Legacy

Interpreting in

may/june 2016Volume 27, number 3

The magazine of The naTional associaTion for inTerpreTaTion

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Legacy 1

LegacyMay/June 2016Volume 27, Number 3

editorPaul caputo

associate editorsTodd BridgewaterMargo carlockScott MairDeb Tewell

copy editorelizabeth Meyers

letters to the editorLegacy welcomes your input. Send letters to legacy@interpnet.com or 230 cherry Street, Fort collins, cO 80521. Legacy reserves the right to edit letters.

submit a story ideae-mail queries to NaI Deputy Director Paul caputo at legacy@interpnet.com. Find information about upcoming themes at www.interpnet.com.

Subscriptions: $30 U.S./$40 international. Legacy magazine is published bimonthly. copyright ©2016 NaI. ISSN 10523774.

Legacy is published by the National association for Interpretation. electronic distribution furnished by eBScO Publishing/eBScOhost, a registered trademark of eBScO Publishing.

6 interpreting interpretation in sub-saharan africa Dana Roth

10 interpreting Devastation Libby Albers

14 pushing interpretation to new heights: balancing environmental effects at pikes peak Alan Reed

18 The Ubiquitous Gambel’s Quail: Interpreting an unlikely survivor in the sonoran Desert Amy Burnett

20 an ecological conversion: called by god (and a scientist) in the cloud forest Scott Hardin-Nieri

DeParTMeNTS

2 First impressions: sonoran Desert, Arizona 4 extreme interpretation, Paul Caputo22 The Frontline: Urban extreme, Kirk Carter Mona24 Deep interpretation: The interpreter as elder,

Will LaPage27 speaking: An equation for an excellent Presentation,

Ethan Rotman28 Commentary: Last ranger in the Woods? J. Patrick

Barry30 Perspective: truth in interpretation? Bob Carter32 Commentary: read This now! Rob Bixler34 essay: it’s All About the story, Ken Wilk36 interpreting Climate Change: Keeping Calm and

Carrying on, Patricia Walsh40 The Horrors of War, Larger than Life, Amy Lethbridge

ContentsFeaTUreS

ON THe cOVerA pastor in Costa Rica struggles with the challenges of interpreting the environment from within the church. See the story on page 20.

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The Gambel’s quail offers interpreters the chance to tell the story of adaptation and survival in the Sonoran Desert. Photo by Daniel Tuttle. See the story on page 18.

First ImpressionsThe Sonoran Desert covers more than 100,000 square miles and is the hottest desert in North America. It’s also home to a gawky, awkward example of survival in a harsh environment. See the story on page 18.

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e d i t o r’s d e s k

When you think about everything we’re tasked with, interpreters’ jobs are hard enough. We have a responsibility to our visitors, for whom we strive to create engaging and worthwhile experiences as they spend their leisure time at our sites. We have a responsibility to our bosses, who employ us to be the public face of our organizations and help achieve management goals. And we have a responsibility to our sites, the places to which we’re meant to be emotionally and intellectually connecting our visitors, all in the name of the lofty ambition of creating an army of custodians who will go out in the world and help us care for our cherished places.

So the least we can ask for in trying to juggle all of these weighty tasks is some decent weather, right?

Interpreters are familiar with Maslow’s hierarchy, which explains that before our visitors can achieve deep levels of understanding, they must have their very most basic needs met. These physiological needs, which include things like sustenance, warmth, and breathing, are considerably more difficult to meet in what we’re calling extreme environments for the purposes of this issue. How is it possible for visitors to feel love and belonging when they’re gasping for breath at 14,000 feet of elevation? How will they realize the confidence of a self-aware, unique individual if their canteens are empty in the middle of the desert? And how will they ever achieve the pinnacle of Maslow’s pyramid—self actualization—in the path of an oncoming tornado?

This issue tells the stories of interpreters who work in those environments, and how they accomplish their goals in spite of—or even with the help of—unfavorable conditions. These environments might be extreme in a literal sense, as with Sub-Saharan Africa, atop one of Colorado’s “fourteeners,” in Kansas’s tornado alley, or in the Sonoran Desert. Or they might be extreme in a more metaphorical sense, as with our regularly featured naturalist Kirk Mona, who finds himself pounding the urban pavement, or the pastor who preaches about climate change from within a church that has traditionally resisted (or at least ignored) that message.

When you take the already-daunting task of creating meaningful, mission-based interpretive messages, then add the complication of extreme external conditions, interpretation gets that much harder. The pages that follow detail the efforts of talented interpreters willing to take on that task.

a b o u t t h e au t h o rReach NAI Deputy Director Paul Caputo at pcaputo@interpnet.com. Send letters to the editor intended for publication to legacy@interpnet.com.

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executive committeeamy Lethbridge, Presidentcem Basman, VP for administrationTodd Bridgewater, VP for ProgramsTravis Williams, TreasurerTom Mullin, Secretary

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board membersBradley BlockJose chavezamy ericksonelista Istre Brenda Lackeyc. Parker McMullen-Bushman Tom MedemaJay MillerJohn MillerJessica Moore

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Program ManagerKathy Evans, Certification & Training

Program Office Administratorrichard Smith, Shipping clerkKerry cowan, administrative assistant

NAI’s mission is to inspire leadership and excellence to advance heritage interpretation as a profession.

interpretation is a mission-based communication process that forges emotional and intellectual connections between the interests of the audience and the meanings inherent in the resource.

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6 May/JUNe 2016

“What was your work in America?” I was often asked by my host sisters and brothers in my community of Mbolo Aly Sidy, a village in northern Senegal in western Sub-Saharan Africa, where I worked as an agricultural extension agent with the Peace Corps until very recently. They typically wanted to know my qualifications in agricultural methods and technologies, as that was the reason for my being placed in their community, but there also was strong interest about the jobs Americans do; the general expectation being that all Americans sit at desks in climate-controlled offices wearing fancy clothes—money just pouring out of their pockets. For ease of understanding, I described my work as a National Park Service

employee as an Eaux et Foret agent (Senegalese governmental forestry agents in charge of the distribution and protection of trees in every large city) because that was the closest relatable profession of which to compare. In the expansive desert, I found it difficult to explain the day-to-day duties of a park guide/EMT, the season having just ended that September 2013, in Rocky Mountain National Park weeks before I flew to Senegal. Having grown up in a National Park Service family, I had never been at a loss for words when it came to describing what the job consists of, but this situation was new to me in so many ways. It was going to take a much more creative and interpretive approach to instill an understanding

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Interpreting Interpretationin Sub-Saharan Africa

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of what it is that an interpretive ranger does—and why we do it.

There are national parks in Senegal, which are managed for different reasons than in the U.S. They are seen only as places to keep the wild animals away from the people and vice versa—armed gendarme in armored cars patrol sections of the national highway where drivers of the few private cars passing through are threatened not to stop for any reason. The concept of working in a national park to promote visitor enjoyment is not considered. The largest national park, Niokolo-Koba National Park, is in the south, near the regions of Kedougou and Kolda, more than two days’ travel away from where I lived. The others are in the southwest, near the capital. Therefore, those in my

village 1) had never seen and probably would never see these protected areas, 2) could not understand why the people should protect a resource viewed by them as public property and available to everyone, and 3) do not see the importance of an individual educating others of the importance and value of these areas.

Initially, communicating with the local people was a sizeable obstacle since I was in the beginning stages of learning the indigenous language, Pulaar. But, as time progressed, my language skills had improved to the point of being able to explain my job and role of interpretation more accurately than before. In this instance, interpreting interpretation necessitated both translation of language and translation of meaning,

using interpretive techniques to create the meaningful connection between the natural environment and the community in order to understand the importance of the person conveying that message.

I explained it best when talking to my Senegalese best friend about how I might use interpretation to connect how he, a talented, educated young man with the singular goal of immigration to the United States, is a perfect depiction of the effects of deforestation on his community and the region in general. I came up with an example of an interpretive program that focuses on the issue of deforestation: the single most devastating man-made problem in the Fouta.

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The land of the foutaThe Fouta is an expanse of the Sahel desert in the northern region of Senegal, a part of Sub-Saharan Africa. It is primarily sand with scattered trees and shrubs. This land is like the people who live on it. The sand itself came from other places, long, long ago. It came from Egypt; it came from Mauritania, Mali or Morocco. So too did the humans, migrating and traveling, herding their cattle and livestock from place to place, setting up shelter wherever they were—as does the sand. This sand arrived in the Fouta and stayed here a while. Trees grew and held the sand in place with sturdy roots, growing deep to penetrate the distant source of water. So, too, did the people take root. Herders began farming, putting physical roots in the ground and, like the trees, became stronger and stronger the longer their lineage. Then, the Fouta was a fertile place. A beautiful place. The rains brought seasons of plenty. The hot summers were relatively short and allowed for the propagation of abundant vegetables along with staples such as sorghum, corn, and millet. The trees brought the people, enticed by the shade and fertile ground. The trees rooted the people to the earth.

The trees became useful to the inhabitants of the Fouta. The people used the wood from the trees for building, for cooking, for transport. The trees had visible effect on fields, providing dappled shade for year-round vegetable production and by fixing nutrients into the soil for use and consumption by crops—this was visible with crops growing larger the closer the proximity to trees such as acacia and desert dates. Over the years, however, the trees have been chopped and hacked over and over. At first it was little-by-little, one branch at a time, for use in small families’ cooking fires. Then, it increased as trees became seen as shelter for birds—the number one predator for cereal crops such as sorghum and millet—and the belief was that if the tree were chopped down, the birds themselves would

Legacy 9

leave. The trees, once abundant, have since ceased to be. With the decrease in trees, the sand storms began. Every year they get larger and more prevalent, causing more erosion of topsoil (what little there was to begin with) and each year with increased threat to humans caught in these storms. The more the trees are cut, coppiced, and killed, the hotter and drier the Fouta gets. Every year temperatures increase, making living, farming, working, and really everything less bearable.

The sand, no longer held by the roots of these trees, is leaving and taking people with it. Those smartest and hardest working are leaving to find better opportunities, better jobs, better living conditions. The culture of the Fouta is changing. The people are losing their culture, losing their ties to the earth. It is slipping through their fingers, as each young boy and girl is being taught in school not about agriculture and sustainable forestry practices, as their parents

were, but instead about the glamour of Western money and politics. More and more of the families in Senegal (especially in the Fouta region) are dependent solely on remittances sent from abroad and have given up their hand tools in favor of fancy cell phones that eat up pay-as-you-go cards like lettuce leaves. Less and less can be provided by agriculture due to heat, lack of rain, and an absence of topsoil that is ripped away by the wind faster than it can be created. The youth are meanwhile adapting to Western culture, Western dress. They want progress. They want money. They see this advance as exhibited in American culture, American and French TV shows, and music videos, and they act and dress accordingly. Although there are still cultural celebrations, they have become lessened and overshadowed by the desire to be like the Americans/French. As the trees themselves decrease, so does the esteem and appreciation of the culture; the

roots. Without trees, the Fouta has no life; no culture; no people. It is the trees that provide stability of life. It is deforestation that is a major contributor to this gradual loss.

a b o u t t h e au t h o rDana Roth has grown up in the National Park Service, her father working as a law enforcement ranger in Yosemite National Park and later at Lassen Volcanic National Park. Dana has volunteered in Yosemite National Park and Cabrillo National Monument and worked seasonally in both Lassen Volcanic National Park and Rocky Mountain National Park. She served in the Peace Corps in Senegal from September 2013 to November 2015.

