use in our daily lives. The incredible biological diversity of the Grand Canyon, which contains the greatest number of species of vascular plant of any national park, is a result of geology. Ecosystems ranging from the Sonoran desert to boreal forest are found in the park from river to rim.

Geology-ecology relationships can make geology more relevant. The 1964 Great Alaska Earthquake was a factor in the establishment of national wildlife refuges in the Willamette Valley of Oregon. Sudden movement of the Pacific tectonic plate during the earthquake raised parts of Alaska’s Copper River Delta, leaving much of the wetland nesting ground for the dusky Canada goose high and dry. Habitat for this species was expanded by developing William L. Finley, Ankeny, and Baskett Slough National Wildlife Refuges along their flyway in Oregon.

Highlight How Geology Continues to Affect Our Lives: Geology is not something that happened long ago and is now finished. Many of the same processes that formed a site’s landscape and its rocks are still affecting the site today. For example, rivers carrying sediment eroded from the Appalachian Mountains deposit sand that forms the beautiful beaches of Cape Hatteras and other national seashores along the Atlantic coast. Landscapes such as the Grand Canyon are still being shaped by erosional processes and agents, such as the powerful Colorado River, the rush of flash floods and debris flows in side canyons, and the suddenness of massive rock falls. All of these processes continue today, maintaining the beauty of places we cherish. Interpretation can infuse the sense of wonder about ongoing geological processes and how human activities might upset their balance and adversely affect the landscape.

Present Geology in Emotional and Poetic Terms: Interpreters can use emotion and poetry to help visitors appreciate geology in more human terms. Geology programs can include beauty, discovery, and excitement; visualizations of a dynamic Earth; and fun! A program might revolve around the concept of “Beauty and the Beast,” with a potential theme: “The same tectonic forces that threaten our lives with earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, and landslides also nourish our spirits by forming the magnificent mountains, valleys, and coastlines of the Pacific Northwest.”

In Reading the Rocks: The Autobiography of the Earth, Marcia Bjornerud wrote, “Unfortunately, stone has an undeserved reputation for being uncommunicative. The expressions stone deaf, stone cold, stony silence, and simply, stoned, reveal much about the relationship most people have to the rocks beneath their feet. But to a geologist, stones are richly illustrated texts, telling gothic tales of scorching heat, violent tempests, endurance, cataclysm, and reincarnation.”

Example of an Interpretive Program that Integrates Geology, Ecology, and Culture
Hayden Valley—Life above a Hotspot: A crisp summer morning in Hayden Valley in Yellowstone National Park is a nice setting for a family hike. Adding a park ranger into the mix only improves upon the perfection of a perfect morning! The topic of the ranger program is geology. However, the family is surprised by so much conversation about grass-covered wetlands, lodge pole pines, bison, elk, and even the comings and goings of people.

The ranger poses a question: What is it about Yellowstone that has resulted in such breathtaking scenery, fascinating ecology, and intriguing human history? At 8,000 feet above sea level, Hayden Valley’s climate is more like northern Canada than the continental USA. During the past ice age, a mini-ice sheet covered the entire Yellowstone Plateau. Trees along the edges of Hayden Valley outline an ancient glacial lake. Yellowstone has long attracted people as fertile ground for hunting, fishing, recreation, and obsidian tools. Only its lofty elevation prohibits year-round habitation.

Another question: Why is the Yellowstone region so high? Yellowstone has a high elevation because it lies above the Yellowstone Hotspot, a region of Earth’s mantle that is so hot that it expands like a hot-air balloon and lifts the Yellowstone Plateau half a mile above the surrounding region. Expansion of the hot mantle also causes rock to melt. This process created the Yellowstone Supervolcano, a feature so vast and subtle that it was not recognized until satellites provided the needed perspective. The short growing season at high elevations and acidic soils from weathering of volcanic materials make Yellowstone a prime landscape for lodgepole pine trees. Particles of sediment deposited on the glacial lake bed are both large and small, so that water can’t easily seep through—standing water on the floor of Hayden Valley thus provides rich wetland habitat for abundant wildlife.

And a most-intriguing question: Does anyone feel the urge to play golf? The game of golf was developed in Scotland, and most courses mimic Scotland’s glacial landscape. A trip to Yellowstone is like going to Scotland. The rise in elevation above the Yellowstone Hotspot is equivalent to traveling that far north. Hayden Valley’s golf-course appearance—long grassy fairways running through trees, with small ponds and pockets of sand—formed as Yellowstone’s ice sheet melted.

The ranger concludes by explaining how geology sets the stage and creates the roles for all life, ecology, and history. If the stage were different, the play would be different and it would attract a different set of actors. Without high elevation and volcanic activity—products of the Yellowstone Hotspot—all aspects of Yellowstone’s life, ecology, and human history would be different.

Robert J. Lillie is a professor of geology and Certified Interpretive Trainer at Oregon State University. Reach him at lillier@geo.oregonstate.edu. Allyson Mathis is the science and education outreach coordinator with Grand Canyon National Park’s Division of Science and Resource Management. Reach her at Allyson_Mathis@nps.gov. Roger Riolo is a Certified Interpretive Trainer and owner of InterpTrain Interpretive Training & Consulting. Reach him at rlriolo@bendcable.com.