The National Park Service’s Junior Paleonotology Program activity book was created in 2010. Photo courtesy National Park Service

A billion years of time is nearly unimaginable. The remains of ancient animals and plants preserved in rocks spanning more than a billion years reveal a complex and interesting story of evolving life on a dynamic planet. The fossil record of North America is well represented by paleontological discoveries throughout the National Park System of the United States. Fossils are non-renewable resources and have been documented in at least 230 National Park Service (NPS) areas ranging from the most primitive microscopic life forms to the giants of the ice age. Fossils connect us to past worlds on our own planet and present excellent interpretive opportunities.

Petrified bones, teeth, shells, leaves, wood, and footprints uncovered in parks yield information about prehistoric biodiversity, past climatic changes, and continuously evolving paleoecosystems. Millions of fossil fish are preserved in 50-million-year-old lake sediments within and surrounding Fossil Butte National Monument in Wyoming. Marine reptiles, sharks, and other sea life inhabited a shallow inland sea bisecting North America during the time of the dinosaurs. Their fossils are known from several national parks extending from Texas to the tundra. Fossilized sloth dung from caves in Guadalupe Mountains National Park and Grand Canyon National Park yields information on diet and climate. Fossil termite nests in petrified logs, leaf impressions with evidence of insect chewing, or predator bite marks in ancient bones demonstrate interactions between organisms of the past.

Long before the footsteps of Union and Confederate soldiers marched across the fields of Gettysburg, dinosaurs left their footprints in mud. Today these tracks are preserved in blocks of stone used in the construction of a bridge on the battlefield. These tracks are one example of fossils preserved in a cultural resource context throughout the National Park System. Others include projectile points made of agatized petrified wood, ornamental objects incorporating fossils recovered from archeological sites, and historic structures with fossiliferous building stones.

National Fossil Day logo

Museums around the world enable the public to view fossils in displays and exhibits, sometimes including complete skeletons, which have been cleaned, repaired, and put back together. The national parks provide wonderful outdoor opportunities for visitors to encounter fossils in their natural state—literally “in the wild” within rocks. The personal discovery of a fossil in the field, regardless of whether the remains are common or rare, is exciting for the visitor and typically presents an educational moment. Such moments of discovery frequently generate discussions and questions about the science and methods of paleontology, including, “What is a fossil?” and “How are fossils formed?” and “What is the relationship between a fossil and the rock in which it is preserved?”

In March 2009, President Obama signed into law the Paleontological Resources Preservation Act. The legislation mandates federal agencies, including the NPS, to establish education programs to increase public awareness about the significance of paleontological resources. In support of this mandate, the NPS and over 130 partners hosted the first annual National Fossil Day on October 13, 2010. National Fossil Day was a nationwide event celebrating the scientific and educational values of fossils (http://nature.nps.gov/geology/nationalfossilday).

From fossil localities and caves deep within the Grand Canyon to remote sites high in the mountains of Glacier National Park, scientists have carefully documented non-renewable paleontological resources. Collectively, National Park Service fossils span more than a billion years of Earth’s history and yield important scientific information related to the history of life. Through careful management and stewardship, future fossil discoveries in the national parks will continue to expand our understanding of the prehistoric world and our evolving planet.

Vincent L. Santucci is chief ranger at George Washington Memorial Parkway in McLean, Virginia.

When a massive flood sent billions of gallons of water rushing through Johnson’s Shut-Ins State Park (Missouri) six years ago, shattered rock and other debris covered the hiking trails and campsites and littered the swimming holes that crowds of visitors enjoyed each year. Acquired in 1955, Johnson’s Shut-Ins was known to outdoor enthusiasts as an 8,500-acre nature oasis, tucked in the Ozark Mountains along the Black River in Reynolds County, Missouri, 80 miles southwest of St. Louis. Its geological “shut-ins” are among the oldest exposed rock in the nation.

The damage and debris were monumental. The breach of the Taum Sauk Reservoir destroyed nearly every man-made structure in the park. Uprooted trees and overturned soil ravaged surrounding hillsides. As planning crews assessed what remained and focused on the barren land that had been left behind, they came to realize that the flood had exposed even more geological history. A large bed of Taum Sauk rhyolite rock was discovered, dating back 1.4 billion years when volcanoes exploded to create the nearby St. Francois Mountains. In addition, rocks from at least three other geological eras were found within the rubble, as well as a sand beach near the top of Taum Sauk believed to be 530-million-years-old.

Within days, construction teams were at work clearing the area of remnants of the flood, and Missouri’s state park planning division began seeking the guidance of design teams to plan a new park. I was engaged as lead interpretive designer of a multi-member design team.