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10 May/JUNe 2016

Extreme environments are characterized by a sudden and catastrophic change in daily life, such as those caused by natural disasters—or they may be places only a few dare to venture, due to the inherent danger to human life. On March 13, 1990, a 100-mile corridor of south-central Kansas was transformed into an extreme environment as a series of tornados bisected the state. The storms were so long-lived and moved so slowly that news crews gathered

along Interstate 135 and Highway 50 and waited.

Waited and watched.At 5:37 pm, the F5 tornado reached

Hesston, Kansas.

morning, march 13, 1990In Hesston, it was unusually warm and humid for a day in March.

A young couple stood on their apartment balcony and snapped some photos of the sky while cloud watching, imagining animals and characters racing across the horizon.

Before the school bell rang, an elementary teacher walked across the street to chat with her neighbor.

“Somebody is sure in for it tonight,” the neighbor remarked as they discussed the strange heat of the morning.

The teacher, Ms. Judy, also thought the warm weather was an ominous sign. On the spur of the moment she decided to do a tornado drill with her young pupils.

Many high school students had traveled two hours north to Topeka for the “Close-Up Kansas” program, during which students discuss government current issues with political leaders from their districts, while the Junior High Band had taken a bus to Lyons for a music contest.

The National Weather Service had already warned of potentially severe storms for the day.

late afternoon, march 13, 1990At 4:34 pm, a tornado touched down in Pretty Prairie, Kansas, about 50 miles southwest of Hesston.

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Two off-duty first responders hopped in their pickup truck and left Hesston to make some field observations.

The tornado was moving slowly, but Hesston was projected as its destination.

At 5:00 pm, the storm hit Burrton, toppling a chimney of the Fisher home, killing six-year-old Lucas, who was sheltering with his family in their basement.

In Hesston, the local teen crowd had gathered at the Pizza Hut along Lincoln Boulevard to eat and hang out after school. Twenty-year-old Jason Reynolds was the manager on shift.

Tornado sirens The tornado sirens in town were screaming. Jeff Herzer was quoted in the The Missouri State Trooper in 1990 as saying, “By 5:37 pm, the sirens had already blown three times in Hesston. Unfortunately, loud sirens do not ward off tornadoes like evil spirits.”

Hesston College staff were desperately trying to get students to take the warning seriously and take cover. A few dorm residents still stood outside and stared at the approaching black wall, sure it would turn.

Eighteen-year-old Donnie H. had stayed late at Kropf Lumber to get the evening’s delivery put up in case of rain. As he worked, he couldn’t help watching the black cloud in the west. The tornado seemed to be standing still, while at the same time growing larger.

Dean Alison had just picked his children up from their grandma’s house and arrived home. He still had his video camera in the backseat. Grabbing it, he trained the camera on the storm. (Original video can be viewed at: http://hesston.digitalsckls.info/items/show/462 )

Jason Reynolds quickly moved as many of his Pizza Hut customers into the walk-in refrigerator as he could. He described the scene years later on local radio station KMUW: “We ran out of room, so I took the majority of my staff and a couple of other customers with me, and we rode out

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humor after disaster: A sign reads, “Due to circumstance beyond our control t[he] Roupp family dinner Sunday has been chan[ged] to a picnic on the slab. Bring your own food, dri[nk], tableware, tables, and chair. Slab will be furnished.”

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the storm in the men’s bathroom. It was pretty scary, and I was praying pretty hard.”

5:37 pmAs the tornado moved into Hesston, it increased to F5 intensity. It appeared to head straight for Hesston College and the surrounding retirement communities before a microburst, a powerful downdraft of air, pushed the storm’s track slightly to the north.

That no one was killed within the town of Hesston seems unfathomable. Heartbreakingly, the storm took the lives of Ruth Voth of Goessel and young Lucas Fisher of Burrton as they sheltered from the weather.

interpreting extreme environmentsThe Hesston Tornado was a significant milestone in the history of Hesston. It continues to be a defining moment for residents and the community—people remember where they were, what they were doing, how it affected them and those they knew and loved. However, the number of firsthand participants has dwindled as people have moved from the Hesston community or have passed away.

At the time of the storm, the Hesston Public Library staff understood the community-altering nature of the tornado and had the foresight to collect photos, flyers, church bulletins, and stories related to the event. But by 2014, library staff had twice turned over and the institutional knowledge of the tornado collection had been lost. The artifacts had quietly been stored away, largely inaccessible and forgotten.

In January 2014, the library initiated an ambitious 14-month project to transform the boxes of tornado photos, scrapbooks, and ephemera into a digital archive that would culminate with a 25th-anniversary remembrance event of the Hesston Tornado in March 2015. Using Freeman Tilden’s principles of interpretation and the National Park Service’s interpretive equation, library staff knew the anniversary event required a knowledge of the potential

audiences, an understanding of the sensitive nature of personal tragedy, and a multi-faceted event to connect the diverse audiences to the resource.

Knowledge of the Audience:The remembrance event(s) would attract audiences who:

• hadfirsthandexperience

• werebornafter1990butgrewupwith firsthand stories

• werenewresidentswhoknewveryfew details

• wereinternationalresidentswho resided in Hesston for a short period to support the local industry

Knowledge of the Resource: Preservation and AccessThe Hesston Public Library’s immediate need was to transform the original archived material into a resource that improved audience accessibility and increased the cultural competency of users. With both financial assistance and professional training from the South Central Kansas Library System and the Kansas Humanities Council, the library digitized its collection of images and papers, converted outdated analog formats such as VHS and slides, displayed the digitized

collection both online and within the library, and made user-friendly duplicates of select items for use in library displays.

After meeting the library’s goals for the original tornado archives in January 2015, the library staff reached out to the community with a request to expand the digital library by scanning and then returning privately owned photos and memorabilia. By the time the archive was completed, 44 audio recordings, 1,033 documents, 2,072 photos, and 42 videos had been added to the digital library. (The Digital Special Collections can be viewed at http://hesston.digitalsckls.info or through the library’s website: hesstonpubliclibrary.com.)

Appropriate Techniques for Interpretive OpportunitiesIn order to forge meaningful intellectual and emotional connections between the diverse audiences and the storm event, the library staff knew that a single anniversary program would not be enough. The remembrance activities needed to offer several ways that the diverse audiences could connect with a storm that had passed 25 years before.

The Hesston Public Library partnered with the local expertise

The author holds one of several artifacts that were donated to the library’s permanent collection during the 25th Anniversary Remembrance week.

Legacy 13Join the agency and save using promo code NAI 2016

of the Hesston Community Foundation, Hesston College, the weekly newspaper Hesston Record, local churches, and Hesston schools to organize a week-long series of remembrance activities:

Walking the Path: March 7–22, 2016 An estimated 300 participants saw the scope of the tornado’s size, the impacted neighborhoods, and the change in tree canopy as they walked the path of the tornado. The library created an interpretive trail map and partnered with Hesston College Disaster Management students to place orange flags along sidewalks within the tornado’s footprint.

Share the Memories: Tuesday, March 10, 2016Roughly 150 attendees watched Dean Alison’s iconic tornado footage and heard from a panel of community members who were first responders in the hours immediately following the storm. Light refreshments and time for sharing personal experiences followed the presentation.

Record the Story: March 12–13, 2016The library contracted with an oral historian to give residents an opportunity to record their firsthand experiences. All of the interviews will be added to the library’s Digital Special Collections archive once they have been transcribed.

Hesston USD 460 Students: Friday, March 13, 2016 Several community members shared their experiences at local elementary, middle, and high schools. Two of the presenters were high school students at the time of the tornado and one was the high school band instructor. Their stories were personally relevant for the students in attendance.

Twister Twila & the Rodeo Queen: Wednesday, March 18, 2016 The Hesston Public Library hosted a tornado-themed story time and a special program that included Abbey Pomeroy, Hesston’s own Miss Rodeo Kansas 2015.

Both the digitization project and the week of remembrance events have garnered positive responses and support.

Extreme environments are a favorite plot line in books and movies as they feed the human need for adrenaline and our fascination with the unusual. The challenge for interpreters is always to find the personal stories and the opportunities for meaning within the context of the event.

for more informationHesston Tornado Digital Collection.

Hesston Public Library Digital Special Collections. http://hesston.digitalsckls.info/

Inglish, Howard. Year of the Storms. 1st edition. Hillsboro, Kan: Hearth Pub, 1990.

“‘Monster on the Prairie, Hesston, Kansas 1990 Tornado’, Newton Amateur Radio Club.” Accessed March 12, 2015. http://www.newtonarc.net/weather/hesston.html.

“Twenty Years after the Hesston Tornado: An NWS Perspective.” Steadham, Randy. http://www.crh.noaa.gov/images/ict/hesston/hesston_nws.pdf

“The Hesston Tornado 25 Years Later” KMUW, NPR Radio, April 2, 2015, http://kmuw.org/post/hesston-s-recovery-25-years-after-f5-tornado-hit

a b o u t t h e au t h o rLibby Albers is the director at the Hesston Public Library in Hesston, Kansas. She combines her passion for interpretation with her love of local history, natural resources, and of course—the library. Reach her at hesstonpubliclibrary@gmail.

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When it comes to extreme environments, there’s none more so than that of Pikes Peak. Temperatures atop the peak can swing from 60 degrees to below freezing within a matter of hours—something I’ve had the pleasure of experiencing firsthand. Wind gusts can reach over 150 miles per hour, the solar radiation is intense, and at any given time storms can roll in producing measurable snowfall or deadly lightning strikes. And if that’s not enough, the effects on the body at

new HeIgHtsBalancing Environmental Effects at Pikes Peak

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high altitude can make one question why over 600,000 people per year visit the summit.

One of the many things that makes Pikes Peak so special is that it truly is America’s Mountain, the only 14,000-foot high mountain (known as a “fourteener”) where everyone can access the summit, either by car, bicycle, cog railway, or their own two feet. Here, anyone—no matter age or fitness level—can experience the majestic views only found at this elevation and see firsthand the inspiration for America the Beautiful.

As such, when tasked with designing a new visitor center on top of the summit, the design team from GWWO (Design Architect) in Baltimore along with Colorado Springs’ RTA (Architect of Record)

examined ways in which a new facility could negate some of the extreme conditions associated with the peak in order to provide visitors with an ideal and meaningful interpretive experience.

