Children Archive

Providing Life-Affirming Experiences—Not Just Facts

By
Legacy
Published: October 26, 2009Posted in: Children, Feature StoriesTags: , , ,

by Bob Flasher

Isn’t experiencing life through personal discovery, cooperative challenges, and self-directed learning more enjoyable and exciting than listening to a recitation of facts, no matter how interesting those facts are? Since the unfortunate advent of No Child Left Unscathed—or is that No Child Left Behind?—many nature and history interpretive programs have begun to teach to state standards.

Experiencing the lake instead of drowning in factoids.

Experiencing the lake instead of drowning in factoids.

This switch to teaching standardized facts instead of interpreting, discovering, and encouraging children to experience life firsthand often helps teachers justify the class field trip. In this manner, the current neurotic concern for teaching to standards is not only negatively impacting schools, but our interpretive efforts as well.

Freeman Tilden, the father of interpretation, defines this art as “an educational activity which aims to reveal meanings and relationships through the use of original objects, by firsthand experience, and by illustrative media, rather than simply by communicating factual information.” Three of his six principles of effective interpretation remind us that:

  • information alone is not interpretation; interpretation is revelation based upon information.
  • the chief aim of interpretation is not instruction, but provocation.
  • interpretation addressed to children should not be a dilution of the presentation to adults, but should follow a fundamentally different approach.

We need to ask ourselves whether we are simply intending to impart information and dry facts or whether we seek to create ecological and historic awareness and appreciation, transform lives, and possibly even save the Earth.

Tilden reminds us that “perhaps it is truer to say that interpretation is a program of re-education. We have let ourselves forget our need for direct experience and appreciation of beauty. It is the duty of the interpreter to jog our memories.” To have real historic sites and natural areas at our disposal and not use them to provide firsthand experience and opportunities for discovery is a tragic waste.

Resisting Imparting Factoids
We must resist the focus on memorizing factoids and take the braver course of action. We can be inspired by others who have pointed the way toward more holistic and powerful ways of learning. Tatanga Mani, a Native American of the Stony Tribe, spoke to Americans in the 19th century:

I learned to read from school books, newspapers, and the Bible. But in time I found these were not enough. Civilized people depend too much on…printed pages. You know, if you take all your books, lay them out under the sun, and let the snow and rain and insects work on them for a while, there will be nothing left. But the Great Spirit has provided you and me with an opportunity for study in nature’s university—the forests, the rivers, the mountains, and the animals which include us.

Steven Van Matre describes the problem similarly in his landmark book Acclimatization:

It appeared logical to teach nature study by asking the student to commit to memory the name of everything within reach. Thirty leaves, 30 insects, and 30 wildflowers became the hallmarks of the outdoor educated child. To say this bordered on idiocy would be kind. What do we care if a student fails to remember the name of a wildflower? Does he remember its fragrance, the texture of its leaves—does he know where to find it and what lives in its community? And does he know not because someone told him he should know, but because for him it is a thing of enjoyment and beauty?”

Van Matre then gives us a prescription for the cure:

There is an alternative to these time-honored methods which have fallen just short of being disastrous. We can help students acclimate themselves to the environment, to understand it on its own terms and merits. Let’s subject each student to the most sensory experiences imaginable, with all of our senses in total operation.”

Rachel Carson points out in The Sense of Wonder that “children need a sense of wonder so indestructible that it would last throughout life, as an unfailing antidote against the boredom and disenchantments of later years.” And what better place to promote a sense of wonder than in the constantly changing, evolving, and stimulating outdoors? All we need to do is to make sure that we don’t put too many words between students and firsthand experience.

Creative fun outdoors—the antidote to nature-deficit disorder.

Creative fun outdoors—the antidote to nature-deficit disorder.

As Rick Van Noy reminds us in A Natural Sense of Wonder, “Outside lie stories to unfold, miracles to witness, hardships to overcome, fears to stare down, people and animals to meet—life in its full range of experience.” I believe that we need to keep asking ourselves whether listening to our words is as valuable as providing a direct experience. If we are being honest, I think our answer is “No.”

Techniques or True Experience?
What techniques would be more effective than simply imparting information verbally? This question presupposes that a technique is the solution. But what if Parker Palmer is correct in The Courage to Teach?

In the training of therapists, there is a saying: “Technique is what you use until the therapist arrives.” Good methods, in other words, can help a therapist understand a client’s dilemma, but good therapy does not begin until the real-life therapist connects with the real life of the client. [Similarly], technique is what teachers use until the real teacher arrives.

This implies that we not only need to know our subject matter, understand visitor interests and learning abilities, and have some techniques up our sleeve, but that we also must take a close look inside ourselves to see what makes us tick, what we enjoy the most about life, and how we can best share that with others. Who we are, what we truly care about, and whether we are willing to communicate that are as important as what visitors learn about nature or history.

Parker Palmer puts it like this: “The most practical thing we can achieve in any kind of work is insight into what is happening inside us as we do it. The more familiar we are with our inner terrain, the more sure-footed our teaching—and living—becomes.” Palmer encourages us to share our love of nature or history by immersing ourselves in it and encouraging students to jump right in as well. We must find ways to share our enthusiasm and interests with visitors to help them learn and enjoy doing it.

An important part of this is to re-familiarize ourselves with what we enjoyed about learning the most. Our most exciting times were probably not when we were listening to someone talk for 45 minutes. Many of us enjoyed lunchtime and recess more than class time. We enjoyed our physical abilities and the exhilaration of running wildly about, or simply talking animatedly with friends. We discovered where we fit into life socially. Don’t current students and adult visitors enjoy learning similarly?

The Options
I’m sure we are creative enough to devise more interactive ways to interpret. Using as many of the five senses as possible is a good start. Playing simulation games that illustrate environmental principles is another exciting way to involve visitors. Forming small groups in which participants discuss issues among themselves, help each other explore, or solve a riddle can transform what might otherwise be a lecture format. Providing a living history experience involves students more fully than simply looking at historic artifacts. Active participation can inject life and energy into learning.

In Last Child in the Woods: Saving Our Children from Nature-Deficit Disorder, Richard Louv shows how far we still have to go:

Nature-deficit disorder describes the human costs of alienation from nature, among them: diminished use of the senses, attention difficulties, and higher rates of physical and emotional illnesses. Nature-deficit disorder can be reversed: We can become more aware of how blessed our children can be—biologically, cognitively, and spiritually—through positive physical connection to nature.

Let’s make connections that are more powerful than standardized, memorizeable, testable curricula.

Bob is a ranger-naturalist and teaches ecology and park resource classes at San Francisco State University.

