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.

The time is right (or ripe) for our interpretive efforts to tap into the consciousness coalescing around locally produced food, food safety, nutrition, heirloom produce, sustainable practices, community gardens, edible landscapes, farmers markets, and community celebrations. Since plants are at the core of our food chain and central to this emerging dialogue, our sense of taste provides an important pathway to building interpretive programs that tastefully nurture community while linking us with new partners and audiences that can help us protect the resources we cherish.

Heirloom vegetables and flowers grace the Tinsley House gardens at the Museum of the Rockies.

Farmers markets are abuzz with families connecting with nature through their association with the farmers and gardeners who usually provide more than fresh local produce. They swap stories, food samples, recipes, and smiles. I’ve noticed lots of smiles at farmers markets, and many “ums” and “yums” as folks sample slices of blood red brandywines and peach-colored melons, the juice of these treats running down chins. There is a bit of a clamor and a new urgency around food and its production. This is due in part to our desire to counter the trend in the rates of obesity and diet-induced diabetes in this country. It may be a desire for more authentic experiences—experiences that call forth something new in us—new ways of seeing, being, or perhaps thinking about the food we eat and asking more questions. Where does it come from, and from how far away? Has it been genetically modified, and if so, do I care or should I care? Some of the urgency may be the fact that some of the old-timers who can teach us how to grow and maintain organic fruit and other more challenging produce are passing away.

Whatever the reason, interest in linking more directly with our food is definitely on the rise. According to a USDA website, the number of farmers markets in the U.S. has grown from 1,755 in 1994 to 5,274 as of mid-2009.

Resources are Growing a Movement
Programs such as Growing a Green Generation, Wisconsin’s Fast Plants, The Farm to School Network, and the Slow Foods movement, as well as organizations like Louisville’s Food Literacy Project and 15 Thousand Farmers, are springing up like multiplier onions. These programs and organizations provide new partnership opportunities and potential for making our message relevant to new audiences. Books such as Barbara Kingsolver’s Animal, Vegetable, Miracle and Michael Pollan’s Omnivore’s Dilemma and In Defense of Food have helped nourish the growth of this greening food movement. The Edible Communities publications from The Edible Communities Inc. (ECI) have become a standard-bearer for the local foods movement in many cities. Like other Edible publications, Edible Louisville provides recipes and stories that highlight local farmers, gardeners, and others in the community that are finding new (and old) ways to celebrate our connection with the land and live more responsibly. Many nature centers, gardens, arboreta, and historic sites are digging in and providing festivals that celebrate the edible offerings of the seasons while helping visitors make connections between our food choices and the ecology of place.

Autumn Root Soup celebrations are remembered and celebrated anew each spring in the “spritely” daffodils.

Four years ago Thomas Jefferson’s beloved Monticello became the site of the annual Heritage Harvest Festival sponsored by the Southern Seed Exchange. This family-oriented program now attracts thousands and highlights organic and traditional agriculture and regional foods, including tasting sessions, workshops, and talks. Near the town of Mansfield, Missouri, what started as a garden festival in 1998 has grown into the region’s monthly Big Garden Festival sponsored by Baker Creek Heirloom Seeds.

In many states, programs like Maryland’s Master Gardeners are playing a significant role interpreting the importance of food plants in a campaign called Grow it, Eat it. The mission of this campaign is “to help Marylanders improve health and save money by growing fresh vegetables, fruits, and herbs using sustainable practices.” One of the stated goals of this campaign is to teach intensive, low-cost, sustainable growing techniques that maximize food production per area, protect and improve natural resources, and improve human health. Surely many interpretive sites would find partnership opportunities within such goals.

Edible Plants Connect Us with History and Ecology
Last August I visited the Living History Farm at the Museum of the Rockies, where they grow varieties of vegetables and flowers that were commercially available from 1890 to 1905. I was impressed not only by the beauty of the heirloom gardens but by the friendly costumed volunteers cooking in the Victorian-era log cabin known as the Tinsley House. It is clear from the garden displays and from talking with volunteers and staff that they want visitors to experience daily life from this time period as well as learn stories behind the plants growing there. The opportunity to smell a simmering pot of beans or a chance to taste old varieties of tomatoes certainly make the experience more memorable. The gift shop sells many of the seeds grown and gathered from their gardens and this provides funding for purchasing more heirloom seeds each season. The seeds also help people plant a living link with the region’s history. In my home state of Kentucky, staff of the 1890s farm in the Land Between the Lakes understands the importance of “tasteful” interpretation. Visitors are frequently greeted by the sights, sounds, and warming fragrances emanating from the cabin’s fireplace, where farm vegetables are transformed into fragrant and tasteful experiences.