When creating nonpersonal interpretation in extreme environments, five factors come to mind: durability, effective orientation and wayfinding, safety and comfort, integrated interpretation, and sustainability.

When most interpreters think about extreme environments, durability is probably the first thing that comes to mind. In an environment like Pikes Peak, where it snows year round and sun exposure is extreme, the choice of materials for wayside plaques and other

Pushing interpretation to

As part of their research, members of the design team visited mt. Washington in New hampshire, which is known for some of the harshest weather on earth. Clockwise from top: Stuart Coppedge, Brian Calhoun, Al Ip, Alan Reed, and eileen Kemp.

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new HeIgHtsinterpretive elements is important to prevent fading and degradation. Likewise, with the extreme wind gusts experienced on Pikes Peak, it is inevitable that these materials will need to be repaired and replaced more often than their counterparts in less extreme environments—a concern that’s also prevalent in other hostile settings such as hurricane or flood zones and harsh desert locations.

The necessity for durability also applies to the materials of the interpretive center itself. At Pikes Peak, large expanses of glass were an obvious choice to allow visitors the same dramatic views that inspired Katharine Lee Bates to write America the Beautiful, especially when the conditions outside are inhospitable. However, in a location where wind

gusts are known to pick up small pieces of gravel that can sandblast glass surfaces, extensive use of the material seemed quite impractical. To mitigate this concern, the building was nestled into the mountain with the majority of the glazed areas located on the leeward side of the building. This type of consideration and forethought must be applied when choosing all building materials to ensure the integrity and longevity of the built environment and, as a result, an enjoyable interpretive experience.

Effective orientation and wayfinding are vital in extreme locations where visitors may have limited time to experience the resource. At Pikes Peak, in addition to the cold, snow, wind, and rain,

the effect that high altitude has on the body—dizziness, nausea, and headaches—can be quite challenging to overcome, especially for those not accustomed to the conditions. At 14,000 feet, the average visitor experiences some symptoms of altitude sickness within an hour. However, Pikes Peak, like many natural venues, has the potential for a much longer visit. The question is then how to compress what could be three to four hours of interpretation into a quarter of the time? The fundamental solution is to provide effective and clear orientation from the moment a visitor reaches the site, allowing them to maximize their visit time. With this project in particular, there are four arrival sequences—by car, bicycle, foot, or cog railway—and all must present the options efficiently and equally. In addition, as with any type of interpretive facility or site, wayfinding should be easily understandable but without excessive signage that detracts from the experience.

Multiple aspects of visitor safety and resource protection come into play when interpreting in harsh environments. This is especially true for exterior exhibits where visitors desire to be as close to the resource as possible. In these conditions it’s critically important to create both physically and psychologically safe conditions from which to view the resource. At Pikes Peak, that meant walkways with appropriate barriers over treacherous terrain and very near to cliff edges. Similarly, the resource—whether it’s environmentally, culturally, or historically sensitive—must also be protected. Like a coral reef or the plant life of many of the earth’s other biomes, the tundra vegetation that grows on the top of the peak can take years to develop, but only seconds to be destroyed by humans. The primary strategy to preserve precious resources is through education and hence the necessity for interpretation in such environments. The more visitors know and understand their impact, the more likely they will be to respect and help protect the resource for future generations. Specifically for Pikes Peak,

large expanses of glass frame the dynamic view to the east which inspired the words to America the Beautiful.

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Shielded from the wind, dining terraces provide additional opportunities for outdoor interpretation.

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there are elevated grated walkways that allow visitors to traverse the summit and learn about the tundra without impacting the fragile ecosystem.

Weather conditions and exposure in extreme environments must also be considered. In many extreme locations, weather conditions can change quite swiftly, requiring visitors to seek safety in a matter of minutes. To accommodate this scenario, facilities must be designed to allow quick and easy access and comfortably accommodate large groups of visitors. In the case of Pikes Peak, there can be up to 600 people on the summit at any given time and, as such, the building must provide a safe haven for all of them in the event of a severe weather change. In other locations, such as deserts, prolonged exposure to the elements must be addressed through the use of sunshading, hydration stations, and other similar strategies.

Visitor comfort is also critical to a meaningful experience. At Pikes Peak, we challenged ourselves to create a design that would enhance visitor comfort throughout their visit. For instance, outdoor dining terraces are located in protected areas on the south side of the facility and incorporate the use of materials with high thermal capacity to provide shelter from the wind and take advantage of solar radiation to naturally warm the space. Another consideration was to design all paths with gradual elevation changes and multiple pausing/resting spaces to minimize fatigue. Each of those areas then presents the opportunity for additional interpretation.

In some cases, due to conditions beyond their control, visitors may be confined to the interior of the interpretive center for the duration of their stay. For these times it’s important to consider alternative interpretive venues. As noted above, over 600 people may be in the Summit House at Pikes Peak at any given time—significantly more than can be accommodated in the formal exhibit space. Therefore, to assure a meaningful experience, every space in the building—from the dining area to the gift shop and

even the restrooms—is designed with interpretive opportunities in mind. Equally important in this scenario is an integrated and balanced approach to the interpretive plan. With visits that could take place entirely inside or outside the building, the interpretation must be able to tell the essence of the story to each visitor, regardless of the path taken. In implementing this plan, crowd dispersion was carefully considered in order to minimize crowding at any given location. Thus, each visitor can comfortably connect with the subject matter in a way that

will create a lasting impression that they will carry with them upon their departure.

And finally, as many extreme environments are home to very fragile ecosystems, the opportunity to discuss and interpret sustainability is greatly enhanced. By their very nature, facilities that interpret such environments are remotely located and many rely on costly and wasteful practices to remain operational. The current outdated Summit House at Pikes Peak is no exception. Daily, two separate tanker trucks travel over 20 miles up the

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mountain to deliver water and remove waste from the facility. Further, the building was inadequately detailed, resulting in melting of the permafrost, structural problems, and excessive energy usage. To address these issues the new facility will incorporate multiple sustainable strategies in an attempt to achieve net-zero energy usage and protect the environment. Ultimately, all of these methods are being incorporated into the interpretive plan to educate visitors about their environmental impact.

Concerns related to durability,

orientation, safety, integrated interpretation, and sustainability are something that all interpreters can relate to, but in extreme environments like those found at Pikes Peak and many other locations across the country, they are drastically magnified. As long as man’s pioneering spirit—the desire to experience new and remote locations in harsh environments—continues to exist, managing the interpretive experience will always be a necessary challenge. However, with a little planning, forethought, and innovative strategies, we can help

each visitor to have an enjoyable, memorable, and safe experience, no matter the conditions.

a b o u t t h e au t h o rAlan Reed, FAIA, LEED AP is President and Design Principal of GWWO, Inc./Architects and has spent his 30-year career designing facilities to enhance the visitor experience at culturally, environmentally, and historically significant sites nationwide, including this most recent project for Pikes Peak–America’s Mountain.

Gradual elevation changes and resting spaces help to minimize fatigue that is common at high altitudes.

18 May/JUNe 2016

The Ubiquitous gambel’s Quail

Interpreting any subject—natural, cultural, or historical—requires not just an understanding of that subject, but of the environment in which it exists. In some cases, as with the Gambel’s quail in the Sonoran Desert, the pairing of an extreme environment with a bird that is something of a physical misfit makes the story that much more intriguing.

Last week, as part of my job responsibilities with the Arizona Game and Fish Department, I

responded to a call from Animal Control to help rescue a clutch of baby Gambel’s quail that had fallen through a grate into a storm drain near my work. It was mid-April, and it was already pushing 90 degrees. Officer Rodriguez and I wore gloves as we removed the grate—not because we didn’t want to get our hands dirty, but to avoid getting burned by the hot metal. The adult quail paced and called frantically just out of reach as we scooped their young up with a net into a waiting five-gallon bucket. I wondered how these eight chicks managed to survive in the harsh environment of the Sonoran Desert, and yet still (almost) fell prey to a lowly storm drain.

These funny looking fowl have a lot going against them when it comes to

survival. They’re terrible fliers, highly visible, and loud, and lots of desert animals want to eat them. How they have adapted to survive, and even thrive against these odds is truly amazing.

For a quail, just finding and keeping a mate is risky business. Quail are monogamous during the breeding season, and when a pair are separated from one another, they call to each other with a loud call that sounds a lot like Where ARE you? Where ARE you now? A bachelor quail will find a high post like a saguaro top to lament, Hell-OOO? To a Harris hawk, this must be the bird equivalent of a dinner bell. Bobcats and coyotes prey on quail as well, but raptors are responsible for more deaths.

Since they can’t fly far distances,

Interpreting an Unlikely Survivor in the Sonoran Desert

a m y b u r n e t t

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and have small home ranges, Gambel’s quail are affected by the weather more than most desert birds. Doves and finches can travel to another area to find food during a drought, but a quail is basically out of luck. Studies show that they actually compensate for this disadvantage by producing fewer young in drought years. You might wonder, “How do their little bird brains ‘know’ to produce fewer chicks?” Well, they don’t. It’s all about the prenatal vitamins. In a drought year, quail eat what’s available—mostly seeds, year-round. Seeds are lacking in Vitamin A, an important reproductive nutrient for birds. In a rainy year, quail eat the abundant green matter rich in vitamin A, and reproductive success ensues. Instead of a clutch of 8 to 10, a quail could hatch 12, 14, or more eggs, and raise three broods in a season rather than one or two.

For this bird, even nesting is a challenge. A mother quail calls a scrape on the ground with a couple of twigs and a few feathers a nest. When you’re trying not to attract egg-laying supine predators, subtlety is important. If a gila monster or gopher snake discovers a nest, it will live off of it as the eggs are laid one a day, until all are consumed. Amazingly, a quail that loses her clutch will usually go with her mate to find a new territory and try again.

As soon as they are dry, precocial quail chicks are up and running to stay alive. Can you imagine keeping track of young running all over the place, while some haven’t hatched yet? Luckily, the species has solved this survival challenge, too. The female doesn’t incubate until all the eggs have been laid, and so they all hatch on the same day. These little running cotton balls with legs instinctively stick close to their parents for protection, running in a line as if attached by an invisible pull string. When danger threatens, a parent will sound the high pitched alarm, chip, chip, chip!, signaling to scatter and hide until the

“enemy” has passed. Sometimes a chick gets separated permanently from its parents during the scattering. If that

happens, another quail family, or even an agreeable bachelor quail sometimes takes it under its wing. Any orphaned quail eventually becomes a tasty morsel for an American kestrel or other raptor flying overhead.

It’s hard to believe how quail manage to survive despite the odds against them. The average quail’s lifespan is only about a year and a half. But Gambel’s quail as a species have adapted to live here by persisting through the rough years, producing lots of young when the going’s good, and nurturing the younger generation until they pair off on their own.