Experience from Prairie Appreciation Day

By
Legacy
Published: October 21, 2009Posted in: ChildrenTags: , , ,

by Al Wagar

When the Washington Butterfly Association participated at Prairie Appreciation Day, an event designed to help young people understand the importance of remnant prairies south of Washington’s Puget Sound, we realized we had very little for youngsters. By contrast, the folks in the booth next to us had butterfly costumes youngsters could wear and flit about, a collection of prairie butterfly specimens, and, most importantly, an aquarium with live beetles children could handle. At another station, kids were swarming around a simple display board that, when buttons were pushed, identified the seedpods that followed the flowering of various prairie species. With all of this in mind, we set out to develop our own kid-friendly materials.

Figure 1. The quizboard in use at the University of Washington Burke Museum’s annual “Bug Blast.”

Figure 1. The quizboard in use at the University of Washington Burke Museum’s annual “Bug Blast.”

As illustrated by the flower-seedpod board, youngsters (and the young at heart) like interactive displays. So, our first item was a quizboard with photos of six species of adult butterflies on an upper panel and photos of the corresponding larvae (out of order) on a lower panel (Figure 1). A six-position double-pole switch ($3 from Radio Shack) is used to select any one of the six species by lighting a small pane under its photo on the upper panel as well as to activate a push-button on the lower panel next to the pane for the associated larva. Then, when the correct button is pushed, the pane below the larva photo lights up to show the species name (Figure 1 inset). For flexibility, the photos (all laminated) are attached to the board with Velcro.

We built this “on the cheap.” To reduce the cost of bulbs and sockets, we used the tiny bulbs from a string of Christmas tree lights, finding that two in series need about four or five volts and could be lighted with a six-volt transformer ($1 from a thrift shop) or 7.2-volt rechargeable batteries (already on hand) if resistors were used to reduce the voltage. Designing for both a transformer and batteries allows us to use the quizboard in venues that don’t provide electric power.

For the lighted panes, we made “sandwiches” by laminating strips of thin green paper for under the adult photos and, for the larvae, the same paper backed by a strip of tracing paper with the species name. The name is visible only when the pane is back-lit.

The quizboard is robust enough to withstand some of the rough interaction it gets when several youngsters crowd around it and jostle for position. For a more flexible game better suited to one-on-one interaction, we used PowerPoint and its hyperlink feature to develop a butterfly identification game, played on a computer with a mouse. (Ideally, users in a public setting see only a monitor and the mouse, avoiding risks to the computer itself.) When saved as a PowerPoint Show file (.pps or .ppsx) instead of a PowerPoint file (.ppt or .pptx) the game opens immediately and, importantly, is not readily modified. Because the file is small, we put the game on www.naba.org/chapters/nabaws so anyone can download it.

After eight slides identify eight common butterfly species (each slide with options of “start over,” “back,” and “next”), the player gets a multiple-choice quiz, with three possible answers for each species. When the correct answer is selected, a new slide congratulates the player and gives options of “next” or “start over.” When a wrong answer is given, a remedial slide and explanation are given, with options of “try again” and “start over.”

Figure 2. Cards identify species of butterflies with photos on one side and text on the other.

Figure 2. Cards identify species of butterflies with photos on one side and text on the other.

Forty-eight of 76 slides were used for adults of the eight butterfly species. The 49th slide says, “Now it gets hard,” and the game continues with slides asking players to learn and identify larvae of the various species, again always with options of “start over,” “next,” and “back.”

As another kid- as well as adult-friendly item, we created a deck of 30 flashcards, with an image of an adult butterfly on the front of each card and identifying information on the back (Figure 2). The identifying information is at three levels: the general group, as “swallowtail,” the exact common name, as “Western tiger swallowtail,” and the scientific name, in this case “Papilio rutulus.” Sheets for the cards were created in Microsoft Word and then converted to a five-page pdf document for card fronts and a second pdf document for card backs. (These files eliminate the problem of inconsistent formatting from computer to computer.) After the pdf documents are printed, one on the back of the other, individual cards are cut out and, if desired, can be laminated (importantly, with their sharp corners rounded). Again, the files are small, and we have posted the flashcard pdfs on our website for downloading. We expect to create another set or two of 30 species each.

Figure 3. Swallowtail cutouts as well as coloring sheets let kids get hands-on.

Figure 3. Swallowtail cutouts as well as coloring sheets let kids get hands-on.

As other items targeting youngsters, we created swallowtail cutouts and coloring sheets (Figure 3). After using software (in this case iPhoto) to totally desaturate (remove color) from a photo (either taken against a white background or isolated using PhotoShop), we added dotted lines to guide cutting around the tails and antennae, and “pasted” four life-size images into a Word document. It was then photocopied on yellow paper and each sheet cut to separate the four images. We then cut strips from adhesive name badges, and glued one to the bottom of each of the small “butterfly” sheets. When the butterfly has been cut out and the paper tab is peeled from the adhesive strip, the realistic-looking butterfly can be attached to any surface suitable for adhesive name badges. (See the caution information that comes with the adhesive name badges. They are not suitable for leather, velvet, and some other materials.)

Our coloring sheets are pretty mundane, nowhere near the equivalent of those in such sources as the Peterson Field Guide series. But, they are something with our name on it that children and parents can take from our exhibits. Recently we’ve found free butterfly coloring sheets on the Web and plan to use them in the future.

Our next project is to develop an exhibit on life histories of butterflies and how different species “make a living,” perhaps using the same information for a script with PowerPoint slides or even for a DVD we can lend out as a “canned” presentation.

Youngsters now find our exhibit materials much more interesting than on that day at the Prairie Appreciation event. While we certainly haven’t exhausted all of our kid-friendly ideas, it seemed useful to share our experience, provide some how-to information, and encourage others to do the same.

Al Wagar is the president of the Washington Butterfly Association.

Unplugging Minnesota’s Children

By
Legacy
Published: October 16, 2009Posted in: Children, Feature StoriesTags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

by Sara Grover

grover1It’s been popping up in most newspapers and parenting magazines for years—the warning to get our kids outdoors before they become completely sucked into the world of technology and video games and we lose all hope of them ever becoming healthy, active young adults. Never mind that they will not be able to appreciate our natural resources if all they’ve ever done is sit on the couch.

Since the release of Richard Louv’s 2005 book Last Child in the Woods: Saving Our Children from Nature-Deficit Disorder, research has been growing to back up the argument that children who don’t play outside regularly are likely to suffer serious health consequences later in life. This message did not sit well with one particular group of Minnesota residents who formed a nonprofit organization to help communities design and implement their own unique programs that connect children to nature through outdoor exploration. I am proud to say that I am one of many involved in the organization, known as Project Get Outdoors, Inc.