After examining Johnson’s Shut-Ins, the initial concept of the design team focused on taking advantage of the rhyolite, dolomite, granite, sandstone, and chert that work crews had been harvesting and incorporating them into the design. Further, we worked to create an interwoven series of storylines that responded to the desire of park officials to incorporate history, nature, and the park’s native geological elements into its restoration and rebuilding. The team’s interpretive design knowledge—coupled with a belief that native stone needed to be a central interpretive material—was the creative spark the master planners of the park were seeking.

“Earth’s Time Spiral” provides an explanation of Earth’s age that couples geological material and cylindrical shapes to create an interactive, educational mosaic.

Designers entered the project fully aware of the challenge—to include the great number of topics requested by Missouri Department of Natural Resources officials with a focus on one of the toughest topics to present in an interesting fashion to audiences—geology! Based on facts gleaned from more than 20 scientists, historians, and geologists recruited to assist the design team, interpretive storylines were created to make the facts easy to understand, blending artistry with intellectual engagement.

The overall design plan to attract, inspire, and educate visitors from all walks of life included 10 interpretive storylines, a visitor center with 3,000 square feet of exhibit area featuring interactive displays and tangible artifacts, an AV theater, a visitor information station for collecting their memories of the park, and an interpretive retail area. Actually, these were just the start of the designers’ elaboration. The interpretive program also includes six miles of trails, three interpretive pavilions, three stone mosaic plazas totaling 1,700 square feet, three scenic overlooks, an amphitheater, an outdoor classroom, a geology-themed playground, live programs hosted by park rangers, and 10 downloadable podcasts describing each of the 10 storylines.

A mosaic river flows from the entry of the visitor center to a small theater made of rock modeled to form a cave.

Sensitive to making a natural presentation that was compatible with the park’s landscape, designers used locally quarried Missouri red granite and aux vases limestone for structures whenever possible. From the stone-mosaic plazas to the interpretive signs, the team made sure to integrate natural materials into structures parkwide. Seat walls and building facades were constructed of stone rubble deposited on the site after the disaster.

As noted, many of the interpretive storylines directly reflect on the geology of the park, including:

• A “Landscape of Voices” at the orientation center introduces visitors to the wild landscape of Johnson’s Shut-Ins State Park, telling of violent volcanic eruptions, ancient geology, the power of water, and the biodiversity of the St. Francois Mountains. Visitors are encouraged to explore the Black River Center, pavilions, and trails to learn more about this extraordinary place.
• “A Slice of Time” at a pavilion and overlook features exposed geology in the Scour Channel with rocks dating back 1.4 billion years and shows how the mountains were formed.
• “If These Rocks Could Talk” at Shut-Ins Overlook tells a story of ancient volcanic eruptions, followed by millions of years of erosion and movement of water as it carved and shaped the unusual narrow gorge we call the “shut-ins.”
• The “Power of Water” display at Boulder Pavilion shows visitors how the powerful flow of water has sculpted rock, moved giant boulders, eroded millions of years of geologic history, and changed the face of the earth. Guests are invited to visit the river, the fens, the boulder field, and other locations to see the water at work.
• Children play at the “Giant Rock Box Discovery” playground.

These additional storylines combine geology with the natural and cultural history of the region:

• An “Ozark Oasis” at Fen Pavilion details a unique combination of a continuous groundwater stream that weaves through bedrock pushing up just below the surface of the land. The special set of conditions creates a groundwater-fed wetland, or “fen,” that supports a great diversity of plant and animal life. Overlooking this protected area is a pavilion that provides a panoramic view of the fen and an interpretive demonstration of what lives inside.
• The “Heart of the Wilderness” at Wild Area Trailhead offers two rugged Missouri wild areas for experienced backcountry hikers and campers. Covering more than 6,000 acres, the East Fork Wild Area and the Goggins Mountain Wild Area are undeveloped and preserved for their unique wilderness values.
• “Nature’s Mosaic” at Shut-Ins Trailhead is a 1,200-square-foot stone and metal mosaic made to reflect the hundreds of diverse, interconnected living organisms that thrive within the park. From the tops of the tallest trees to the valley below, the woodlands, glades, river, and associated habitats teem with life.
• The Ozark Trail explains to visitors that the trail runs through Missouri from the St. Louis area to the Arkansas border. Some of the most scenic and challenging parts of the Ozark Trail run through Johnson’s Shut-Ins State Park. The Ozark Trail can be reached from three local trails within the park.
• “Paths Through Time” at Cemetery Trail takes visitors on a journey that commemorates the early days of the region. The rocky terrain of the area formed by the rare geology, limited land use, and historically supported small settlements that relied on gathering and subsistence farming. Early pioneers that settled in the region were descendants of the Scots-Irish from Appalachia who sought free and open land. A walking trail with interpretive signs provides a path to a cemetery of the original families that settled the park’s lands.
• “Making Memories” at the campground amphitheater and orientation center enlivens the memories of the shut-ins that have attracted people to this area for generations. Today, visitors are invited to join with park staff and the Missouri Department of Natural Resources to help ensure the continued beauty and environmental health of this extraordinary place. A technologically advanced device records images, narration, and written stories from visitors to the park.