With a parent quail still calling quit, quit, quit as they pace nearby, Officer Rodriguez and I carried the bucket of quail into the surrounding

desert, tipped it on its side, and watched as the female led her large brood off into a desert wash.

When I interpret the Gambel’s quail, whether it’s to out-of-state visitors or the local news media, I love to tell this unique story of successful adaptation in the harsh Sonoran Desert—a story that’s as much about the harsh environment as it is a specific bird.

a b o u t t h e au t h o rAmy Burnett is the information and education program manager with the Arizona Game and Fish Department. She has served as secretary on NAI’s Board of Directors and as director of NAI’s Wild West Region. Reach her at rangeramy@gmail.com.

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20 May/JUNe 2016

ConversIonMy family and I spent two years as volunteers with Global Ministries in Monteverde, Costa Rica. In my role as pastor, I was faced with the ultimate in interpreting in an extreme environment—sharing a conservation message in a rapidly changing cloud forest from within a church whose commitment to the issue I had come to question.

In Costa Rica, we met neighbors like howler monkeys, three wattle bell birds, sloths, and toucans. We learned their names and recognized

their voices and watched and listened to them with awe. There were human neighbors who also inspired us, like the cab drivers, hotel owners, tropical biologists, bakers, housekeepers, coffee farmers, and teachers. From them, sad words would eventually be spoken:

Our water wells have dried up… The frogs aren’t around here anymore… Our forest orchids are dying… This is a cloud forest! Where are the clouds?

In Monteverde we heard about the negative impacts of a changing climate. Climate change in Monteverde is not a liberal, conservative, rich, or poor issue; it is everybody’s issue. In Costa Rica our relationship to and dependence on nature, other people, and God was deepened as we were entangled in

the beauty of the cloud forest. In a new way, we had fallen in love with God, with one another, and with the richness of creation in the cloud forest. Our renewed love and awareness created a sense of the urgency regarding our ecological time.

This urgency culminated at our denomination’s general assembly during a brief visit to the U.S. At this large gathering, I shared my concerns with anyone who would listen and searched for ways to address the global ecological crisis. Some people I talked with were generally supportive of my quest for an empowered church body to engage creation care and climate change in particular.

There were genuine conversations and dreaming, but many reactions were variations of the sweet Southern

s c o t t h a r d i n - n i e r i

Called by God (and a Scientist) in the Cloud Forest

An Ecological

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backhand, “Bless your little heart.” It seemed like climate change—and therefore those creatures and people I loved in Costa Rica—were far down a long “to do” list for the church.

After our gathering, I returned to Central America filled with frustration and sadness. A sustainable planet needed leadership 30 years ago and I thought that the church was simply not up for the task especially while facing so many other challenges.

After almost 20 years, I decided that it was time to leave Christian ministry and to seek other venues to live out my faith by caring for God’s planet and people. I still loved God, but I was angry and heartbroken. The church had raised me and my children, had been a source of so much life; and yet I believed it was sitting on the sideline during one of the greatest challenges humanity has ever faced.

I sought new mentors and teachers. I met with scientists, naturalists, guides, business leaders, and educators. I eventually met with Frank, who is a scientist and professor and has been studying and teaching sustainability for almost 30 years in Costa Rica.

My goal in that meeting was to find a new course of study that would equip me to accompany God’s creation in a new way. Environmental studies, environmental education, maybe sustainability?

Frank and I danced with small talk for a bit, then I got down to it. I asked which programs he recommended.

“How do I live out these next 20 years or so, really making an impact for our world?” I asked.

He paused for a long time and looked at me.

“I have been studying these things for more than 30 years. The science about what you are seeing in our forests, oceans, and climate is not new. We have known the problems for decades and the scientific communities even know many of the solutions. We have been talking about them, teaching about them, writing about them, screaming about them and people are not listening.”

He leaned in over his mug of locally grown coffee, “We don’t need more scientists. Don’t leave the church. We need you, we need the church. You could help us from within your own community.”

Frank and God called me back to the church.

I began to look at the church with fresh eyes. Slowly I began to see how faith communities were engaging in creation care and climate change action. I heard about church-installed rooftop solar panels challenging climate change, church gardens challenging food deserts, creation care vacation Bible school,

creation care book studies, climate action teams, vegetarian potlucks. One church did a “clothesline challenge” with dozens leaving their dryers lonely all summer long.

I found out about Blessed Tomorrow, empowering congregations to act on climate change; Interfaith Power and Light, a self-described “Religious Response to Global Warming”; a local interfaith nonprofit in western North Carolina called the Creation Care Alliance; MountainTrue, a nonprofit conservation organization that supports the Creation Care Alliance; and my denomination’s growing Green Chalice network of churches working on creation care. Like so many denominations, the disciples have a covenant regarding Earth care.

Where I had once decided that the church was irrelevant in the challenges we face, I began to see that faith communities hold the keys to us moving through this crisis. It turns out Frank is not the only person that believes faith communities are key to this movement.

“I used to think that top environmental problems were biodiversity loss, ecosystem collapse, and climate change,” scientist Gus Speth once said. “I was wrong. The top environmental problems are selfishness, greed and apathy, and to deal with these we need a cultural and spiritual transformation. And we scientists don’t know how to do that.”

Faith communities are among the best equipped and empowered to accompany people during cultural and spiritual transformation. Transformation is in hymns, holy books, and stories. In our bones, we are baptism-soaked in justice, liberation, good news, truth telling, hope, resurrection, and grace.

Any organization can do the work of conservation. Many groups of people can do mitigation (the slowing of climate change). The same is true for adaptation. These groups include Apple, Tesla, and even the U.S. Military. But compassion and transformation is what is needed. It is my hope that the church will collaborate with our sisters and brothers in the worlds of government, business, technology, healthcare, nonprofits, and education. They have been waiting on us.

May we lead with the tenacity and compassion from within the church to bring about a better tomorrow.

a b o u t t h e au t h o rScott Hardin-Nieri is a storyteller, tree climber, and accompanier, and he is an ordained pastor with the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), currently in Asheville, North Carolina. He is the director of the Creation Care Alliance of Western North Carolina as well as the associate minister for Green Chalice. A version of this article first appeared on patheos.com and is reprinted with permission.

Climate change in monteverde is not a liberal, conservative, rich, or poor issue; it is everybody’s issue.

22 May/JUNe 2016

t h e f r o n t l i n e

urban extreme

Tonight I will interpret in an extreme environment. It sounds exciting—you’re likely picturing a volcano with rivers of glowing lava and the smell of sulfur hanging in the air. You might also be picturing a quiet dimly lit, massive cavern deep underground where the only sound is my voice backed by a diminutive chorus of water drops. Maybe the word extreme conjures an image of an interpreter hanging from climbing gear on a shear cliff face talking about mountain orogeny and continental uplift to a camera live-streaming to classrooms because the location itself is too remote, too dangerous for the kids to explore themselves. What you are likely not picturing is a white, stucco-clad, 1970s-era apartment complex with newly exposed brown grass that has been hiding under snow, a smattering of manicured trees, and a two-foot-high hedge of winter-beaten boxwood.

This is my extreme environment. I am leaving the nature center and venturing into a housing project to teach about nature in a place where nature has been paved, planted, and then largely ignored by everyone

rush hour natural). It is also not extreme in terms of survivability. Not watching where you are walking is more likely to lead to stepping in dog feces rather than plummeting to your death or being incinerated in lava. The extreme nature of the site lies in its lack of nature. As a naturalist I interpret natural systems. Your typical extreme environment is an interpreter’s dream because it is a natural system on steroids. You want trees? Here’s the world’s largest. You want geology? Here’s rock being formed or eroded right before your eyes.

There are physical challenges to interpreting in extreme places and they are very real. The interpretation itself is in many ways easier, though, when the resource being interpreted is imbued with such visual, auditory, and even olfactory power that you need only shape the natural awe and wonder of visitors into a memorable narrative. What do you do when the resource is utterly forgettable and nigh nonexistent?

My topic tonight, in the nature wasteland, is trees. If I am very lucky, there might actually be a tree or two on the property. Daylight saving time, which I usually abhor, will make sure the sun is still up for my program. At least I’ve got that going for me.

As I travel through the concrete jungle, away from the nature center, eventually stepping into the apartment party room that will serve as my base of operations on this extreme expedition with kids, I am excited. There are no volcanos, there are no waterfalls, there are no caves or waves or cliffs or canyons. There are only kids and a tiny bit of nature. These kids are ready to explore and learn and the message I have for them is critical.

k i r k ca r t e r m o n a

but the lawn-mowing service, whose only goal is to keep it under control. It may not look the same as the extreme images conjured up above but make no mistake, this is a very extreme place to interpret. What makes it extreme is not the challenges nature poses in getting to the location (unless you consider

Nature is not something we are apart from; it is not somewhere we visit. It is everywhere around us. We do a great disservice to the public if they leave our programs thinking that nature is a far-away place.

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St Paul MN Richmond VA Washington DC

Interpretive Planning

Exhibits & Waysides

Media & Technology

Community Engagement

Cultural Tourism Planning

Tribal & Cultural Relations

106group.com

Interpretation & Exhibits

1O6GROUP

Connecting People + Place + Time

You don’t have to go to extreme lengths to see nature.

Far too often we are subtly taught that nature is a destination, a place where we are not. The nature center is 20 miles away. The amazing Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness is 250 miles away. Both of these are places humans are allowed to visit but not stay. Their very defining characteristic is their lack of humanness. I like that about them; it makes them extreme places in one sense but—and this is critical—we do not live in these extreme places. Their lack of humanity actually makes them more artificial than natural. Nature is not something we are apart from, it is not somewhere we visit. It is everywhere around us. We do a great disservice to the public if they leave our programs thinking that nature is a far-away place that is nice to visit once in a while if you can afford the time and money to get there.

The little lawn with a few bushes and a tree or two that is outside these kids’ apartment block every single day is nature. It is extreme and difficult to interpret because it is so easy to ignore and dismiss. There are thousands of lessons to be learned in the smallest patch of grass if we only take on the challenge to interpret them.

Looking at the eager faces as I enter the room tonight I see explorers, ready for the challenge. They live in an environment extreme in its separation from what we would normally call nature. My topic tonight may be trees but my goal is that when I leave, their eyes will have been opened and they will see that nature is everywhere around them and they need only use their eyes to see that which has always been there, waiting to be seen.

a b o u t t h e au t h o rKirk Carter Mona is an interpretive naturalist for the Three Rivers Park District at Lowry Nature Center in Victoria, Minnesota. Reach him at kirk@twincitiesnaturalist.com.

24 May/JUNe 2016

d e e P i n t e r P r e tAt i o n

It was unwise to discuss the Old People and their tools.

He did not know what was sacred with such old things.