In 2005, I was working as a seasonal interpretive naturalist at Forestville State Park in Minnesota. I was disappointed after I read Louv’s book and searched the Internet for programs that provide accessible opportunities for children, especially at-risk and low-income populations, to experience nature and outdoor activities near their communities. My search turned up empty, so I consulted with several acquaintances about an idea to start a program that would meet weekly throughout the year to introduce kids in elementary and middle school to nature by allowing them to try new outdoor recreation activities. I was fortunate to have off-season employment at a local youth center, which provided a great opportunity to try out this new program idea.

The program attracted kids and parents almost immediately, as it reduced participation barriers that often prevent kids from being able to get involved with after-school programs. We made sure the program would be offered free of charge and that transportation home afterward would be provided if a child did not have a ride. We worked closely with the local migrant council to make sure information was translated for Spanish-speaking families in the community and that there was someone present to assist with the program who spoke Spanish and could address fears or concerns that parents had.

Gavin Updike explores the cracks of the school playground as he searches for insects during the St. Charles Project Get Outdoors program.

Gavin Updike explores the cracks of the school playground as he searches for insects during the St. Charles Project Get Outdoors program.

During fall 2005, around 30 youths participated in the Project Get Outdoors program. Activities that first year included fishing, hiking, fossil collecting, snow shoeing, bird watching, gardening, a camp out, service projects in the local parks, and much more. We collaborated closely with other nature organizations in the area, including Whitewater State Park and the National Eagle Center, making sure to communicate that Project Get Outdoors is a partner and ally working to introduce children to nearby green spaces where they may experience nature throughout life.  Today, the Project Get Outdoors program proudly serves around 30 participants during the school year and close to 100 during the summer.

Expanding the Project
Project Get Outdoors, Inc., received nonprofit status this past February. The organization is overseen by a board of directors and now serves nine communities in southeast Minnesota. The organization is working to complete a toolkit that will be made available for free to all Minnesota communities that are interested in developing these programs. The toolkit is expected to be completed and available by the end of 2010.

The toolkits are designed to guide local communities through the processes of developing, implementing, and sustaining their own unique Get Outdoors programs.  The programs must be community-driven rather than led by Project Get Outdoors staff. The plan is to have Project Get Outdoors regional coordinators work with local communities so community members can run their own programs utilizing the local green spaces and other assets, including volunteers, they have identified with the help of our toolkit.

FFA advisor Steve Hinrichs volunteers to introduce kids like Dalton Urban to archery basics. Collaborating with local organizations such as FFA, Scouts, and 4-H allows for the sharing of equipment, volunteers, and other resources.

FFA advisor Steve Hinrichs volunteers to introduce kids like Dalton Urban to archery basics. Collaborating with local organizations such as FFA, Scouts, and 4-H allows for the sharing of equipment, volunteers, and other resources.

A handbook, CD-Rom, DVD, and activity trunk will be included in the toolkits, which are being funded through grants like the one awarded this past winter by the University of Minnesota Regional Sustainable Development Partnership for Southeast Minnesota. Grant proposals to help cover the costs of developing the Project Get Outdoors toolkits have also been submitted to the Environmental Protection Agency and the Legislative-Citizens Commission on Minnesota’s Resources and are currently pending.

Looking Ahead
The organization is seeing results as more and more Project Get Outdoors participants and their families are going back to those green spaces to re-create the experiences the kids have witnessed during their program activities. Parent and teacher testimonials, as well as feedback from participants themselves, testify to the big impact this program is making in local communities. People are becoming more aware of the positive effects nature and outdoor exploration can have on a child—and on anyone, for that matter.  Program volunteers are hearing a lot of positive things about how our programs have opened people’s eyes to the unlimited opportunities to experience nature in and near their communities.

Project Get Outdoors board members are confident this growing movement to connect Minnesota children to nature will foster healthier kids and increased environmental stewardship among our state’s citizens.

For more information about Project Get Outdoors, visit the website at www.mnprojectgetoutdoors.org or email Sara Grover at sara.grover@yahoo.com.

No Stone Left Unturned: The Role of the Interpretive Parent

By
Legacy
Published: October 6, 2009Posted in: Children, CommentariesTags: , , , , , ,

by Gladys J. Richter

Often, I leave the electronic world to reminisce about my childhood—a childhood filled with days chasing butterflies through a nearby field, hours spent catching creek crawdads, and time just playing outside with no particular goal in mind. I remember my father, a single parent raising his only child, asking me what I was doing as I looked under rocks along the river. My answer was simple and that of a youngster: “I plan to leave no stone unturned.” Quietly, my dad began to look under rocks with me as if to help me reach my goal, and as we turned over stones and gently replaced them, he taught me about the animals living beneath.

The author’s son leaves no stone unturned.

The author’s son leaves no stone unturned.

Working as an interpreter, perhaps the one thing I hope for my visitors the most is that each generation will pass on the importance of our natural and cultural heritage to the next generation, and that the next generation will be ready and willing to receive this important message. I hope that each child of today can say to their grandchildren tomorrow, “I belonged to a generation in which no stone was left unturned; we explored it all and stood in awe of it all.”

Richard Louv’s work, Last Child in the Woods, published in 2005, actually caused me to shudder to think that there were children that desired not to explore creeks, woodlands, and grassy knolls, but instead stay indoors with all the electrical outlets. I felt as though my hope had been dashed and that the next generation may not be ready or willing to receive messages about our outdoor heritage. It seemed so strange to me, for I strongly believe that the outside world is not only fascinating, but necessary to one’s overall well-being—physically and otherwise. Staying indoors has always been a source of cabin fever for me. Cabin fever is called fever for a reason, and having fever almost always signals illness.

Is it any wonder that children today have vitamin D deficiencies (an easily obtainable nutrient from the sun in just a few minutes per week) or that more seem to be turning up with cases of severe allergies, obesity, diabetes, and attention disorders? Would the next generation be able to realize that what may help them cope with the stress of the electronic age was absolutely free and waiting just outside their very door?

What would happen if, like so many of our cultural traditions (oral and hands-on), physicians and teachers simply ceased to pass on real medical and educational knowledge to new ranks of professionals? Would the human race survive without this accumulated wisdom?

I pondered this question, but had no answers until I became a parent. Surely, parents wouldn’t let their children fall through the cracks of industrialized sidewalks without noticing the succession of crabgrass growing there. Or would they?

Media articles regarding topics such as teaching your child to garden the natural way, new stress-busting facts about children and the great outdoors, and what getting outside can do for your attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) child had caught my attention. So my big question of, “What would happen to the human race?” was replaced with the following: Where are the parents? Even more so, where are the interpretive parents?

Children cannot learn about our natural heritage in a vacuum or by simply staying inside where the electrical outlets are located. Nature shows on TV are not your everyday walk in the park.

Nature author Rachel Carson wrote, “If a child is to keep alive his inborn sense of wonder, he needs the companionship of at least one adult who can share it, rediscovering with him the joy, excitement, and mystery of the world we live in.” However, just how involved do today’s parents want to become after hours at work in front of a computer screen, text-messaged about deadlines, or frustrated because the home microwave went on the blink just when another mad rush meal was needed?