The entire project from interpretive master planning and design conception through installation was completed in three years. Due to the vision of the design team and their interpretation of the geology, natural history, and culture of Johnson’s Shut-Ins State Park, visitors today not only get to return to the comfortable campsites and pristine hiking trails they once frequented—they also enjoy a unique educational experience and interactive exposure to its many geological treasures. Johnson’s Shut-Ins is truly a “landscape of voices.”

Therese McKee is the founder and owner of Signature Design in St. Louis, Missouri. She can be reached at therese.mckee@gmail.com.

When we encourage creativity and tactile, hands-on contact with plants, we provide visitors a passport through the Green Door. On the other side of the Green Door awaits a playground, and like any good playground, it is also a school. Much of the learning in this playground happens where our five senses, stimulated by a heightened level of engagement with tangible touchable nature, activate our sixth sense—the imagination.

The seedpods of the wild indigo catch my eye and I pause to inspect. “These would make excellent boats for the fairy folks,” I muse as I pick a few and hold the dried pea-like pods in my hand. Disturbed by my presence, a white-throated sparrow flies from a nearby clump of switch grass. I heard his plaintive, “poor-sam-peabody-peabody” call earlier in the week, but now the snowy patch of feathers on his throat suggests that winter is at hand. My garden has been transformed from the lush vitality of the growing season to more somber shades of tan, gray, and brown. Yet despite the change of palette, I have once again stepped through the Green Door. Regardless of the season, stopping to notice plants, to experience their texture, fragrance, or form opens us to new discoveries and reveals aspects from both the real world of nature and the imaginative world of spirit.

Volunteer naturalist Molly Teviso-Rona assists customers at the Fairy Market.

A mother sits on a rock in the woods with three small children. She turns over a play building permit and reads aloud the simple building code printed on the back of the paper. The children are squirrelly and anxious to get started, yet appear to be listening:

Be respectful of the space. Please don’t pull up living plants….Fairies prefer homes built from natural material…. Use your imagination…. Don’t be a perfectionist…. Be safe, watch for poison ivy, ticks….

As she continues reading, a little girl chirps, “What’s a perfectionist?” I can’t hear the mother’s response, but the girl nods in understanding.

Two young home builders show off their newly constructed fairy house.

A boy, perhaps six years old with eager eyes, clutches a brown bag, opens it, reaches in, and hands a quarter-size cardboard token to one of the “shopkeepers” standing across the counter at the Fairy Market. The large tables hold several shallow boxes and baskets containing an assortment of natural treasures (seedpods, dried flowers, and pieces of lichen-encrusted bark), which participants can exchange for tokens. Homebuilders for the fairy folks are allowed to use nonliving materials, fallen leaves, sticks, stones, etc., found within the permitted building zone, but all other materials must be “purchased” with tokens.

“Is this the one you want?” a fairy-clad shopkeeper asks, as she leans across the counter to meet the youngster’s gaze. “Oh, that will indeed make a great stairway!” she says. Her eyes twinkle as she hands the carefully selected piece of grapevine tendril to the young builder. The shopkeeper then inquires as to how many more tokens the boy has in his bag.

“Eight,” he responds after a brief calculation. “This is my second purchase, I’ll be back,” he says, looking over his shoulder as he dashes away clutching the miniature stairway in one hand and his bag of tokens in the other.

A father crouches on the ground and peers into a hollow log recently converted into a fairy house. His children, a little boy and a younger girl, are beaming with pride. “Look Daddy, we used these little sticks to make a fenced-in-yard,” says the boy as he points to the toothpick-size fence posts, lined up to form a small enclosure.

“And I made them a bathtub from this curled up leaf,” chimes the girl, “and look we found an empty snail shell for their living room. We gave them a fireplace, a bed, a couch and everything.” The father oohs and aahs, then shows off the miniature swing set he just added to the fairy’s backyard. Who says fairy house building is just for kids?

Fairy houses are left behind as monuments to the imagination.

Building Inspector Deanna Rushing looks official with her cap, badge, and clipboard as she patrols the new construction in the High-Density Zone of the Fairy Village. While she could issue tickets for infractions of the building code, she encounters few of them. Mostly she and the other volunteer building inspectors are on hand to offer suggestions, minimize the impact on the grounds, and ensure that safety concerns like poison ivy and ticks are addressed.