That was for the elders to interpret.—Comanche Moon

Wisdom is a funny thing. Some believe that it only comes with age. Knowledge, however, comes at any age. In fact, it would be pretty difficult to survive if we didn’t start to acquire knowledge early on in life. The small child having acquired a bit of knowledge usually sees it as a treasure to share or to hoard. Only through trial and error will the child develop the insight that suggests when and where such sharing is appropriate. But wisdom, the realization that it never was a treasure at all, comes far later. If knowledge is survival, wisdom is the tool for knowing how to use knowledge, and insight tells us what the result will be when we use that knowledge.

Famous Shoes, the Kickapoo tracker in Larry McMurtry’s novel Comanche Moon, had the knowledge that allowed him to recognize the arrowheads he’d found as ancient. He also had the wisdom to know

past as a guide to resolving present dilemmas can be vital.

Today’s interpreters use information—knowledge—as their raw material. But, what about wisdom and insight? At some point in our lives, we’ve all been overwhelmed by the speaker with too much knowledge—TMI, Too Much Information. There’s an old adage that says a little bit of knowledge goes a long way. I disagree. A lot of knowledge is the library, but you only take out one book at a time. And that book needs to be well seasoned with wisdom and insight.

Many years have passed, but the wisdom and insight of Freeman Tilden has stood the test of time. Information was only one of the principles he addressed. Tilden knew that raw information had to be processed to be digestible, memorable, believable. Stories are memorable, even more so if they are packaged with artistry and relevancy to the intended listeners. Above all else, storytelling is an art. Traditionally our elders were the storytellers. And, they were good storytellers because they had self-assurance, a presence, which made even the fantastic seem believable. They’d told their stories so many times, and heard them from their own elders, that they believed the stories themselves. And, it didn’t hurt that they crammed their stories full of details. Could all those details be wrong? Finally, they knew the

The interpreter as elder

that only the elders were qualified to interpret them because he lacked the insight to do so. The consequences might be serious were he to assume the role of elder. Native American elders were the keepers of knowledge because they were the only tribal members who knew tribal history—they had lived it. Clearly history was important. It was tribal pride; the loss of an elder would be like the loss of the tribe’s only history book. But, it was more than pride, and more than history, it was relevance. In a culture lacking the written word, the

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If knowledge is survival, wisdom is the tool for knowing how to use knowledge, and insight tells us what the result will be when we use that knowledge.

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incredible value of the pause. Never give it all out at once. It’s the pause in the music that makes us listen more closely. It’s the appetizer that makes us hungry for more.

Each of the principles of interpretation—information, relevance, the story, artistry, holism, passion, and knowing your audience—directly supports one all-encompassing principle: believability. Take away believability and interpretation withers. With believability anyone can be an “elder.” Yes, a bit of age helps,

because age conveys temporary believability. That’s why young adults can be engrossing storytellers to children. But, age differential alone does not rise to the level of a principle. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, age seems to have lost much of the advantage it once held. Many things, like age, convey temporary believability: a badge, a uniform, a whistle, an introduction, and a presence. But, that temporary believability is fragile, and must be quickly capitalized upon or soon lost.

If believability were a contest, I’d

have to believe that the interpreters have it hands down over the elders. For one thing, interpreters have a host of ultimate elders backing them up, including Freeman Tilden and his principles. But, sometimes they forget that these incredible assets are theirs. Sometimes they think that a little bit of information can take the place of a whole lot of passion. I suppose that when you’ve given the same talk a dozen times it starts to sound mechanical. But, then I remember that it doesn’t have to be the same talk. In fact, passion insists that it not be the same talk.

Perhaps the real advantage the ancient elders had was not their age or their knowledge, but their passion. They believed that their stories contained the potential for perpetuating their tribe, their clan, their band, their people.

Interpretation today has that same potential. All we have to do is make the holistic connection. Interpreting the leopard frog is interpreting the environment, the same environment that sustains the interpreter and the listener. Interpreting the Anasazi is interpreting climate cycles, the same cycles that we moderns cannot escape. Interpreting the Holocaust is interpreting the dark side of mankind, the same dark side that has been with us for millennia. And interpreting Emerson is interpreting the poet, the very same poet that Emerson believed to reside within

Interpretation’s elder, Freeman Tilden

26 May/JUNe 2016

every one of us, waiting to be let out. Many years ago, while hiking

in the Rila mountains of Bulgaria, I had the good fortune to meet an Orthodox monk at an ancient monastery high in the foothills. The Communists had been overthrown less than a year earlier, and he was the first to return. For almost five decades religion had been banned, and yet the buildings and grounds looked as though everyone had just left yesterday. My monastic friend explained that while the Bulgarian communist regime feared the influence of religion, they were deeply respectful of their patrimony; and so the monastery had been designated a state historic site and had been maintained by the elders of neighboring villages. In the face of a powerful and repressive government, a little piece of Bulgarian culture had been kept alive by elder activists. The stories the monastery continues to tell through its elaborate architecture, carvings, wall and ceiling paintings,

and 400-year history were ultimately proven to be more powerful than the military force that feared them.

A few years after returning from Bulgaria I happened to be working with a group of eight Croatian national park managers. In the course of our many sometimes unbelievable discussions, one of my American colleagues began complaining bitterly about the drastic 20-percent budget cuts his park had suffered in recent years. The leader of the Croatian group listened politely and, at an appropriate moment, expressed his sympathy, along with a bit of irony, by asking,

“But how would you like to have your budget cut by 80 percent and land mines planted in your parks?” Thunderstruck, I asked, “Do your visitors still come?” “Oh yes, they love their parks. Of course, the mines are all signed: ‘Danger Mined Area – For Future Disposal.’”

The lesson learned from Bulgaria’s and Croatia’s national parks is that

the ultimate elder is the resource itself. The most powerful story is the one that the parks, or the artifacts, implant in the mind. That is the story visitors tell when they go home, and the one that brings them coming back despite politics, despite the economy, despite even land mines! The land is the one authentic elder. If we could be one with the land as were our ancient ancestors, we would not need an interpreter. And so, the first question that we might want to ask the visitor is, “What does this land, this pottery shard, this broken antler, mean to you?”

The land may very well tell a different story to each visitor. But what does it matter if that story becomes part of the visitor’s belief system? If it brings the visitor back, if it gets retold, if it becomes a reason to save the park, isn’t that what we are trying to do? Perhaps the very best advice we can give, as elders, is to encourage each visitor to try to listen to the land, try to make it something more than a visual experience. And then try to imagine how their great-great grandparents interpreted this place we call America.

These truths are also self-evident: The land and its people are inseparable. The land is defined by the people in the short run, but in a far greater sense the land ultimately defines its people. Doubt it? Just try to imagine being displaced, being without a country. In his always elegant simplicity, Robert Frost reminds us that we may have boldly claimed the land as ours, but once we began to know the land, it captured us. And then, all that remained was for another master interpreter, Woody Guthrie, to put it to music.

a b o u t t h e au t h o rWill LaPage is the author of Rethinking Park Protection: Treading the Uncommon Ground of Environmental Beliefs and Parks for Life. Reach him at eurekamomentsplus@gmail.com.

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We speak to make a point and to change an attitude, a behavior, or a belief. If that is not possible, we at least want to provoke the audience enough to cause them to re-think their current position. When added together, these three goals provide a solid platform for you to engage your audience in hopes of moving them from where they are now to where you hope they will be.

a clear messageA clear message means you (and when you are done, your audience) should be able to sum up the entirety of your talk in one short sentence—just one simple statement: “At the end of my talk, I want my audience to know ________.” (No “ands,” no

“commas,” no “ampersands.”) If you can be clear enough in your thinking to fill in that blank before you start speaking, you increase the likelihood your audience will understand your point.

interactionInteraction is meaningful dialogue between either the speaker and the audience or between audience members. Audiences want to be

involved in the conversation as active participants; they do not want to be merely passive receivers of information. Audience members will learn as they process information to form their own thoughts, and they will learn from others in the group. Providing time to discuss a topic allows audience members to take pieces of the talk and add them up to a sum greater than that of all the parts.

To be clear, interaction does not mean that you as the speaker get to talk for 55 minutes. You should take the opportunity to actively engage

your audience by encouraging them to think, reflect, ask questions, evaluate, and express themselves.

enthusiasm Enthusiasm demonstrates through actions, voice, and words that you like and are excited about your topic. Your energy is quite contagious and rubs off on the audience.

Your enthusiasm alone is not enough to carry the day. A colleague recently reported to me that she watched a presentation in absolute awe based solely on the enthusiasm and energy of the speaker. It wasn’t until later that the colleague realized the speaker didn’t have a message—they were simply engaging and energetic.

A good presentation does not happen by chance or luck; it is created by a good presenter. These three elements—a clear message, interaction, and enthusiasm—are basic building blocks to help you design outstanding talks that engage the audience and by doing so, may change an attitude, belief, or behavior.

a b o u t t h e au t h o rEthan Rotman is a presentation coach offering workshops and coaching in the San Francisco Bay area. For more information, call 415-342-7106 or visit www.iSpeakEASY.net.

The author thanks Andy Goodman and Jenn Tarlton.

s P e A k i n g

an equation for an excellent presentation

e t h a n ro t m a n

you should take the opportunity to actively engage your audience by encouraging them to think, reflect, ask questions, evaluate, and express themselves.

A Clear Message + Interaction+ Enthusiasm = An Excellent Presentation

28 May/JUNe 2016

In his well-known and well-documented book, Last Child in the Woods: Saving our Children from Nature Deficit Disorder, author Richard Louv looked at many of the reasons why a generation of children are losing an important connection to nature. This change has potential deleterious physical and emotional effects.

Many children spend too much time indoors, often staring at a screen of some type instead of enjoying time climbing, running, and playing in nature, making discoveries, and interacting with friends.

My concern is that something similar has happened to many park rangers. How many park rangers reading this right now feel like they want or need to spend more time reading from a computer screen? Didn’t think so….

In many park settings, “charismatic megafauna” may be a big part of why the park exists. These large mammals attract many visitors and may be the most important reason visitors come to the park. However, one species, the park ranger (Patrolus flat-hattus) is becoming

last ranger in the Woods?

j . pat r i c k ba r ry

c o m m e n tA r y

quite rare. Sightings have declined.In his 1978 classic, Men for the

Mountains, Canadian park warden Sid Marty complained repeatedly about increasing bureaucratic requirements.

“Goodbye motivation, farewell responsibility and enthusiasm. They all reside in the attachment…to the landscape and will never be found while riding herd in a swivel chair and sticking pins in a map—not for a warden who loves the outdoors, not for all the paper shuffling bureaucrats in the federal public service.”

In the case of the pre-computer era wardens, Marty seemed to believe that working in an office and the “front country” was not the true nature of a park warden’s work. Wardens should be out of the office in the field, and more concerned about protecting the park from the people and the people from the park than protecting the people from the people.

I realize that many, if not most, ranger positions involve all three of those roles, but the point about the bureaucracy remains valid. We are increasingly tied to our desks by red tape.