One would think that after such a harried day it would be worth the effort to stop and smell the roses or at least take notice of the lone dandelion poking its yellow head above that asphalt crack. Going outside just to relax seems like something that would be desired if not acted upon. As my father used to say, “Go outside and breath some new air.”

Louv emphasizes the important role of parents in forging an understanding of nature. He also points out that outdoor exposure does not have to be elaborate, and I totally agree. Just going outside is the answer. Turning off one 30-minute TV show and taking a leisurely walk once a day or at least once a week with your children is a tremendous step.

Yes, it is true that thousands of families live in the middle of bustling cities, but at some point there is downtime. Why not use that time to get back to our natural and cultural heritage?

Depending on whom you ask, one may say that a person who spent his or her early years skipping creek stones or building forts led either a glorious or boring childhood. However, children who have never done these things know not if it is a glorious or a boring childhood. They know only of their four walls and the gadgets plugged into outlets.

Parents today have many options. They can take their children to the park, creek, or zoo if it is nearby. They can go to an orchard or berry farm and enjoy the fruit they may pick there as an added nutritional bonus. Even many rooftops in cities are “green” with living plants these days. The key is to appreciate what nature you do have, and teach your children to appreciate it. Every child, from a 14-month old to a 14-year old, can have a good time outside doing something.

In my opinion, Last Child in the Woods beautifully articulates that parents do not need specialized training to give their kids a dose of nature interpretation; but parents do need to maintain a sense of wonder and a desire to turn over a stone or two with their children.

For More Information
Carson, Rachel. The Sense of Wonder. (New York: Harper & Row Publishers, 1965).
Louv, Richard. Last Child in the Woods: Saving Our Children from Nature-Deficit Disorder. (North Carolina: Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill, 2005).

Gladys J. Richter is an interpretive freelance writer.

Leave No Parent Behind

By
Legacy
Published: October 1, 2009Posted in: Children, CommentariesTags: , , , , ,

wykes-parentGerald P. Wykes

When I was growing up, the comedian Red Skelton had a variety show on television. I don’t remember what night or what time it came on. I don’t even recall watching it all that often, but my memory of Red remained for several reasons. First of all, my dad liked him. Skelton’s antics made him laugh quite a bit—not with belly laughs, mind you, but with a kind of wheezing snicker usually reserved for small humor. Personally I didn’t quite get it; although I noted to myself many times that this TV guy must be really funny to elicit such a reaction from an otherwise stoic guy.

Dad often used the term “past master” when referring to him. In my mind, this meant that the fellow was past his prime and no longer a master of anything—which might explain why I didn’t think he was all that funny. His seagull routine stuck with me, though. (“Tell me Gertie, what’s a polygon?” asked Heathcliff in one example. “A polygon is a dead parrot,” answered Gertrude.)

It took many years, but I finally “got” Red Skelton long after his time was over. I eventually learned that “past master” meant the best of the best. I was able to appreciate him for the comedian he was and remove his humor from the time period that spawned them. I also have incorporated some of his humor techniques into my present-day interpretive efforts. I did this solely because my dad unknowingly pointed the way.

I will admit my example is obtuse (although a gull routine could be considered natural history related), but my point here is simple. Our childhood ideas are largely formed by the adults, parental and otherwise, in our lives. It has always been the role of adults to guide us into our likes and dislikes long before we are able to form these opinions ourselves. Some argue that we begin our lives as tabulae rasa—or empty slates (blank computer screens, in contemporary terms) and that everything is learned. This would include the basics of language, attitude, etc. Others claim that some behavioral things are innate or even instinctive, but either way our adults are responsible for writing large passages on our internal slate boards. Many of these phrases, if you want to call them that, are placed there long before we have the ability to read them.

So, we may not know everything we need to by the time we are in kindergarten, but a good portion of our nature and history attitudes are starting to gel by then—about the time we are able to “read” those parental writings. The child’s thought eventually becomes an adult’s thought and on ad infinitum. We as interpreters strive to write a few lines about natural and historical appreciation on these childhood slates in the hope that they will become responsible adult thoughts some day. In this effort, however, we shouldn’t lose sight of the fact that our educational efforts need to embrace both kids and “their adults.” We need to double team the next generation by keeping the present one in the loop.

“Leave No Child Inside” and “Nature-Deficit Disorder” are two catch phrases that dominate the current interpretive scene. These concepts are valid even if their mantra-like repetition is getting a bit long in the tooth—to use a phrase from Red Skelton’s era. The idea that it’s “all about the kids” is often taken to mean that their parents are somehow beyond redemption. Yes, the kids are crucial, but they are part of and not the world. This is basically an adult world and we need to keep that in mind. Many of the parents who accompany our visiting children are still wet behind the ears themselves. In other words, their slates aren’t exactly filled either. With this in mind, please allow me to throw out yet another entry into the catch phrase market and see if it sticks on the wall—let’s say, “Leave no parent behind.”

Well, what do you think? I am directing this idea to the bulk of interpreters who work primarily with visiting groups such as families, classrooms with chaperones, and the like. We are not classroom teachers and this means we have a broader audience and a broader challenge. I am referring to the guiding adults as “parents” for the sake of not having to repeat “parent, guardian, or mentor” over and over.

Another perhaps obvious but certainly crucial fact that bolsters my claim is that kids don’t drive. While I’m thankful this is the case, this impacts our mission to a great degree. If a parent has no appreciation of natural or cultural things, they won’t have the language or desire to inscribe appropriate messages on their children’s minds. This also means that they may not have the desire to drive their kids to your center unless their parental instincts override their personal ones. We therefore need to appeal to their personal “inner child,” which says “how about me?”

As a parent with grown children, I can testify that this little voice is always there. This is why I’ve always brought my kids to museums, nature centers, and re-enactments, as opposed to Monster Truck events and WWE Smackdowns. We raise our kids selfishly, but no one should apologize for that. Perhaps if Hulk Hogan had engaged me at some point in an interpretive program, I would have been turned on to big-time wrestling and dragged my family along to these events. In fact, I probably would have felt uncomfortable not doing what the Hulk asked me to do for fear of bodily harm!

I am not advocating the wearing of tights or jumping off rope barriers, but instead suggesting that it’s alright to go over the little heads in front of you on occasion to reach for the taller ones in the back in order to fully deliver your message. For those of you who watch or have watched Sesame Street all these years, you can see what I am talking about. The Muppet routines always throw in references and humor that is directed at adults. They do this to keep the adults engaged. The parents can watch the show without getting lost in the low-calorie fare and will probably turn on the show even before the young ’uns ask. Sesame Street is employing an effective marketing strategy that our profession can learn from.