After volunteering as a building inspector for Bernheim’s Fairy Village, Deanna is charmed. “Once participants select their site and have a chance to explore it, their imaginations expand.” she says. They discover all sorts of possibilities in the bits of bark, twigs, and such. The velvety leaves of common mullein and lambs ear (both available at the Fairy Market) might make great blankets or fairy upholstery, but there is something about getting to know a place tactilely that helps feed the imagination. Some twigs are sturdy yet flexible; pieces of sloughed bark are versatile and can be fashioned into tables, porches, overhangs, and even walls. The large waxy leaves of the southern magnolia feel like perfect fairy roofing material.

Deanna reports that children and their parents (also grandparents, uncles, and aunts) constructed their tiny dwellings with a real focus on making comfortable homes for the fairies. But according to Deanna, comfort wasn’t the only principle that guided their process. She said, “Some considered hygiene, nutrition, community, and lots of ways to have fun. There were climbing ropes and vines to get to different areas of the house, soft velvety couches or chairs made from mullein leaves, dried flowers and hickory nut shells, indoor and outdoor showers. There were lots of ‘secret’ places for fairies to do things that we might not be privy to—places drawn by the imagination but respectfully unexamined, lest the fairies find it uninhabitable. I think the kids’ and parents’ imaginations meet on equal footing.”

This fairy village and the magic of this day were a direct result of my involvement with NAI. In February 2009 during the NAI Region 3 Workshop in western Kentucky, Michael Kirschman, division director for Mecklenburg County Nature Preserves, approached me with his usual enthusiastic greetings. Then he added, “Wren, of all people, you have to incorporate a fairy house festival into your programming!”

Michael knew that I would be receptive to his suggestion. He’d seen some of the little fairy creatures I make from natural materials. He may have known that I made fairy houses and occasionally incorporated them into programs and activities over the years, but he correctly assumed that I had never hosted a fairy house festival. Michael’s enthusiasm was contagious as he shared how the staff at the Latta Plantation near Charlotte, North Carolina, pulled off an amazing fairy house festival the previous February. With Michael’s encouragement, photos, and statistics from the first fairy house festival and marketing ideas (such as adding a costume contest) shared by Gail Lemiec, the genius behind their event, I was able to successfully petition our programs committee to include fairy house building in a major event at Bernheim Arboretum and Research Forest. Bloomfest was on the calendar as a new annual spring event. But we needed something besides the scheduled plant lectures, hikes, and plant sales—something that may have broader appeal to families with small children. Thus when Bernheim lunched our first Bloomfest in May 2009, we incorporated our first fairy house village as a major part of the day’s activities.

We didn’t know what to expect. Some co-workers questioned the connection between making fairy houses and our mission (connecting people with nature). Some suggested that this sort of activity would probably appeal only to little girls of a certain age. Others were concerned about the potential for resource destruction. As interpreters, we know that an idea is only as good as its execution, and the execution is only as good as the marketing and organization of supplies and volunteers.

Our plans needed to address and minimize the impact on the building site and limit “willy-nilly” collecting of natural materials by visitors. Sometimes when you address one problem you create new opportunities. It occurred to me that we could limit the temptation of visitors to collect outside our designated “fairy construction zone” if we established a place for them to obtain additional materials, thus the Fairy Market. Here shoppers could select from a large variety of interesting natural materials (dried flowers, seed pods, grape vine tendrils). These materials were carefully collected and organized weeks in advance by staff and volunteers.

To prevent greedy grabbing of the market’s materials, we gave each permit holder a bag of 10 tokens (leftover leaf-shaped cutouts from a local greeting card factory). An unexpected bonus in establishing this market is that not only did it limit unbridled collecting of natural materials, it also gave participants an opportunity to touch and learn about the real world of nature in a more thoughtful manner. Shoppers at the Fairy Market selected from a variety of interesting natural materials spread out smorgasbord fashion. They encountered interpreters who in the guise of shopkeepers answered questions or added enough guided commentary to be helpful without being intrusive. The large acorn caps from saw tooth and bur oaks were favorite bathtub fixtures and the velvety red inflorescence of the giant cockscomb where especially popular as “upscale” pillows and upholstery materials.

Young builders practiced math and budgeting as they deliberated each purchase. A shopper might purchase a grapevine tendril for one token, or select a honey locust pod in exchange for two tokens. One basket contained dried flowers and a sign reading, “1 token = 5 flowers”.

In the construction zone, children and their parents freely searched and found all sorts of building materials such as pieces of bark, hollow logs, rocky grottos, and an assortment of “builders twigs”—the all-important structural support supplied by the various twigs and branches in the shape of letters, including Y, V, T, and W. In the process of searching, participants not only developed a more intimate connection with the plants, they also discovered creatures from the other kingdoms.