Growing and gathering foods from the garden or from the wild can help us be more aware of our relationships with the wider community of life. For months my garden has been decked out each morning with the shimmering webs of the giant yellow garden spiders catching their breakfast while I gather mine. Since I started keeping bees, I’m more attentive to plants that produce food for “my girls.” Surely those asters and goldenrod growing by the fence will provide my bees (and the lovely native bees) with pollen and nectar.

An interest in harvesting or growing plants for food can help us be more attentive to what’s growing in and out of our gardens. This past April instead of hosting another invasive plants workshop, Bernheim Arboretum offered a three-hour Eat-a-Weed workshop to a full house! This workshop armed visitors with information on destructive invasive species, and provided visitors with something practical they could do to help control weeds: Eat them!

Plants Quench Our Thirst to Connect
Many communities grow crops and produce beverages that satisfy our thirst for authentic connections with places. The roadside stands selling ciders and fresh orange juice signify the seasons and may help us celebrate the genius loci when we travel. Some regions specialize in crafting distinctive beer or wine. In my community of Bardstown, Kentucky, bourbon is “boss” and provides opportunities to partner with distilleries linked with the region’s Bourbon Trail. In fact, Isaac W. Bernheim, founder of the Bernheim Arboretum and Research Forest, made his fortune in the bourbon industry and created Bernheim Forest with portions of that fortune. Maps and tours linking these local beverages provide opportunities to take a more spirited approach to our interpretive programs and offerings. Visitors sampling local beverages are open to experiencing these in the context of the local history, resources, and community and this provides opportunities to link resources, messages, and connect with new audiences.

In conclusion
Plants are primary in our exploration of food and can help us understand history and ecological relationships, and make our stories relevant, more enjoyable, and maybe even more digestible. Real food nourishes on many levels and this knowledge is catching on! Administrators, marketers, and interpreters who ignore this trend may miss opportunities for growing sustainable and new audiences.

For More Information
Kingsolver, Barbara, Camille Kingsolver, and Steven L. Hopp. 2007. Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. New York: HarperCollins.

Pollan, Michael. 2006. The Omnivore’s Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals. New York: Penguin Press.

Pollan, Michael 2008. In Defense of Food: An Eater’s Manifesto. New York: Penguin Press.

Websites & Organizations
Edible Communities. www.ediblecommunities.com/content

The Farm to School Network. www.farmtoschool.org

Slow Foods International. www.slowfood.com

Growing Healthy Kids. www.foodsecuritypartners.org/growing-healthy-kids

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.

A storyteller uses whatever method is available and relevant.

On paper, I am a television producer. But my job at the Arkansas Educational Television Network (AETN) entails much more than leading a production crew. I am tasked with researching a subject, creating a project around it, and deciding what formats would best convey the information. Sound familiar?

Textbooks tend to lose their audiences rather quickly, especially when those audiences are tech-savvy and want more visual information. For the sake of keeping students, and sometimes teachers, from nodding off in third-period history class, I get to interpret Arkansas’s past and present by producing videos and virtual tours for those classrooms. Long gone are the days of the old frame-by-frame, crank-it-yourself filmstrip. Documentaries and instructional presentations that are broadcast or streamed online make learning more enjoyable and easily consumed.

Video

Arkansas’s First People features an interview with a Choctaw Nation elder in Antlers, Oklahoma. Courtesy of Arkansas Educational Television Network

In public television and some cable networks, video featuring curriculum-based subjects is created specifically for education and scheduled outside of the primetime lineup meant for the general public. These schedules, usually overnight, allow for odd lengths in programming, like 10- or 15-minute clips on whatever subject fits with a teacher’s lesson plan.

One of my first projects for AETN was a series of classroom video clips, funded in part by the Arkansas Environmental Federation (AEF), eventually named “Environmental Educator’s Book.” I worked with scientists, business people, and one teacher, but I had to guard against losing sight of my audience, middle school students. That age group has enough complexity in its collective life without having to memorize dry statistics about water, air, recycling, and energy. So, animation seemed like a good format.

AETN and AEF wanted videos that would be fun and colorful, short and informative. Each clip has a character or characters who explain what the subjects are and why a teenager should care. The animation is mixed with live-action video so that the realism doesn’t get lost. The resulting clips are different lengths and teacher’s guides are available.