Kids, of course, can also influence their adults in some pretty significant ways—especially when it comes to nature education. The parent/child educational relationship can work both ways. This can be a case where the child is literally “leaving no parent behind” by dragging that parent into the mix. How many times have you seen a hesitant parent reluctantly touch a snake or a frog after realizing that all the tiny hands in the room have already done so?

How can you put this new bumper sticker phrase to work? First of all, analyze your program age structure and see how significant your adult component is. There may be six or seven chaperones in a class or a nearly one-to-one ratio with a preschool or family group. Then, try out a few “over the head” comments during one of your “kid” programs and see what happens. For instance, when showing an opossum mount, it is a habit of mine to say something like, “They say the chicken crossed the road in order to prove to the possum that it could be done.” Then, after a pause, I continue, “This is one of those unsuccessful possums.” Nary a word of those two sentences is intended for the short ones in the front. Through an eye glance and a gesture, the comment will be directed to the big people as a way to say, “You are part of this program too.”

Hey, at the very least, you might find out that those disinterested folks sitting in the back will actually turn off their cell phones, or stop chatting to each other, and actually pay attention along with the rest of your audience. The price you pay is that they might start asking questions during the program and you’ll have to remind them to wait until the end! The immediate reward is that the parents will come up to you after and say, often in a giggling or twittering tone, “You know, I learned something today—I didn’t expect that.” Bingo!

Gerald Wykes is the curator/supervising interpreter at the Lake Erie Marshlands Museum and Nature Center in Brownstown, Michigan. He can be contacted at 734-242-8149 or wykes@juno.com.

This article is dedicated to the memory of Glenn Dent, one of those past master interpreters who helped form this adult interpreter when still wet behind the ears.

Children Can Be Interpreters, Too

By
Legacy
Published: September 21, 2009Posted in: Children, CommentariesTags: , , , , , , ,

by Larry Servin

Thesaurus words for wonder: admiration, amazement, awe, astonishment, surprise.

Thesaurus words for spontaneous: unplanned, unstructured, spur-of-the-moment.

The author’s wife helps a child and his father make pinecone bird feeders.

The author’s wife helps a child and his father make pinecone bird feeders.

In a review of Richard Louv’s book Last Child in the Woods published in The Wall Street Journal, Mark Yost says that Mr. Louv wrote that “kids are aware of the global threats to the environment—but their physical contact, their intimacy with nature, is fading.” Mr. Yost’s review further states that our ultimate goal is to help children find “their spontaneous connection to the natural world—and thus the very reason that anyone comes to care for nature in the first place.”

The underlying assumption seems to be that spontaneous contacts in the wild (i.e., woods) are the only way to connect children with nature. Through making spontaneous physical connections with the natural world, children will automatically understand why they should care about nature.

As I considered the implication of these statements, my mind recalled the following vignettes.

Scene One
“Leave my mommy alone!” the young girl screamed. The hungry deer didn’t understand this command. After all, visitors to Deer Park bought the alfalfa crackers to feed the deer and the deer understood this relationship. The problem here was one measly cracker just wasn’t enough for this one deer. Stalking the woman who had offered the tasty morsel, this animal sought more. The child panicked as the creature pursued its presumed benefactor—the girl’s mother.

Scene Two
“They won’t come to me!” the girl cried in dismay. Baby chicks veered left and right around her hand in their pen.

“They’re scared,” I advised in a low voice. “All they see is a giant object (your hand) chasing them and they’re following their natural instinct to flee a predator. Put your hand out in front of you palm down. Now lower your hand to the cage bottom and keep it still.” The girl did this and the chicks approached. One chick hopped on the back of her hand. “Now slowly raise your hand and bring it toward you,” I said in a low voice. The girl’s eyes and smile broadened as she brought the chick closer to her. She turned and stretched out her hand so her mother could see the chick.

So What Is Interpretation, Anyway?
Interpretation is formally defined by the National Association for Interpretation as “a mission-based communication process that forges emotional and intellectual connections between the interests of the audience and the meanings inherent in the resource.” This definition is useful for professional interpreters in formal programs. The vignettes, however, seem to better fit one of Heidi Bailey’s insights regarding interpretation: “Visitors and guests are interpreters, too…. Our role is thus to help our guests unlock their own interpretive potential.” (See “Is Interpretation the Right Word for What We Do,” The Interpreter, November/December 2008.) This insight seems to connect with Mr. Yost’s review statements as well. Children become informal interpreters as they tell others about what happened during their spontaneous connections with nature.

Making the Connections
Sticking children in the middle of nature, however, will not automatically cause them to correctly interpret spontaneous connections. If they do not have the contextual understanding that interpreters can provide, children could inaccurately interpret what happened when telling other people about their experience. I submit that children’s connections with nature need to be both spontaneous and guided.

The two young ladies in the previous scenes interpreted their spontaneous connections based on existing feelings and knowledge. The girl in the first scene interpreted the animal’s behavior as threatening and her anxiety level increased in proportion. Unfortunately, park personnel weren’t there to put the animal’s actions into context. My wife Donna (also an interpreter) and I weren’t in position to provide her with an explanation, reassurance, and encouragement (spontaneous but not guided). I sometimes wonder how this girl viewed and discussed animals and nature as she grew up. How did she interpret her experience to others?

The girl in the second scene also expressed frustration due to not understanding animal behavior. This time, however, I was able to explain the chick’s behavior. I was also able to give the girl reassurance and encouragement to try again (spontaneous but guided). She made a second attempt and found the wonder that can occur from developing her own connection to the natural world. How did she interpret her experience to others?

As nature center volunteers, Donna and I envision ourselves as learning facilitators. We help children connect with nature by guiding them in making the connections. While they made pinecone bird feeders with their parents, we told the children which birds prefer the suet and the different kinds of seeds being used (guided). Donna told them about the results we got from hanging a similar feeder on our balcony. We encouraged the children to watch their feeders and discover if they would get the same results (spontaneous). How did these children interpret their experience to others?

At our site, we have parents help their children make animal masks and paper bag animals. The parents sometimes look bemused or befuddled by what their children conceive—pink raccoons and animals that look remarkably like dinosaurs (spontaneous). Yet, as they work together constructing the animals, children discover how their parents regard nature (guided). This bonding experience could be a catalyst in bringing the whole family to participate in our nature camps and formal interpretive programs. At times, even grandparents get involved in the process as well. How do these children interpret their experience to others?

These children and the girl in the second scene will share what they learned and felt with friends and family. They will discover and express reasons why anyone comes to care for nature. Their informal interpretation has the potential to create a new audience for our formal interpretive programs. I believe, if we can guide that sense of spontaneous wonder, interpreters can help young people enjoy time with nature—in or out of the woods.

Lawrence K. Servin is an NAI Certified Interpretive Guide in Streamwood, Illinois.