Even though the morning brought showers and limited construction, the afternoon clearing allowed fairy houses to spring up like mushrooms after a rain. Visitors built 106 fairy houses in just a few hours. Most of these were constructed by families. Moms, dads, and children were down on their haunches, looking closely at twigs, rocks, leaves. They were touching the earth and being touched by it. I like to imagine that they had stepped through the Green Door. They had certainly entered the place where children (and those of us who are still children at heart) are able to express the inner world of the spirit while connecting more intimately with the real world of nature.

It is easy to help your visitors step through the Green Door. There is no magic word to incant, no lock to fumble with, and no key to turn. Instead turn your attention to the green and growing things. With a little imagination, you and your visitors will more fully encounter the complexities and mysteries of the natural world. In the process you may not only discover the intricacies of aster blossoms and hollyhocks, but also the tiny stars and fairy gowns hidden there.

Recommended Reading
Sobel, David. (2001.) Children’s Special Places: Exploring the Role of Forts, Dens, and Bush Houses in Middle Childhood. Detroit, Michigan: Wayne State University Press.

Wren Smith is the interpretive programs manager for Bernheim Arboretum and Research Forest in Kentucky. Reach her at 502-955-8512, x227 or Wren@bernheim.org.

What’s your training style? Are you systematic and analytical (think outlines, agendas, and worksheets) or do your training sessions lean more toward the creative and spontaneous with games, role-playing, and brainstorming activities? If either sounds like you, thank the dominant side of your brain. Unfortunately, this same dominant side, which along with other variables dictates your personality, behaviors, and preferences, may also prevent you from connecting with everyone in your training audience. Why?

The cerebral cortex, the part of the brain that controls rational functions, is made up of two halves, or hemispheres. These are connected by a thick band of nerve fibers (the corpus collosum) that sends messages back and forth in a cross-wired fashion, so your right hemisphere controls your left side and vice versa. Brain research has confirmed that just as you have a dominant hand, eye, and even a dominant foot, you probably have a dominant side of your brain. And while no one is totally left-brained or right-brained, learning via the preferred side is faster and easier because your dominant side has more neural connections. This means that when learning is new, difficult, or stressful, we automatically go to our preferred side.

The fact that most of us have strongly lateralized brains is probably no accident, according to Dr. Michael Corballis, professor of psychology at the University of Auckland, New Zealand. Early in human history, and possibly even in our pre-human ancestors, evolution delegated different cognitive responsibilities to the brain’s two hemispheres. This allowed our brains to become more efficient and smaller, meaning fewer calories were needed to keep it running.

The concept of right-brain and left-brain thinking is based on studies first developed by Nobel Prize-winning American psychobiologist Roger W. Sperry in the 1960s. Through studies with “split-brain” patients (whose two hemispheres could not communicate with each other due to a severed corpus callosum), he discovered that the human brain has two very different ways of thinking. While the idea of left-brain versus right-brain continues to be a controversial subject among scientists and academics, most scientists and researchers agree that there are definite differences in the way each hemisphere works.

The left side of the brain is the seat of language. It processes information in a logical, linear manner, by taking pieces of information, arranging them in a sequential order, then drawing conclusions and forming strategies. To the left-brain learner, facts and symbols rule. They’re comfortable with words, names, numbers, and scientific data. If your thought processes tend to be more analytical, objective, and detailed-oriented, you may be a left-brained learner.

Unlike the verbally skilled left hemisphere, the right hemisphere focuses on the visual. Rather than processing information sequentially, the right brain processes information intuitively, randomly, and from whole to part, starting with the answer and working back. If you find yourself pulling answers out of the air without knowing how you got them; if you focus on the big picture before the details; if you’re creative, emotional, and spatially skilled; and if you learn best by doing rather than listening, you might be a right-brained learner.

Unfortunately for right-brained learners, modern society and learning institutions tend to favor left-brain modes of thinking that focus on logical thinking, analysis, and accuracy, while downplaying the right-brain modes of thinking that focus on aesthetics, feeling, and creativity. Experiments show that most children rank highly creative (right brain) before entering school. But because educational systems place a higher value on left-brain skills like mathematics, science, and language than on drawing or using our imaginations, only 10 percent of these same children will rank highly creative by age seven. By the time we are adults, high creativity remains in only two percent of the population.

It’s obvious that in order to foster a more whole-brained training experience, we need to include training techniques that connect with both right- and left-brained learners. So how do you ensure that you connect with everyone in your training audience?

If you naturally live in the left side of your brain, include right-brain activities that promote creativity and synthesis like role playing, brainstorming, and creative problem solving. Remember that right-brain learners do best by seeing, touching, doing, and being in the middle of things. Adding small group activities, hands-on exercises, metaphors, analogies, and visuals to your training repertoire will increase your audience’s right-brained connections and ensure a more whole-brained approach.