Arkansas’s First People’s chief videographer Chuck Durham shoots video of an Osage Nation storefront in Pawhuska, Oklahoma. Courtesy of Arkansas Educational Television Network

Long-form video projects are an interpretive challenge. Unlike an interpretive talk, where each time you present, you can tweak something and improve, video is concrete. You have one chance at telling the story. Once it’s fixed in the final edit, that’s it. Like a lot of things, there are the “would’ve, should’ve, could’ve” moments. Suddenly, you realize that a particular emphasis or image would make the video much better. Maybe lack of time or budget prevented those additions. On the other hand, the video that was created will probably be seen by thousands of people.

Virtual Tours
The Internet has really enhanced interpreting to the masses. Virtual tours can be a primer for a visit to a site, an electronic field trip, or both. For a teacher, this is invaluable. Lesson plans benefit from the addition of images and information. The school’s budget may benefit from giving students the chance to experience a place without having to spend money on transportation. For the park or museum, its services are being utilized and in the future, the site might be visited when school funds are available.

The first virtual tour I had the pleasure of working on was about the Little Rock Central High segregation crisis. The project became a website, not just a virtual tour. Touring a Time: Little Rock Central High School 1957 Crisis features what is now the former visitor center, the high school campus, as well as the neighborhood, timeline, key players, historic images, and documents. The site is linked to the Little Rock Central High School National Historic Site lesson plan page through the National Park Service.

The original idea for the virtual tour was to provide a glimpse into the past with words and images. There is no video involved. The narrative in some areas reflects the vernacular of the time. Students’ thoughts are shared through journalism class assignments. Propaganda examples show the tension in the community. Each biographical sketch has a notation of where each of the Little Rock Nine ended up after 1957. This is the closest to living history as a producer can get without donning a costume.

Courses
Teachers are required to have a specific number of professional development credit hours. My job is centered on providing course video for Arkansas teachers via Arkansas Internet Delivered Education for Arkansas Schools (Arkansas IDEAS). Recently, it has evolved into building courses with video, assessment questions, and any other materials that would enhance the subject. At first glance, this may not sound like interpreting, but it is. The courses are transferred to the students either by a teacher improving his or her skills or by literally using the course elements in classroom lesson plans.

Arkansas’s First People is a good example of a course. This project began as a grant application on its way to the garbage can until a coworker, who knew of my interest in Native cultures, rescued it and brought it to me. I made my case for applying for the grant and completing the project as a course. There was an absence of extensive material in Arkansas history classes regarding indigenous people. I received permission to apply. Three of us formed a grant team, applied, and received one of 15 positions in the “American Experience: We Shall Remain Native History of America Community Coalitions Initiative.”

Arkansas’s First People would include five half-hour videos centering on various time periods, a website, virtual tours, resource links, outreach events, an exhibit, and assessments. AETN would provide these elements with the guidance of a coalition of experts—and I knew that didn’t mean some books and a historian. I contacted the modern nations of the American Indian tribes who impacted what is now known as Arkansas. The majority of nations responded and allowed us to visit their Oklahoma headquarters. Also on the list of invited experts were the Arkansas Archeological Survey, Arkansas State Parks, Arkansas Tech University Museum, Historic Arkansas Museum, Sequoyah National Research Center, American Indian Center of Arkansas, Trail of Tears Association, and the University of Arkansas Museum Collection. All of these organizations would have some part in the completion of this massive, delicate project.

As I looked at the scope of Arkansas’s First People, I thought back to my two seasons as an interpreter at Toltec Mounds Archeological State Park. Two things stood out: These are stories to be handled with the utmost respect, and information should come from as close to the original source as possible.

When you are interpreting a site, you work diligently on your presentations, whether they are print, audio-visual, or first-person. You do careful research and craft the story with respect. You typically know your audience.

To interpret for mass media, you work diligently on your presentations, perform careful research, and craft the story with respect. You don’t always know your audience when the stories you are attempting to tell are fractured by scattered documentation, mishandling, and bias. These stories aren’t your own. This seemingly ancient history still impacts the living. An American Indian author friend of mine told me to stick to the basic principles I learned at Toltec. Arkansas’s First People resulted in all the elements promised in the grant application and was also edited into a 90-minute broadcast documentary. No project has had more of an impact on me as a producer or interpreter.

Pros and Cons
There are two downsides to being a television producer and not a frontline interpreter: Your audiences don’t get to have a tactile experience with what you produced as they would if they visited a site, and you typically don’t get to meet your audience. On the positive side, you produced something that can be seen multiple times and at the audience’s convenience.

