For years I have thought outdoor science through a lens of exploration. Upon starting at Teton Science School, (TSS) I had been teaching for 5 years and had a pretty good idea of what was going on. During training we had an interesting question prompt. “In teaching at what point do we name things, how is that information given, and what value does that name have to the students.
I was adamant that names are a late stage process as naming objects tends to take away curiosity and discourages the deep observation that is THE underlying skill of naturalist and all scientists.
My official position was and still is, names should come out in a concept invention phase of the learning cycle and should be based on working through systematic data not spouted. Naming through use of a dichotomous key, flow chart, or guide represent important use of systematic thinking and mastery of our key skills of observation.
A rose by any other name will smell as sweet but it’s critically important to smell the rose!
I received harsh criticism for this and was told name are critically important. “The first thing we do when we meet each other is share our names. Students need them to feel grounded and comfortable.” I was told by a senior faculty member.
I vehemently disagreed but bit my tongue as I have been known to be a rather disagreeable employee and was seeking to change that. The scorpion might not always sting the frog, but he always wants to. I also went about incorporating this style of teaching into my own pedagogy as was what seemed like the norm at TSS.
I honestly thought nothing of it until I was paddling around the Okefenokee swamp (during my layoff) and found myself exploring some deep backwater. These were filled with beautiful green plants, very close gators, challenging paddling puzzles, hat stealing low hanging branches, and a few novel birds. It was the mundane bird though that haunts my thoughts now.
This beautiful “cormorant” was so close but being that I’ve seen all manner of cormorant, from New Jersey to Baja to Vancouver Island I thought nothing of it. I saw it, put a name to it, and moved on.
Had I looked a bit closer. Paid closer attention to the details. Focused more on it than the tangle of fallen logs I was navigating. Maybe then I could have had a close, very interesting encounter with an Anhinga. An interesting species of old-world diving bird. One I’ve never seen before.
I guess the lesson should be for me not to take anything for granted and appreciate all creatures equally. It will be but I think the greatest lesson we can teach are the lessons we learn ourselves and I will stop putting things in boxes when I continue teaching.