And if you’re a right-brain-dominant trainer? Adding organizational tools like written agendas and outlines as well as analytical activities like worksheets, fact sheets, and discussion will support the linear learning needs and desire for details and data that are characteristic of left-brain learners.

Tilden’s principles state that effective interpretation “must address itself to the whole man.” By better understanding the influence of hemispheric dominance on you and your participants, and by promoting a whole-brain learning approach, you are one step closer to ensuring your training not only addresses the “whole man” but your whole training audience as well.

Kris Whipple, CIG, CIT, CIP, is an interpretive consultant/trainer in Naples, Florida. She can be contacted at kris.w@earthlink.net.

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.

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.

NAI’s annual workshop signals the end of my autumn and the start of winter. I enjoy the opportunity to connect with lasting friends and colleagues, but am happy to return home because the beginning of winter marks the start of ski season in western Montana. Years ago, I was primarily a Nordic skier, spending a lot of time skiing in and near Yellowstone. I remain a cross-country skier, but I have since balanced my time with Alpine skiing. When I began downhill skiing in earnest, I decided that I wanted to be the best skier possible. I did not begin skiing at an early age. Nonetheless, I thought I could become an advanced skier if I devoted enough time to practice.

I felt that my opinion was validated when I recently read an excerpt from Rolling Stones’ guitarist Keith Richards’s book Life. In the memoir, he relates the Stones’ early years of playing before small audiences, “For three years—we played virtually every night, or every day, sometimes two gigs a day. We played well over a thousand gigs, almost back to back….” Richards’s account is similar to that of the experiences of The Beatles. While still an amateur high school rock band, they were invited to play in Hamburg, Germany, by a bar owner who employed bands to play nonstop, providing continuous entertainment to passing foot traffic. According to Pete Best, The Beatles’ first drummer: “We played seven nights a week. At first we played almost nonstop till 12:30….” John Lennon related, “In Liverpool, we’d only ever done one-hour sessions, and we just used to do our best numbers, the same ones, at every one. In Hamburg, we had to play for eight hours, so we really had to find a new way to playing.”

Malcolm Gladwell, in Outliers, estimates that The Beatles played 10,000 hours during their five stints in Hamburg. The number is identical to Daniel Levitin’s figure reported in This is Your Brain on Music. Levitin discusses various studies that involved mathematicians, athletes, chess professionals, ice skaters, writers, master criminals, and musicians, comparing innate ability to practice. Whereas talent is scientifically defensible, the studies point in favor of the view that practice makes perfect.

Levitin says, “The emerging picture from such studies is that 10,000 hours of practice is required to achieve the level of mastery associated with being a world-class expert—in anything.” Levitin continues, “Ten thousand hours is equivalent to roughly three hours a day, or 20 hours a week, of practice over 10 years.” The 10,000-hour theory is consistent with what we know about how the brain learns. Repetition and practice strengthen neural pathways, creating strong memory representations.

Ten thousand hours of Alpine skiing is beyond what I am willing to devote to the sport. But skiing is more than a form of entertainment to me. I have found that each time I ski, I learn something about how to adjust to changing snow conditions or how to negotiate new terrain. If I pay attention, I will improve and continue to set new goals.

Finally, I am on the chairlift, riding to the top of the mountain for my first ski run of the season. I think of my NAI friends. Most of them began their careers as frontline interpreters; many are now supervisors, trainers, academics, and managers whose responsibilities take them away from regular interactions with visitors. It occurs to me that the interpreters with the most developed skill sets are those who have the most experience relating with visitors. They should be the faces of their organizations. The visitor’s first contact should be with an experienced and skilled interpreter. My thoughts shift to an example from my own life. Bill Lewis, author of Interpreting for Park Visitors, trained me in frontline interpretation techniques three decades ago. At that time, Bill was a university professor, National Park Service trainer, and for many years a seasonal interpreter and trainer in Yellowstone. After his retirement from academia, Bill continued to facilitate sharing Yellowstone with visitors as a seasonal interpreter. Along with his passion for the resources and visitors, he developed skill sets formed from his considerable practice connecting with audiences. Experienced practitioners like Bill offer the best visible appearance for their organization.

It is an errant assumption that anyone can interpret informally. Research described in This is Your Brain on Music suggests that many hours of practice are needed to become proficient in the challenges of informal frontline interpretation. Interpreters with years of practice and highly developed skill sets will be the most effective at connecting visitors to the resources. In a visitor-based profession, it should be a priority to place the most accomplished interpreters “out front” where they can perform their long practiced art.

Alan Leftridge is a contract interpretive trainer, visitor services trainer, and interpretive writer based out of the Swan Valley of Montana. Contact him at www.leftridge.com.

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.