Soft Walking to Natural Awareness

By
Legacy
Published: September 16, 2009Posted in: Children, Feature StoriesTags: , , , , ,

by Wren Smith

The Soft Walk and sharing ceremony offer gifts to delight the senses. Photo by Harold Johnson.

The Soft Walk and sharing ceremony offer gifts to delight the senses. Photo by Harold Johnson.

Thirty second graders, some with arms outstretched for balance, take large steps, tiptoeing behind me. They carefully select each footfall so that it alights like a butterfly on a flower. Glancing over their shoulders, their eyes widen. Some fashion their hands beside their heads, make a sign for deer, and point at the full-grown doe who trails our little “Soft Walking” adventure. I carry a large, lidded basket full of treasures from the Earth, gifts representing this place I love.

In a few moments we will share these gifts in respectful silence. First, however, we walk softy, employing techniques popularized as “Quiet Walks” by Steven Van Matre in the 1960s, but also echoing teachings from many of the great traditions that have been handed down through the centuries—spiritual practices that acknowledge the limits of the spoken word and aim to cultivate what some Christians refer to as contemplative receptivity and Buddhists call mindfulness. But these were second graders, and my initial intention in developing a ceremony that focuses attention was not as lofty.

I explained to the children before we began our Soft Walk how we will move and why we will walk so softly. Their teachers seem surprised by their children’s eager response. I feel like the pied piper with my enthusiastic entourage. When I reach an elevated portion of the wooden bridge spanning a pond lined with cattails, I point toward a red-winged blackbird perched on a cattail seed head. Gesturing to my shoulders and back to the bird, I direct their attention to the red and yellow epaulettes on his wings. This handsome fellow announces his territorial reign with a loud “okcaree” and I cup my hand beside my ear, encouraging the children to listen.

I motion for the group to stay put, while I hop down from the bridge to pull a cattail blade, and then resume my perch in clear view of the entire group. Quickly splitting the length of this blade into three equal strips, I tie a knot in one end. Holding the knotted end in my mouth, I hastily make a headband and place it on a student who has joined me on this platform overlooking the pond. The others smile and nod approvingly. Dragonflies darting nearby capture our attention and I hold my arms outstretched like wings. When a damselfly alights on another cattail, I clasp my hands behind my back, creating a tent with my arms that mimics the damselfly’s wings at rest. The children notice and nod and help others see.

Continuing past the pond, we find wild peppermint and I pinch off a lush sprig, rolling it between my hands to release the menthol before taking a deep whiff. The children directly behind take turns inhaling the minty delight before passing it down the line to the others. We enter the meadow where several larger clearings allow visibility to the entire group. This meadow offers daisies, butterflies, orange and black milkweed bugs, and the song of grasshoppers. I show some of the children spittlebugs hiding in a fortress of foam and these children become spittlebug guides for their classmates.

We make our way through the sundrenched field and move toward a stand of white pine trees, known to thousands of schoolchildren as the “enchanted forest.” As we gather in a clearing near the woods a red-tailed hawk cries overhead and circles once; some of the children open their arms imitating its impressive glide. Young sassafras trees offer us fresh lemon-lime scented leaves and three different leaf shapes to investigate. I macerate a few of these leaves and pour a small amount of water from a canteen over them. Rubbing the leaves and water together reveals the mucilaginous quality of sassafras leaves. I pass the slippery green poultice to a little ruddy faced boy (I suspect the class clown) who gestures with his hands to his nose and grimaces before grinning broadly. We share a quiet chuckle before he passes the wet glob back to his classmates; soft laughter follows the limp mass down the line.

Holding up three fingers, I warn about the perils of poison ivy, which I spot growing near the path. Feigning stretching and itching I point out the vine before signaling to stay away.

I motion for the children to stretch out their arms, and many automatically close their eyes. The sun warms us and a breeze ruffles our hair. I feel like a leaf gathering the energy of the sun this day. Insects buzz and trill, a field sparrow provides its classic rendition of a “ping pong ball dropping on a table” song. A flock of goldfinch announces its presence overhead with “per-chicory” twittering chatter. Weaving my hand in a roller coaster motion and pointing up, I hope to share the hiccupping flight pattern of these aerobatic charmers.

Approaching the “doorway” of the enchanted forest, I pause, peer in, and motion for the group to follow. We step into the cool darkness of the pine forest and our quiet group grows even quieter. The needles of the white pine create a soft carpet and add an air of elegancy to our Soft Walk. Each step into the forest seems a step back in time, leading us closer to something primal. The smell is earthy and clean. The branches of white pine trees grow in a wagon wheel arrangement that casts lovely shadows on the reddish brown needles on the forest floor. Some of these children have never been in a forest before; none of them has been quiet in the forest with classmates. Teachers and parents are amazed at the children’s quiet attentiveness.

Items found in nature help Soft Walkers make connections. Photo by Chris Knopf.

Items found in nature help Soft Walkers make connections. Photo by Chris Knopf.

There is just enough open space in this forest for our Soft Walk basket ceremony. Setting my basket beside me on the carpet of pine needles, I silently enlist help from teachers and parents as we form a large circle in the middle of the enchanted forest. We’ve carried a blanket into the woods and the children help as we spread it out on the forest floor. I pause and look around at the circle of eager faces. The children’s eyes gleam. Everything is as it should be. I nod approvingly and motion for the group to sit down cross-legged on the pine needles. I’ve learned that this cross-legged position seems to act as a stabilizer for young children, especially if followed by a signal to rest chin on clasped hands.

All eyes watch as I slowly lift the lid of the sharing basket in front of me. Inside are various gifts of the Earth; I’ve wrapped many of them like presents with large leaves (water lotus, big leaf magnolia, and burdock) secured with cattail or yucca cordage. Instead of colorful ribbons and bows, I’ve attached flowers, pinecones, and such. The gift packages brim with mystery. Slowly I reach into the sharing basket and unpack this treasure trove, placing the packages near me on the blanket. I bring out a pear-shaped gourd with a cork in one end. Giving it a shake, I reveal its watery content.

Opening the first package (it’s wrapped in a large water lotus leaf), the entire circle leans forward in anticipation. The quiet is settling in, working powerful magic. The lotus leaf opens to reveal a large freshwater mussel shell. I lift the top shell of this bivalve to reveal its rosy opalescent sheen. It encloses a smaller mussel shell, one punctured with button-sized holes. This smaller shell holds yet another surprise—an even smaller shell containing buttons made from mussel shells. Bringing my hands towards my mouth, I show that mussels can be food, or perhaps a serving dish. I feign using the shell as a digging tool. I lay the shell on the blanket nearby, although I will soon pass it around the group. I’ve learned to wait until after I’ve silently communicated most of the information before passing around objects so participants aren’t distracted by the objects being passed.