I used to think that I wasn’t an interpreter because I wasn’t at a park. Then thanks to my former Toltec Mounds Archeological State Park co-worker Shea Lewis, I thought better of it. During production of Arkansas’s First People, he said, “I can’t wait to see the end product. You know you are still an interpreter, just on TV!”

Stephanie R. Lewis is an education producer at the Arkansas Educational Television Network and a freelance writer/photographer. She can be reached at srlewis@hotmail.com.

Last Father’s Day weekend I packed up the car with my son, wife, and dog and we hit the road for Wisconsin to visit my in-laws. Being a birder, I had a secret agenda; there’s always a secret agenda for birders. I wanted to revisit a park in the backwaters of the Mississippi River that had repelled me away a year earlier when I’d come unprepared for the onslaught of mosquitoes. As best as I could figure, the park contained at least eight bird species that had yet to be added to my life list. Saturday morning, I set out for the park while the rest of the family headed to garage sales. Alone in the woods, I hiked down the old gravel trail. My slow pace would have driven a non-birder crazy. My ears picked out every bird call as I crept along and led my eyes to their hidden forms. Here’s a common yellowthroat near that wetland, there’s a yellow warbler in the trees. That’s a song sparrow in the bushes. What are those crows calling at in the distance? Ah, now I hear the red-shouldered hawk they are chasing.

It was a gorgeous day. The wind was just strong enough to ground most of the mosquitoes and the sun was shining in the sky. I’d hiked about a mile down the trail and had just added an indigo bunting to my daily bird tally when I came upon something unexpected: water. There’s a lot of water in this park. There are six large bridges crossing backwaters and streams of the Black River, but this water was covering the trail directly ahead of me. I suddenly remembered that on the previous Thursday we’d had huge storms passing through the region. There were reports of 35 tornadoes in Minnesota. That same massive line of storms dumped over three inches of water on the park. The crushed limestone trail dipped down below a pool of brown, tannin-rich water.

I have to admit my first thought was to turn back. “Wait a minute,” I thought. “I’m a naturalist!” There only appeared to be six inches or so of water and the trail resumed again 20 feet away. No problem. I stripped off my shoes and socks and waded into the cold water. I had to move slowly as my tender feet felt their way along the rocky bottom. The bright side of walking on sharp, crushed limestone was that at least my feet weren’t going to be muddy on the other side.

Successfully crossing the water, I put my socks and shoes back on and kept on hiking, all the while ticking off species of birds. I knew most people would have turned around so everything from here on out was my solo park. I was smiling as I hiked when I again came to a section of trail covered in water. Without much hesitation this time, I stripped my shoes and socks off and headed into the water. This time it was farther across and the water came up to my knees. On the other side, I tore one of my socks when I pulled too hard putting it back on my wet feet. Due to a packing error, it happened to be the only pair of socks I’d brought all weekend. Oh well, such is life. I hiked on until I came to the third place the trail disappeared under the water. This time, the sun was behind some clouds and I really couldn’t tell how deep the water was. I was also keenly aware that for every water crossing I made I’d have to repeat it on the way back. I had no idea how many more crossings there would be.

“Enough with this shoe and sock nonsense,” I thought. I hiked up my jeans and plunged into the water with my shoes still attached. I was pretty sure that was a mistake from about the second step. The one thing I was happy about was the extra height my shoes gave me. I’m six feet tall but the water was still just above my knees. I hiked on, watching birds and sloshing in my wet shoes. I made yet another water crossing and enjoyed myself until hunger and my watch told me I had to turn around. By the time I got to the car an hour later my shoes were soaked and I’d added 13 species of birds I wouldn’t have seen had I turned around when the trail submerged under water. None of them were any of the eight “lifers” I had been hoping for but I’d had a great morning none the less.

There are times in interpretation that are like that moment standing at the edge of the water. Turning around is so easy, so seductive. What was really holding me back, wet shoes? In life and interpretation we’re often more cautious than we need to be for reasons that amount to nothing more than wet shoes.

Plunge through the interpretive waters. I can’t guarantee better birds on the other side, but make sure your obstacles are real, not something as silly as wet shoes.

Kirk Mona is the outreach coordinator for the Lee and Rose Warner Nature Center in Marine on St. Croix, Minnesota. He has been an NAI member since 1996. Kirk welcomes your comments at kmona@smm.org.