We often feel being “professional” requires being sterile—keeping emotion and passion out of our work and out of our talks. Yet heartfelt stories of personal tragedy, drama, discovery, loss, and triumph are universal experiences that help build rapport with audiences.

Audiences feed off enthusiasm, passion, desire, and confidence. Share these with your audience; allow your audience to feel the exuberance you have for your work. Share with them the struggles and accomplishments that have brought you to where you are today.

A good story from the heart can result in the entire audience being silent and rapt with attention. Audiences love stories—more so when they include human drama. All ears will be on you and there will be few, if any, side conversations or other distracting behaviors.

You have a reason for doing the work you do. You chose to be here. Use this reason to help get your point across. If you have a compelling story of why you do what you do, share it.

This is the meaning behind your work; it is what brought you here. This story will be a stronger motivator than mere product information. When you tell personal stories, your audience will want to listen. They will lean forward, and the room will fill with silence—a complete silence that allows each of your words to land strongly in the ears of your listener. Your audience will feel you are real and will want to support you or your business.

If you have a heartfelt true story, tell it. If you are excited about your topic, show it. If you have a belief, share it. Make yourself vulnerable. Tell your audience who you really are; they will admire and respect you for it.

Fill your talks with passion and emotion. Use your stories to captivate your audience and help them understand why you do what you do. They will then be more likely to listen to you and to follow your suggestions.

This speaking tip is one is a series provided by iSpeakEASY. Visit www.iSpeakEASY.net for more tips and articles. Contact Ethan Rotman directly at 415-342-7106.

The opportunity to produce a new interpretive film in the National Park Service doesn’t come up very often. So when Lincoln Home National Historic Site was provided with the funds for a new film, we were excited about the project but at the same time conscious of the importance of what we were undertaking. We had one shot at this and whatever the final product, it would be shown for years to come to hundreds of thousands of visitors. We knew that this film would be around for a while because it was replacing a film that was produced in 1976. We were going to produce a digital, high-definition film to replace one that was shown on a 16mm film tree. (Thank goodness for both the opening of the high-tech Abraham Lincoln Presidential Museum several blocks away and a Lincoln bicentennial to help get our need noticed and funded!)

This posted promoted Lincoln Home National Historic Site’s interpretive film Abraham Lincoln: A Journey to Greatness, which premiered in February 2009, just in time for the Lincoln bicentennial.

Lincoln Home National Historic Site preserves and interprets the Springfield home of Abraham Lincoln. It is the home that he, his wife Mary, and nine-month-old son Robert moved into in the spring of 1844 and where they lived for the next 17 years. It is the home that saw the birth of their next three sons, Eddie, Willie, and Tad. And it is the place where three-year-old Eddie died of tuberculosis. It was where Lincoln lived while earning a living as a successful attorney. It was where he lived during the famous Lincoln-Douglas debates of 1858; where he lived when he gave his famous Cooper Union Speech in New York; where the Republican Party informed Lincoln, in May 1860, that he was their candidate for the presidency; and, where president-elect Lincoln was when South Carolina seceded from the Union. The Lincoln home itself is restored to the 1860 time period and contains a mix of original and period artifacts throughout the two-story house. Lincoln Home National Historic Site contains 14 historic structures that surround the Lincoln home, evoking the Lincoln time period for visitors.

One challenge in telling the story of Abraham Lincoln in Springfield is deciding which story to tell. Do we present the story of Lincoln the family man? Lincoln the lawyer? Lincoln the politician? President-elect Lincoln on the eve of civil war? And, if we try to combine any or all of those elements, how do we do it within the time allotted for a typical visitor center orientation film? Our 2004 long-range interpretive plan provided some guidance, including our interpretive themes, but no specifics:

The goal of this 15-minute program will be to inspire, excite, and motivate visitors to the very personal connections between Lincoln the man, his family, home, community, and belief system as they relate to major events in America’s history.

In Mr. Lincoln’s Springfield, a photographer played by Stuart Germain tells viewers about Lincoln’s hometown.

An inquiry of our staff was helpful, but still brought a variety of responses based upon the areas of the Lincoln story that most interested them. Ultimately, the solution lay in developing a rule of thumb that helped in a variety of instances throughout the film project. Consult the experts, then trust the process! We were fortunate in our project to have the benefit of the expertise of the staff of the National Park Service’s Harpers Ferry Center, the office that produces and/or coordinates most media projects for the National Park Service. Harpers Ferry Center managed the film contract, which included providing a list of filmmakers that had already been vetted through their indefinite quantities contract process. Harpers Ferry Center staff spent many hours reviewing proposals and submittals from many filmmakers who wanted to be on the National Park Service “IDIQ” list. So, who are we, as historic site staff with no particular background in film making, to question the abilities of the experts who have been determined to be the best in their field? Through guidance from our Midwest Regional Office and Harpers Ferry we selected an excellent filmmaker.