Another leaf package contains a small, warty gourd. This one is shaped like an avocado, with a nickel-sized hole near the end. I hold my hands over the hole and shake, producing a rhythmic rattle. The kids bob their heads and shoulders to the beat before I pour its contents of powdered dry red clay into the cup of the now empty large mussel shell. Pouring from the water gourd I mix the clay with my fingers to make a red paint. Holding up an index finger, I look mischievously at the dimple-faced little girl on my right. Her eyes widen for a moment, then she nods her head yes and leans her face toward me. I paint a stripe on her nose and a daisy on her cheek. I stand up, with a turtle shell in one hand and the index finger on my right hand extended, ready to paint the face of any child that nods his or her permission, as I walk around the circle. Sometimes a child will initially decline but then decide they want to be painted too. Occasionally a child will decline. I never push.

Returning to my seat in the circle, I indicate by pointing my finger at all the painted faces that I need my face painted too. All heads nod affirmatively. I offer the paint shell and my face to a little boy on my left. The children know that I have made my face a vulnerable canvas and seem to appreciate my bravery. While I’ve led hundreds of Soft Walks, I’ve never gotten my face slathered in mud.

Unwrapping the last leaf package, I unveil a box turtle shell with the plastron hinge ligament still intact. Opening the “box” with enough pause to build suspense, I begin pulling out the contents like a magician pulling scarves from a bottomless sleeve. Petals of pink, purple, and blue from blossoms and buds of iris and spiderwort, green leaves of dock and yellow dandelion heads, even pieces of burnt wood tumble out and onto a silk scarf.

I hold up a dandelion head and a drawing tablet that I’ve pulled from my basket, and quickly rub the dandelion directly onto the canvas to paint the sun. The children gasp in delight, and do so repeatedly each time another color from my “paint box” appears vividly on the landscape scene I paint before them. I’ve been painting with plants and mud from as far back as I can recall, but was surprised at the children’s level of delight the first time I added the paint box to my sharing basket. We lose so many things, including the simple joys of discovery, when we lose our direct contact with the natural world.

After their journey around the circle, my Earth treasures are back home near my basket. The blanket, now festooned with shells, leaves, herbs, antlers, and flowers, provides a feast for the eyes, and the silence is a feast for the ears. Cupping my left hand to my ear while I slowly wave my right hand over my eyes, I invite the group to close their eyes and listen for a few moments. The wind whispers in the tops of the white pine to the vireos, robins, and wrens, and in the distant woods, I hear the flute-like song of the wood thrush (a delightful surprise for that time of day). A wood pecker drums, someone cracks a twig, a blue jay squawks, and a helicopter from Fort Knox flies overhead. People are breathing slowly and easily. I think I could sprout roots here.

When it is time for me to break the silence, I take an African thumb-piano hidden in my basket. A gourd forms the resonating chamber and I love how the metal tines sound soothing regardless of how I play. It’s a sound reminiscent of water flowing over rocks or wind in the trees. Children and adults open their eyes and I begin to speak softly. I explain that it is always difficult to be the one to start talking, the one that must break the silence. I ask them to name, one at a time, some of the sounds they heard during our quiet time.

“Birds,” says one.

Music or noise? I ask.

“Music.”

“I heard the wind,” whispers another.

Music or noise? I ask again.

“Oh, music. It’s so peaceful!” she adds again in a whisper.

The Soft Walkers take turns sharing their sounds and classifying them as music or noise. We realize that some of the sounds can be both music and noise depending on their volume and our musical preference. We also discover that we name most of the natural sounds as music and most of the manmade sounds as noise. One little boy suggests that the manmade sounds seem loud and harsh while the natural sounds are soft and gentle. After complimenting this child’s astute observation, I suggest that when people come together in stillness, we become part of the music of nature.

When I ask these listeners if they heard this music during our quiet time, they affirm with enthusiastic nods. I explain that this music is full of stories and how these stories have been waiting for just the right time and place to be told. Inviting the children to ask questions about plants, animals, and other treasures they encountered during our time together indicates a new attunement to their surroundings. These children who just an hour earlier rapidly fired questions without waiting for answers now seem to know what they really want to know. Their questions reveal an attentiveness that pulls forth the stories of the freshwater mussels; water lotus leaves and pods; spittlebugs; pigments in nature, trees, peppermint, and goldfinch; and so much more. These stories unfold to their receptive ears like treasured gifts offered directly from the Earth.

Wren Smith, interpretive programs manager for Bernheim Arboretum & Research Forest in Kentucky, has been sharing her Soft Walk program for more than 25 years. Reach her at 502-955-8512, x227 or Wren@bernheim.org.

Urban Wild: Showing L.A.’s youth the wild side of America’s most sprawling city

By
Legacy
Published: September 6, 2009Posted in: Children, Feature StoriesTags: , , , , , ,

by Lauren Buchholz

M.R.C.A. naturalist Lauren Tingco helps students cross a stream in Malibu Creek State Park.

M.R.C.A. naturalist Lauren Tingco helps students cross a stream in Malibu Creek State Park.

A city made infamous by its air quality struggles, traffic jams, and teeming populace, Los Angeles isn’t one of the first places most people would expect to find a flourishing outdoor education program. Looming skyscrapers and ever-expanding freeways define what would seem to be a stark antithesis to the natural world, trademarks of a city that coined the term “urban sprawl.”

Yet on a sunny spring Wednesday, just over 30 miles from the heart of the downtown metropolis, a class of fifth graders is seeing a very different side of L.A. Under a clear blue sky on the grounds of Malibu Creek State Park (made famous as the filming location for M.A.S.H.), a small group is participating in a guided hike that winds its way through several miles of native grasslands dotted with coastal live oak and sycamore trees, their path overshadowed by steep mountain faces that provide homes for rattlesnakes, mule deer, and one or two mountain lions. Earlier in the week, the curious 10- and 11-year-olds learned about the importance of this wild habitat by identifying local plants firsthand and seeing how native animals have adapted to the environment by examining skulls and fur samples. Their excitement is palpable as they begin to apply what they have learned to the natural settings all around them, pointing out signs of deer and coyotes, taking photos of blue herons wading beneath a bridge crossing, and warning one another to avoid clusters of poison oak. For the week, they are no longer confined to catching glimpses of nature in the second-most-populated city in the country. Instead, they are experiencing its heart.