In my experience, rangers spend too much time sitting in a cubicle or office writing and answering emails, completing bureaucratic administrivia and other computer-related tasks. Add an overdose of painful, poorly planned meetings, a pinch or two of unnecessary online training, and valuable work time slips

away. This is time that could be better spent providing exceptional customer service, building rapport with repeat visitors, dealing with maintenance and safety issues, and encouraging stewardship.

I’ve been around long enough to remember when computers were introduced to the ranger’s workplace. They were going to be time-saving devices. Instead, they require an inordinate amount of usually unproductive or ineffective time. Many administrative requirements seem to be the result of someone making tasks much more complicated than necessary to keep some cog in the bureaucratic machine spinning. It often seems like the bean counters and the attorneys are in charge, not park managers. Our mantra needs to become, “Process is not our product!”

Administrative staff can and should handle as much of the paperwork as possible, leaving rangers more opportunities to be in the park or at the information desk doing their jobs. Remember, their job title is “park ranger” not “office ranger.”

Computers slip in to our work kind of like a cat can sit on your lap while you are distracted and then you wonder how it got there. Where I worked for many years, we made the minor mistake of providing the staff at the visitor center information desk with a computer. The rationale was that rangers could do some digital

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“paperwork” during downtime or look up information for visitors. It was fine during the slow season. It became a challenge when I had to repeatedly tell staff, “When visitors walk through that door they are not interrupting your job, they are your job!”

The compromise we reached was that the computer would be off during our busy season unless it was needed to help answer a question from a visitor.

Visitor center work is often mostly indoors. Sometimes I smiled wistfully when I told people I worked as a ranger and they said, “It must be great to work outside!” My thought was,

“Yes, it must be!” But the good news is that it is face-to-face time with visitors and can help make great connections.

The impact on the park is obvious. Rangers who spend more time staring at computer screens have less time to interact with park visitors, maintain the park, look for safety issues, and provide interpretation and information. Much of this work falls to volunteers who are sometimes not as knowledgeable or well trained and may lack some of the skills of professional rangers. Volunteers do not necessarily represent the organization accurately and may also lack loyalty to the organization.

During recent travels to dozens of parks it was difficult to find a ranger in the field. I found them in many, but not all, visitor centers (sometimes staring at screens). Typically the front line has been moved from field ranger or ranger interpreter to volunteer or some form of technology.

Technology is beginning to replace rangers. It is beyond time to consider where technology is needed and where it is better to have a ranger. Computer-driven information kiosks, podcasts, cell-phone tours, apps, QR codes, and other technologies help provide information or sometimes

interpretation. I understand the need to connect with people who use technology as their interface with the world. I understand that rangers are sometimes not available for budget reasons. But, we need rangers in the field to have those important discussions and have some human conversations in park settings. Remember, we want to help visitors connect to the resource. A well-versed,

friendly ranger can be a wonderful asset to any organization.

It is time to evaluate and let administrative staff handle more paperwork, thereby freeing park rangers to do what they are trained to do—if it is not too late.

We may already be selecting employees who have great computer skills and are efficient at office work, but who lack technical ranger skills, communication skills, or interpretive skills. We may be losing people who are exceptional rangers but have low tolerances for burdensome and unnecessarily complex bureaucratic processes. It is time to think about the long-term impact on the park and park visitors. Park rangers need to invest more time in the park or at the information desk or in the woods, not in the office.

for more informationLouv, Richard. Last Child in the

Woods: Saving Our Children from Nature Deficit Disorder. 2005, ISBN: 9781565126053 (156512605X), Algonquin Books.

Marty, Sid. Men for the Mountains. 1978, reprinted 1993, ISBN-10: 0771056729, McClelland & Stewart, Inc.

a b o u t t h e au t h o rThe author, J. Patrick Barry, served as a park ranger and supervisory ranger for the federal government for 35 years. He might have stayed longer, if not for the paperwork. Contact him at jpatbarry@hotmail.com.

The ranger outdoors—an endangered species?

30 May/JUNe 2016

P e r s P e c t i v e

I periodically look at the themes for upcoming issues of Legacy and, in my best impersonation of planning ahead, consider possibilities for aligning this column with the theme or, as is my wont, completely ignoring it. I have done both, and a bit in between. Knowing interpreters as I do, I did not share Legacy editor Paul Caputo’s concern (see page 4 of the March/April 2016 issue) that interpreters would be hesitant to write about ethics in interpretation. Yet, I was pleasantly surprised by the breadth and depth of its contents when it arrived. As with all March/April issues of Legacy, that one arrived at the busiest time of my academic year. I must often set it aside for a while, but this issue with the great, stony face of Aristotle on the cover commanded me to read it, right away.

First, to all of the contributors, I can only say, “Bravo!” What a deep and diverse assemblage of commentary on so many aspects of the relationship between interpretation and ethics, and kudos to Paul for putting it all together. The entire edition should be mandatory reading for anyone

they need to reflect on their practice. Why? Glad you asked.

I cannot count the times I have seen examples of the issues described in the article, and had much the same reaction as John. For example, a voyageur reenactment and an American Civil War encampment running simultaneously and adjacent to each other. Why? Well, I was told it was partly number 13 on John’s hit list, “It draws a crowd,” but it seems it also was just more convenient for the local event organizers. Or how about a reenactment of World War II’s Battle of the Bulge in a setting more appropriate to demonstrations of pioneer living? Same pitiful excuse along with a couple more. The sin of slipshod interpretation goes far beyond living history, though. In my travels, I have seen more of those sins than I care to remember, and I’m sure I have been able to forget some, but certain ones stick in my craw because they make me embarrassed for interpretation.

Consider a maple sugar demonstration with no maple sap, only plain water in the evaporator, at a site that not only did not have a sugar bush, it had not one sugar maple and absolutely no history of maple sugaring. Why? “Because the public likes it.” Or the bald eagle presentation that rambled aimlessly for nearly an hour, which consisted of 15 minutes of disjointed content and 45 minutes of photo-op, until the perpetrator simply put the bird back on perch and

Truth in interpretation?

charged with public interaction in anything remotely resembling an interpretive setting. There were, of course, some articles that really flipped a few of my switches. One of those is John Luzader’s article,

“The Ethics of Living History and of Quality Costumed Interpretation,” which pulls no punches in detailing the sins of poor or, worse yet, lazy living history interpretation. John’s article struck a major chord with me, probably because his message goes far beyond living history interpretation to all forms of interpretation, and, unlike John, I offer my two cents with no trepidation whatsoever. My feeling is that if anything John had to say angered or offended someone,

b o b ca r t e r

Legacy

in Interpretation

march/april 2016Volume 27, Number 2

The magaziNe of The NaTioNal associaTioN for iNTerpreTaTioN

EthicsThe march/April 2016 issue of Legacy, required reading for all interpreters.

Legacy 31

invited everyone to go out to the site store and purchase something. Why?

“Because it gets people to come and spend money.” Justifications for these inept efforts are all on John’s list, as is, or as variations thereof. I could go on but my head is starting to hurt from gnashing my teeth and I am certain you have had quite enough too.

It might be thought that after John Luzader’s eloquent dissection of living history sins I am simply guilty of “piling it on,” but that is not the case. Consider another excellent article from that issue of Legacy. Will LaPage’s comments in “The Ethical Interpreter” wonderfully expressed the other side of this particular equation. When it comes to any interpretation, it is not simply enough to criticize, it is also important to analyze. The ethical dilemmas listed by Will in his essay fall into something even deeper—moral dilemmas—and his answer to them all, “It depends,” is not only perfectly valid but also undergirds the entire ethical landscape of interpretation.

To close this out, I need to invoke something from Rebecca Korf’s superb discussion of Aristotle’s virtues (more required reading) specifically, the crux of it, the golden mean. The bottom line is, we, as interpreters, have an ethical, moral responsibility to our audiences that goes well beyond getting them to the top of Maslow’s Hierarchy through adherence to all of the virtues Rebecca describes. We, as professionals (professional in this context being an attitude, demeanor, and work ethic rather than an employment status), are obligated to provide the best interpretive experience possible and, above all else, to tell the truth.

a b o u t t h e au t h o rBob Carter teaches outdoor and environmental education, interpretation, and museum studies at Northern Illinois University in DeKalb, Illinois. He has been an NAI member since 1989, is a Certified Interpretive Trainer, and is director of NAI’s Heartland Region. Contact him at carter@niu.edu.

WEBINARSAffordable, online professional development for interpreters.

Learn more and register atwww.interpnet.com

32 May/JUNe 2016

c o m m e n tA r y

Telling visitors what to do may sound rude, but we need to do more of it. Years ago, to remind and encourage visitors to continue with astronomy after an evening stargazing program, I began handing out attractive yellow and black “Look up in the sky tonight” bumper stickers. Not uncommonly, my freshly minted stargazers would refuse the bumper sticker, informing me that they did not put stickers on their vehicles.

Similarly, I end most of my programs by providing a handout in the form of a colorful bookmark that summaries key points for future reference, or that directs participants to additional activities. While these bookmarks were designed to encourage future participation by attendees, many of them just ended up in the recycling bin right outside the program room.

At a friend’s house one evening, I noticed that she had pasted one of my astronomy bumper stickers on the recycling bin that she lugged out to the curb once a week. Although I was delighted to see the bumper sticker in use, she apologetically explained that she didn’t put bumper stickers on her car. Yet, having it on the

Telling people what to do with the bumper sticker helped my audience members imagine other uses besides the obvious one. I tried the same strategy with the “bookmarks.” Depending on the topic, I suggested tucking them into desk drawers, affixing them to their refrigerator, stapling them to a shelf in the garden shed, or storing it in their car’s glove compartment. Telling them what to do with the handout reduced the number of handouts ending up in the recycling bin. Before this epiphany, I had assumed, as other interpreters and educators too often do, that providing quality information was enough.

Recently I was asked to review an exhibit prototype illustrating what wildflowers are found in an area. Little effort was required to change informational text such as “Cardinal flowers grow in moist shaded soil often on the banks of creeks and lakes” to “Look for Cardinal flowers along shaded creek banks.” Adding suggestions for specific strategies visitors could take to view these flowers was simple enough and the exhibit panel became an inspiring invitation to explore the biodiversity of the park.

Several of my peers who run nature centers had expressed frustration that their members refused tokens of appreciation for renewing their membership, such as branded coffee mugs or clothing. The member often protested that they wanted their money spent elsewhere. They expressed intrinsic devotion to their nature center and no need for a gift to motivate them to renew their support for their special place. The nature centers now deliver these tokens with instructions. “Thank you for your loyalty to our organization.

read This now!

recycling bin reminded her to stop at the end of her driveway, and for a few moments, enjoy the night sky. In her case, my bumper sticker was clearly accomplishing my goal!

Suddenly it hit me. I needed to tell people what to do with these items. They were thinking about my handouts only in the most obvious way. Instead of just giving out the bumper stickers at the end of a stargazing program, I told visitors,

“Stick them over the light switch in your garage. Affix them to your garbage can or recycling bin. Place them on your bulletin board over your computer. They can go on your refrigerator or mirror in your bathroom—anywhere where seeing it might remind you and your family to stop and enjoy the night sky.”