We then provided the filmmaker with a great deal of background material on Lincoln in Springfield and, with our guidance—including our interpretive themes, etc.—we had them develop a film plan that they felt could be accomplished within the given time frame and within the available budget, and that would be compelling to the visitor. The filmmakers had two advantages: They knew how to make a compelling film and they were not Lincoln experts. They knew what a “non-Lincoln” person would be interested in because they were in that group. It is relatively easy to reach an audience who already appreciates Lincoln; we need to reach those who don’t. For that reason, you probably would prefer not to have a Lincoln historian make a Lincoln film. Serve as a consultant, yes; drive the story, perhaps not. While there were certainly some back-and-forth discussions on elements of the story, we ended up for the most part with the outline they envisioned. We also avoided the pitfall of wanting to primarily tell the story of the place that we manage, the Lincoln home, to the possible exclusion of a better broader Lincoln story, a story that more visitors could connect to. And, ultimately, visitors will connect more to the Lincoln home if they can better connect to Lincoln. The final product was a film that told a balanced, multifaceted story of Lincoln in Springfield.

In a Lincoln-Douglas debate scene from Abraham Lincoln: A Journey to Greatness, Stephen A. Douglas was played by Rick Dunham and Abraham Lincoln was played by Fritz Klein.

Letting the filmmakers ply their craft freely wasn’t always easy, however. The trick for us was to know when to step in to make some corrections and when to remain silent for the sake of the story. For example, does it really matter that, in a scene showing Eddie’s death, the wallpaper design in the background is a little too late for that time period? Or is it the feel of the room and the emotion of the scene that is most important? We kept quiet on the wallpaper issue. In staging the Lincoln-Douglas debate, the filmmaker wanted to show a “historic” building in the background because it “looked better.” We knew that the building was too modern, that in most cases the debates were held in open areas, and that this change was relatively easy. We held firm on that issue.

Another consideration on this project was limitations due to budget constraints. On February 11, 1861, Lincoln gave his famous farewell speech to the citizens of Springfield. In 2007, because we could only afford one trip to Springfield for filming, our Lincoln gave his speech in August. The result was a rather green leafy February in our film. We were able to “hide August” somewhat thanks to the magic of computer graphics, which populated the scene with buildings to mask some of the leafy trees and grass, but not all. Again, the ultimate goal was a portrayal of Lincoln’s emotional farewell to Springfield on his way to the presidency.

While we let the filmmakers tell the story, we ensured that the film was reflective of current scholarship and interpretation, in this case, interpretation of antebellum American society and the causes of the Civil War. This was certainly one of the areas in which our old film really looked old. Our 1976 film, Mr. Lincoln’s Springfield, was set in Springfield just after Lincoln’s election and features a “photographer” who takes us into the Lincoln home and around Springfield, and while taking photos, describes the Lincoln family and the Springfield community that they live in. In his description of Springfield, the photographer summarizes Springfield’s African-American community in only four sentences.

Just down the street is Jessie Jenkins’ place. His wife takes in laundry, he drives the dray wagon. He took the Lincolns to the depot when they left. Then there’s William Floureville, he, like Jessie, is black.

And, while someone viewing the film would learn about Lincoln’s family, see his home, and know that he was elected to the presidency, the viewer does not get even the slightest indication that there was a growing national crisis over slavery, that it was that issue that propelled Lincoln to the White House and the nation to war.

In the new film, we mention the diversity of Springfield but leave a more in-depth discussion of that to our exhibits and other media. We do devote a good deal of film time to the national issues and debate over slavery. We have a scene from the 1858 Lincoln-Douglas debates that illustrates the extreme views of the nation through the use of Stephen A. Douglas’s more inflammatory rhetoric about the place of African Americans in the nation.

I hold that a negro is not and never ought to be a citizen of the United States. I hold that this government was made on the white basis, by white men, for white men and their posterity forever.

There was some hesitation about inclusion of this line in the film—namely a concern that some in the audience might take offense. A problem of past National Park Service media such as exhibits and films was the sanitation of certain elements of history for the sake of visitors’ sensitivity. National Park Service media at historic sites and museums now include uncomfortable chapters of the past to tell a better, more accurate, and more compelling story.

Ultimately, the success of our film, Abraham Lincoln: A Journey to Greatness, can be largely attributed to open dialogue, trust, and true partnerships with the filmmaker, the local community, and the National Park Service community in every step of the filmmaking process, from location scouting to final editing. We hope that this film doesn’t have to be shown for as many years as its predecessor did, but if it does, we think that the visitor will be well informed and entertained.

Timothy P. Townsend is a historian at the Lincoln Home National Historic Site. Contact him at tim_townsend@nps.gov.