The fifth graders out hiking on this particular day are joining a growing number of city youth who have experienced the natural side of Los Angeles under the guidance of the outdoor education program for the Mountains Recreation and Conservation Authority, or M.R.C.A. Established by the state of California in 1985 as a joint powers entity between the Santa Monica Mountains Conservancy, the Conejo Recreation and Park District, and the Rancho Simi Recreation and Park District, the M.R.C.A. dedicates itself to the management and preservation of over 60,000 acres of public parkland throughout the county. The organization has been furthering this work for over 10 years by providing outdoor education school programs for the Los Angeles, Glendale, and most recently Las Virgenes Unified School Districts, giving kids the opportunity to camp at and learn about parks and conservation regions throughout the city. The programs are staffed by experienced M.R.C.A. naturalists, whose professional attire (similar to that worn by National Park Service rangers) is usually one of the only ways to distinguish them from excited campers as they share the wonders of the wild side of L.A. with each new school group.

M.R.C.A. naturalist Emily Hope holds a Coast Range Newt in her hands on an outdoor education camp hike through Temescal Gateway Park.

M.R.C.A. naturalist Emily Hope holds a Coast Range Newt in her hands on an outdoor education camp hike through Temescal Gateway Park.

This excursion is no exception. As the naturalist leading the group calls a halt along the trail to introduce her group to the concept and importance of the local watershed, an excited squeal goes up from one of the girls. “There’s a lizard on your backpack!” she exclaims. Within half a second, the group is clamoring for a closer look, cameras in hand, awe written across many of their faces. The pack-bound interloper—a blue-bellied western fence lizard—is found commonly throughout the park, but rarely allows humans such a close encounter for as long as this one. Holding the pack out for the group, the naturalist explains how the native reptile has adapted to avoid predation by severing its tail from its body as a distraction when threatened—an effective but very energy-intensive process that cannot be repeated until a new one has grown several months later. “It’s very important to respect these lizards so that they have a chance to survive,” she explains. “That way, you can come back and show them off for your family and friends.” The lizard is gently teased off the backpack as the group continues on, but the firsthand encounter with this wild creature remains a highlight for the trip: a rare experience that only a trip into nature itself can provide.

Unfortunately, for many youth across the United States, these trips have become more the exception than the norm. The importance of getting America’s children more engaged with the natural world has become a pressing issue throughout the country over the past two generations. More kids are spending more time away from truly experiencing the great outdoors due to the advent of vehicle-friendly suburban developments, strictly relegated schedules, and heightened legal red tape surrounding outside activities. Such are the findings highlighted by Richard Louv in Last Child in the Woods: Saving our Children from Nature-Deficit Disorder, the 2005 book that sparked mainstream discussion of the benefits of unplugging modern electronics and encouraging today’s youth to go for wilderness romps.

M.R.C.A. naturalist Michelle Renner discusses the characteristics of herbivores for an outdoor education group while holding a model of a mule deer skull.

M.R.C.A. naturalist Michelle Renner discusses the characteristics of herbivores for an outdoor education group while holding a model of a mule deer skull.

Being out in nature can provide more than just a chance to get some fresh air, Louv argues. Weaving anecdotal evidence with research studies, the author discusses how outdoor excursions can heal children and their families from what he coins “nature-deficit disorder,” the effect of withdrawing nature from personal experiences that leads to increased feelings of stress, wandering and limited attention spans, and general feelings of not being rooted to any one place or thing—symptoms of many people across the U.S. today. Throughout his book and in subsequent interviews, Louv highlights university studies showing how reintroducing nature has significantly reduced attention-deficit disorder (ADD) in young children, and discusses how individual families struggling with disconnected sons and daughters have successfully relied on nature instead of therapy or medication to address the issue. Exposing children to nature also benefits more than just people. As Louv explains in his 2007 article “Leave No Child Inside” (for Orion magazine), “[T]he outdoor experiences of children are essential for the survival of conservation…the truth is that the human child in nature may be the most important indicator species of future sustainability.”

The recognition of benefits such as these have helped to turn the tide towards getting kids back into the outdoors, a tide that the M.R.C.A. is striving to define for the Los Angeles region. As a big city, connectedness with nature is an inherent problem. Yet even in comparison to other large cities in the U.S., Los Angeles residents lack many opportunities to directly access natural areas. Only 33 percent of residents in the county live within a quarter-mile of a park, according to L.A. Assemblyman Kevin de Leon. This is in comparison to 97 percent of Bostonians and 91 percent of New Yorkers—cities that were designed to accommodate green spaces instead of highways (Source: The Los Angeles Times 2008).

The M.R.C.A. has been addressing this problem by opening outdoor education opportunities to students of all ethnic and economic backgrounds throughout the county, meaning its naturalists often see the extremes of youth interaction with nature. For many of the children hiking in Malibu Creek State Park, the thought of being without a cell phone or access to video games and iPods was the most foreign aspect of their weeklong camp experience. For kids living much closer to the heart of downtown Los Angeles, the strangest part of the camp for many was being able to walk freely outside at night and see the stars. Yet despite the differences in their backgrounds, the youth proved indistinguishable in their excitement at exploring the great outdoors—an excitement that M.R.C.A. naturalists often highlight as one of the greatest benefits of their job.

“I remember teaching a group of fifth graders,” says Lauren Tingco, an energetic naturalist who has been with the organization since 2008. “We were discussing some of the ways animals hide from predators, [when] behind in the scrub oak there was a loud swoosh! Several California quails ran and flew from behind me and towards the students, just as a red-tailed hawk flew close to the ground trying to catch the quails.” Tingco shared in the excitement of her students, who later turned the incident into their camp skit for the school group, incorporating the adaptations they had learned about the birds.

Opportunities like this one illustrate the power of firsthand encounters with the natural world to educate and shape a child’s mind. Tingco emphasizes the importance of these experiences for the students she has taught, who often spend classroom time learning about the natural world in their region preceding their outdoor education trips.

“[They] really have a chance to connect the ideas they learned indoors with the outdoors,” she says. Furthermore, the camp environment also encourages students to “come out of their shells,” growing not only in knowledge but as people through their experiences at camp.

“Many times I hear from classroom teachers that the students act like completely different people in the outdoor setting,” says Tingco. “Some students really…embrace the outdoor activities that we provide.”

Perhaps the greatest asset of the M.R.C.A.’s outdoor education program, however, is that it not only offers Los Angeles youth and their families opportunities to see the natural world—it does so from within their own city. In coming to understand the vitality of nature close at hand, the students who attend outdoor education camps with the program can connect the importance of preserving the world’s environment with that of caring for nature on a local level.

Tingco echoes this sentiment: “Outdoor education is great for the children of Los Angeles because it shows them that they don’t have to travel far to hike at a park or see wildlife. The great outdoors is in their backyards…the M.R.C.A. helps them get to [and appreciate] these locations.” This appreciation, nurtured by the organization’s education of the planet’s future caretakers, will undoubtedly benefit the environment in L.A. and around the world in years to come.

Lauren Buchholz is an environmental writing student at the University of Colorado in Boulder, and has worked as an interpretive naturalist for Sequoia National Park and the Santa Monica Mountains Recreation and Conservation Authority, California.