A call to action requires little more than using action verbs.

ro b b i x l e r

Legacy 33

Please help us spread the word about our organization by using the enclosed coffee mug at work (or wearing the enclosed T-shirt).” Members no longer think of these as

“gifts,” but as a tool that helps them promote their nature center to other community members.

Through struggling with how to increase the effectiveness of my efforts, I had stumbled onto an almost ubiquitous marketing and persuasion technique that marketers term a “Call to Action” (CTA). While my experiences were initially with verbal instructions, action verbs and phrases popped up everywhere on web pages and signs. The

“Membership” tab on the web page became “Join Here.” The “Trail Map” label on the brochure rack became

“Take a Map: Explore our Trails.” The “Program Calendar” on the web page became “Indulge in a Park Program” with “Remember to bring a friend” at the bottom of the calendar.

I learned from marketers about

applying funneling strategies to web pages where the first call to action was a “call to find” using menu tabs such as “Explore What We Have to Offer,” “Download our Latest Newsletter” or “What’s in it for My Family?” After generating curiosity and involvement, marketers then recommend a CTA on a subsequent web page in the form of an appeal to

“Get My Membership Here,” “Donate,” “Buy Now,” “Ask for…,” “Take a Tour,” or “It’s Your Turn to….” These appeals to action buttons on web pages are positioned and designed (color, font) to dramatically contrast with the rest of the web page.

Based on my experiences and the overwhelming embrace of these methods by marketing professionals, using the “Call to Action” strategy is effective in getting more people involved. A call to action requires little more than using action verbs. This makes them ridiculously easy to design, and costs no more to implement than passive methods

Main Fountain Garden New Heights Project Exhibit, Longwood Gardens

TELLING YOUR UNIQUE STORY THROUGH INTERPRETIVE DEVELOPMENT AND DESIGNbranding | marketing | exhibits | multimedia | environmental

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of informing rather than involving visitors. In this hyper-modern world in which our visitors are bombarded with messages about tempting choices of things to do, CTA seems to be an essential part of getting our guests into programs and onto trails, keeping them on our membership rolls and enjoying their heritage resources. While I am not telling you what to do, set aside some time as soon as possible to review your promotional materials and educational strategies for opportunities to convert passive informational labels to calls to action.

a b o u t t h e au t h o rRob Bixler is an associate professor at Clemson University. View his research at researchgate.net, follow his professional discussion on LinkedIn.com, and don’t forget to like him on Facebook. Take a moment to share your thoughts on interpretation by emailing him at rbixler@clemson.edu. Act now and look up in the sky tonight!

34 May/JUNe 2016

It’s all about the story! Isn’t that what interpretation is all about—the story? How do interpreters get the message across? After being in this profession for nearly 35 years, it finally dawned on me what interpretation was all about—the story.

It doesn’t matter whether you are a naturalist, living historian, zookeeper, cultural historian, academic, or interpretive designer. If you use interpretation to relay rules, regulations, or messages about a site, you use a story to relay the specific information you want your visitors to take away with them. During my career, I have used interpretation as a tool to tell facts about living history, describe the flora and fauna of the lake at which I was working, enforce rules and regulations, and encourage visitors to comply with those rules. Additionally, interpretation is useful for employee training, in research and writing articles, and developing new programs for management’s consideration. I think most of us have used one or all of these at some point in our careers.

Currently, I have the luxury and

It’s All About the story

k e n w i l k

e s s Ay

honor of telling stories for my job. I work at the home of William Allen White—the “Sage of Emporia.” Mr. White was a newspaper editor and political advisor who won national acclaim for his editorials and articles. The stories about his life, home, career, and family are far reaching

and fascinating! One has to wonder how someone born in the middle of Kansas just after the Civil War still impacts thinking and ideals today. Did I grab your attention? Aha! Now maybe you understand the power of the story.

Whatever it is you interpret, stories can powerfully engage visitors with the information a site has to offer. When I started this job, I was

handed a three-ring binder with all the information I would need to give a tour of the house. In it is a script of the tour, a list of artifacts, some anecdotes to add if I choose to, available “teaching aids” in the house, a brief historical background, and a section on how to do interpretation. There are also scripts for three Kansas school standards tours developed for giving school programs.

Now, even as I write this, I felt several of you cringe when I used the word script. That’s the same thing I did when it was first presented to me. But in all honesty, the script was a great tool. It gave a basis for conducting the tour, and newbies to the interpretive field could greatly benefit from using it as a starting point. However, it could easily be turned into the “Five-Cent Trap.” You know what I mean—the tour where the guide sounds like a penny arcade machine. You drop in a nickel and the show starts. When every tour is the same scripted monotone information over and over with no opportunity to ask questions or get additional information, it’s scary and very poor interpretation, and it fails to engage visitors as individuals.

So how did I avoid the Five-Cent Trap? I took the scripts and made them my own. Through more research, I learn new things to add to my repertoire. By adding new facts and stories to the script, the information comes to life. I relate the facts in a way each visitor can understand. I love when the light bulb comes on and the visitor grasps the point and suddenly starts asking poignant questions. I use Tilden’s principles every day so I don’t become the “Five-Cent Trap.”

In order to tell stories, let me give you a few pointers that have helped me over the years: Make your visitors feel at home. Listen to their stories. This will help them get involved

Whatever it is you interpret, stories can powerfully engage visitors with the information a site has to offer.

Legacy 35

in your program without having them “volunteer” to help. Picking out a visitor in front of the rest of the group sometimes causes them anguish. Some of your visitors may have interesting facts about your program because they are an expert in the field or maybe they knew the person your program is about. You might get some free insight or research from them. Listening to your visitors will also help you guide your program. I try to fit the program to the visitor. If they are the anxious type (“Just the facts, ma’am!”) I will try not to give many anecdotes and side stories. If they are the “I want it all” type, then I load up on the side stories and go into full, in-depth explanations. By being flexible and altering your program slightly to fit your audience, you give them a better experience. Some are also giving you feedback. By their comments and body language, you can tell whether you’re doing a good job.

Talk with them; don’t lecture. By having a conversation with your visitors, you put them at ease. When they are at ease, they have fun. When

they have fun, they learn more and want to know more. Use humor in your presentation. Don’t make fun of your topic, but adding good-natured anecdotes will lighten the mood. You may be asked to tailor your program to a group with specific interests or connections to your program. You can add facts to that specific portion to connect to their interest level. I have had a living history program for which teachers have made specific requests for their students. I was asked to alter my program to include more math, a specific point in history (locale), or to speak on the local flora and fauna in the area. This was all possible because of the character I had chosen to portray. It may be easy for you to do also. Be willing to be flexible.

If you are at ease with your tour or program, your audience will be at ease. One of the best compliments I ever received was from a visitor who came by and listened to me during a multiple-day event. They thanked me for a great program and then told me that I made me feel like they were the first person I had told this story to. Not realizing that’s what I was doing,

I now know I always try to treat each guest that way.

I just told you a story. Was it convincing? Did you have a revelation based on my story? If you did, did I provoke you to check your own style and try to make it better? Did I present the whole package or just a part? Just some food for thought. Keep on doing what you do best, but don’t hesitate to try something new. Have the passion for what you do and keep telling those stories. Remember, live in the present, learn from the past, but dream for the future!

a b o u t t h e au t h o rKen Wilk recently retired as a park ranger/outdoor rec planner after 34 years with the National Park Service and the US Army Corps of Engineers. He is currently the site administrator for the Red Rocks State Historic Site in Emporia, Kansas, a holding of the Kansas State Historical Society. He is a longtime member of NAI and has served as both deputy director and director of the Cultural Interpretation and Living History Section.

36 May/JUNe 2016

i n t e r P r e t i n g c l i m At e c h A n g e

Last fall, I walked into my northern New Mexico grocery store to discover empty shelves usually crammed with broccoli, peppers, and lettuce. In the egg section, more empty shelves.

It was the trucks, a store employee said. They hadn’t come.

A rare November blizzard trapped 18-wheeler trucks back-to-back on Interstate 40, including the ones loaded with my veggies and eggs from warehouses in Amarillo, Texas. Indeed, my store’s egg section stood empty the longest. Storm-triggered power outages disrupted the egg-laying cycle of chickens at factory farms.

It was the first time in my 60 years I have seen such barren shelves in a U.S. supermarket. But I have a feeling it may not be the last.

You and I may interpret climate change and the weird weather it triggers. But we are also humans living through this experiment. However, unlike those in blissful ignorance or willful denial, we number among those who see it happening.

So how are we supposed to—as the now over-used World War II expression goes—keep calm and

weight of the world on my shoulders.Then I read Jenni Burr’s article,

“Communicating Climate Change” in the January/February 2014 issue of Legacy.

“Might you be imagining yourself Super Interpreter, hoping to change visitors’ minds about whether or not climate change is occurring, or hoping that what they learn from your program will motivate them to change their behavior?” she wrote.

Well, yeah, I thought defensively at the time. Isn’t that part of my job?

Now I realize I was operating as if I were truly “alone in a world of wounds,” responsible for saving the planet single-handedly.

“We feel we are not doing our job if we let someone walk away without getting it,” says Becky Lacome, who coordinates training on climate change interpretation for the National Park Service. But Lacome adds this attitude can be “counter-productive.”

Instead, NPS trainers describe climate change like a dot-to-dot picture. I interpret the part linked to my place. You interpret your part. And we let our visitors connect the dots.

Consider a story told by Angie Richman, a consultant on climate change communication. Despite Richman’s efforts, her own mother remained doubtful until going on a cruise to Glacier Bay and listening to a park ranger.

Keeping calm and carrying on

carry on? How do we nurture hope and empower others through interpretation, especially since, as Aldo Leopold put it, “One of the penalties of an ecological education is that one lives alone in a world of wounds”?

During tough times, I often think

of instructions given on commercial airliners: if the cabin loses pressure, put the oxygen mask on yourself first before helping others. So here are some suggested psychological

“oxygen masks” to sustain us in our lives and work.

Remember You’re Not AloneFor years, I urgently sought the “right” way to interpret climate change, determined to persuade deniers. Like the mythological Atlas, I carried the

patricia walsh

Part 3 of 3

unlike those in blissful ignorance or willful denial, we number among those who see it happening.

Legacy 37

“That’s what it took,” says Richman, noting her mother then concluded,

“Who could deny climate change?”Now I no longer feel responsible

for persuading everyone I meet. I don’t have to know all the science. Because, as Richman puts it, “You have my back.”

“We aren’t alone—we have each other,” Richman says.

choose to be happy nowIn recent years, I’ve struggled with anxiety and depression, imagining horrible global warming scenarios. So I was struck by this question:

“How can you meet the global climate change challenge in a joyful fashion?” author David Sobel asks teachers and parents in the foreword to How We Know What We Know

About Our Changing Climate, by Lynne Cherry and Gary Braasch.

Wendell Berry—poet, author, environmental activist, and Kentucky farmer—says even the Bible advises folks like me to let go of future unknowns and focus on the present moment.

“We are always ready to set aside our present life, even our present happiness, to peruse the menu of future exterminations,” Berry writes in his book Our Only World, as excerpted online in Yes Magazine.

Berry calls worrying “a waste of time,” adding, “All we can do to prepare rightly for tomorrow is to do the right thing today.”

One of those right things is to “appreciate the day itself and all that is good in it. To fail to enjoy the

good things that are enjoyable is impoverishing and ungrateful.”

Buddhist monk and peace activist Thich Nhat Hanh also says happiness is a choice in his book “Being Peace,” written when worries focused on possible U.S.-Soviet nuclear war.

“Many of us worry about the situation of the world,” he wrote.

“As individuals, we feel helpless, despairing. The situation is so dangerous.”

“Life is filled with suffering, but it is also filled with many wonders, like the blue sky, the sunshine, the eyes of a baby,” Hanh adds. “To suffer is not enough. We must also be in touch with the wonders of life…”

“Happiness is available,” he says. “Please help yourself to it.”

Glacier Bay National Park

RANDy RoACh

38 May/JUNe 2016

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attitude of gratitudeOne way to foster happiness is to maintain an “attitude of gratitude”—even for the most difficult things. Consider the last stanza of the poem

“Thanks” by W.S. Merwin:

with the animals dying around ustaking our feelings we are saying

thank youwith the forests falling faster than the

minutesof our lives we are saying thank youwith the words going out like cells of

a brainwith the cities growing over uswe are saying thank you faster and

fasterwith nobody listening we are saying

thank youthank you we are saying and wavingdark though it is

The song “Prayer 2000” by Eliza Gilkyson gives thanks for the sun, moon, stars, and nature’s bounty before adding:

Thank you for my tearsLoved ones who forgave meThank you for my darkest yearsAll the sorrow that made meAnd the beauty that saved me

Move Toward DifficultiesThis sounds crazy, right?

But in her book When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times, U.S.-born Buddhist nun Pema Chodron relates three meditative methods of working with chaos that “instruct us to move toward difficulties rather than backing away.”

The first step is to stop struggling against what’s happening. The second is to emotionally move toward difficulty and “breathe it in for everybody,” then breathing out freshness and wellbeing for all. The third is to acknowledge suffering exists and can be a source of wisdom.

She goes on to encourage those working with chaos to “lighten up” and “cultivate a sense of humor.”

“Whether we regard our situation as heaven or as hell depends on our perception,” Chodron writes, later

noting, “We live in difficult times. One senses the strong possibility that conditions may become even worse.”

“We can use everything that happens to us as the means for waking up,” she adds, noting meditative practices apply “to even the most horrendous situations life can dish out. Jean-Paul Sartre said that there are two ways to go to the gas chamber, free or not free.”

Keep a journal“Write down what you’re worried about... focus on the things you can change,” advises United Health Care’s e-newsletter Healthy Mind, Health Body in an article on ways to

“break free from worry.” In another article, United Health care advises keeping a “gratitude journal.”

Either way, I’ve found journaling a big help in putting my worries down on paper and then letting them go.

Don’t Forget the BasicsExercise, eat right, laugh, get enough sleep (seven to nine hours per night), and hug someone (even if it’s your pet).

Legacy 39

NaI calendar

Visit www.interpnet.com for more.

Certified Interpretive Guide (CIG)June 6–9, 2016, Aspen, Co June 13–16, 2016, Salem, oRJune 14–17, 2016, Newport, oRAugust 8–11, 2016, Phoenix, AzAugust 15–19, 2016, oak Brook, IlAugust 22–25, 2016, Bellevue, NeAugust 23–26, 2016, milford, ohAugust 23–26, 2016, Salt lake City, uTSeptember 8–29, 2016, mclean, IlSeptember 20–23, 2016, holderness, NhSeptember 27–30, 2016, millersville, mDoctober 3–7, 2016, Gardiner, mToctober 17–21, 2016, Chicago, IlNovember 8–11, 2016, littleton, CoJanuary 9–17, 2017, Phoenix, Az

CIG Train–the–TrainersSeptember 19–23, 2016, Toledo, oh

CIh Train–the–TrainersJune 13–16, 2016, San Diego, CA

Social InterpretationJune 9–10, 2016, Fort Collins, Co

Process of Interpretive PlanningAugust 8–12, 2016, las Vegas, NV

Certification & Training

conferences

nai national conferenceNovember 8–12, 2016Corpus Christi, Texaswww.interpnet.com/conference

more basicsI was in first grade in the Washington, D.C. area during the Cuban missile crisis, when Americans feared Cuba might launch Soviet missiles. I remember crouching under my wooden school desk during drills, and I remember my Mom’s emergency pantry in the basement.

Since then I’ve mostly ignored emergency preparedness. However, Ted Koppel’s book Lights Out got my attention. While it focuses on possible terrorist attacks on our electric grid, the book inspired me to stock water and food in my basement for whatever emergency. And I hope to work with my community on the issue.

Take actionDonate and/or participate. Feel connected to the larger community working on climate issues.

Take solace in natureAs interpreters, we’re good at connecting others with nature. But have you been getting yourself out there enough?

Author Edward Abbey’s often-quoted “final paragraph of advice” says in part:

“Do not burn yourselves out. Be as I am—a reluctant enthusiast…a part-time crusader, a half-hearted fanatic. Save the other half of yourselves and your lives for pleasure and adventure. It is not enough to fight for the land; it is even more important to enjoy it. While you can. While it’s still here.”

Science is proving what we’ve known all along—nature is good for us. Stanford researchers have found that hiking in nature for 90 minutes decreases negative and obsessive thoughts.

Turned off by dry research? Then consider Wendell Berry’s poem “The Peace of Wild Things”:

When despair for the world grows in me

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild thingswho do not tax their lives with

forethoughtof grief. I come into the presence of

still water.And I feel above me the day-blind

starswaiting with their light. For a timeI rest in the grace of the world, and

am free.

a b o u t t h e au t h o rPatricia Walsh, CIG, CIT, interprets nature and culture in New Mexico. She has trained in climate and climate change interpretation through the National Park Service, the National Network of Ocean and Climate Change Interpretation, and NASA. She can be reached at 6602pw@zianet.com.

Visitors to marjerie Glacier in Glacier Bay, Alaska

nai international conferencemarch 2017San José del Cabo, méxicowww.interpnet.com/ic

40 May/JUNe 2016

f r o m t h e n A i b o A r d

It’s been almost a month, but the images and story are still haunting me, and it is the very first thing I talk about when people ask me about my recent trip to New Zealand for the 2016 International Conference on Interpretation.

“Gallipoli: The Scale of Our War” is an exhibit at the Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa, one of the conference sponsors. It tells the story of the Gallipoli, New Zealand’s first campaign in World War I, through the eyes and words of eight ordinary New Zealanders. This exhibit is New Zealand’s contribution to the 100-year commemorations of WWI that have occurred across the globe.

At the outbreak of World War I, New Zealand was a fledgling country, having only become an independent nation six years earlier in 1907. While there was an emotional tie to Britain as “mother country,” war also fanned the flames of nationalism. Ordinary men had the chance to “do their country proud,” and by joining the global conflict, New Zealand would establish itself on the international stage. The troops included rich kids, farm boys, a Māori contingent, and virtually everyone died—93 percent of the troops were killed. The impact

served to create a unifying sense of national identity. I walked away with the message, “Gallipoli is when we all became New Zealanders.”

This exhibit did everything we want interpretation to do. It made me think. It made me feel. I learned about Gallipoli in a way that was not about statistics but about people and about a nation.

The highlight of the exhibit is certainly the enormous figures (two and a half times normal size) of eight people whose stories are told, which make the exhibition very personal. That these figures were made by the famed special effects geniuses at Weta Workshop, perhaps best known for its work on Lord of the Rings, is an incredible story in itself, one that conference attendees had the privilege of hearing from Weta Workshop founder Sir Richard Taylor. This entire article could be about the tears on the nurse’s face or the hairs and dust on the arms of the soldiers. I encourage you to go to the Te Papa website at www.gallipoli.tepapa.govt.nz or listen to the “Making of Gallipoli” videos about the exhibit design, found at wetaworkshop.com/projects/gallipoli-the-scale-of-our-war.

As extraordinary as the giant figures were, what sticks in my mind are the smaller details and the interpretive techniques used through the exhibit. The path on the floor that wound through the exhibit was marked by the poppy that represents

Veterans Day and showed critical dates of battles. Surrounding that date, there are small red crosses representing those who died. At a close glance I was able to see which battles were the deadliest. The long perspective looked like a trail of blood. There were dioramas and miniatures and maps, all the familiar elements of a museum exhibit. But there was also the life-size x-ray of a human body that then became video showing the impacts of bullets and shrapnel as it hit, which was both riveting and horrifying—this exhibit did not shy away from the horrors of war.

Another incredibly moving moment is the re-creation of a Māori prayer, led by the Māori contingent’s chaplain and well remembered in journals of soldiers both Māori and Pakeah (white). Hearing this bilingual call to arms, to honor, to glory, while knowing the outcome of the battle is chilling even 100 years later.

Interpretation is powerful. It can bring a 100-year-old story to life, inspire critical thinking and meaningful conversation about nationalism and war, and provoke an emotional response to universal experiences. And while this particular example had a big budget and team, the methods of interpretation that resonate can be marshaled with simpler techniques, with little or no budget, with story—with connecting the facts and the feeling, the head and the heart. We all know this. It’s why we do what we do.

a b o u t t h e au t h o rNAI’s president Amy Lethbridge is the deputy executive officer of the Mountains Recreation & Conservation Authority in southern California. Reach her at lethbridgeathome@gmail.com.

The horrors of War, larger than life

amy lethbridge

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If you only had time to read one book before becoming a frontline guide or interpreter, Personal Interpretation: Connecting Your Audience to Heritage Resources is the ideal resource. Written in clear, concise language with many examples, it employs the most current ideas in the interpretive profession. It also shares some of the rich traditions from interpretation’s past masters, drawing on Freeman Tilden’s principles and Enos Mills’ thoughtful ideas on nature guiding. It will connect you with the more in-depth resources developed by authors such as Sam Ham, Bill Lewis, Douglas Knudson, Ted Cable, Larry Beck, and Joseph Cornell. This resource shares the approaches tested and proven by the National Park Service and many other organizations along with the research concepts that back up their approaches. Authors Lisa Brochu and Tim Merriman collectively have more than 75 years experience in the interpretive profession as interpreters, consultants, planners, and trainers.

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T h i r d e di T ion

National Association for InterpretationP.O. Box 2246Fort Collins, CO 80522