FROM THE PRESIDENT
The Joy of Interpreting Wonder:
A Gift, a Responsibility, a Joy
The edge of the Milky Way galaxy, viewed from Punta Ballena, Uruguay. Photo by Philippe Donn.
As interpreters, we hold one of the most magical roles imaginable. We are not merely educators or guides; we are the ones who spark the light of curiosity in others, unveiling worlds they’ve never considered, places they’ve never seen, and ideas that might otherwise remain hidden. We don’t just share information; we create experiences of awe. To interpret is to translate the unknown into something that is not only understood but felt deeply—and that is a gift.
The theme of this month’s Legacy Magazine, "Interpreting Wonder," speaks directly to the essence of what we do every day. Whether we interpret nature, culture, history, or science, our work has the power to transform the ordinary into the extraordinary. It is our privilege and responsibility to take a moment, an object, or an idea and make it come alive for someone else, leaving them with a spark of wonder that they carry far beyond their time with us.
I remember one such moment vividly from my time as a marine science educator on Jekyll Island, Georgia. Part of my job was teaching a beach ecology course, where we introduced children to the vibrant and intricate ecosystems of the coast. For many of these children—particularly those from urban environments like Atlanta—it was their first time seeing the ocean. Can you imagine? Their first glimpse of the vast expanse of water, their first squelch of toes in the sand, their first encounter with the creatures that call the beach home.
Dolphins swim and crest in the ocean near Newport Beach, California. Photo by James Lee.
These moments were always magical, but they were especially poignant for me because I understood how rare and transformative these experiences could be for those who hadn’t grown up with access to such places. I saw children who had never before felt the tide pull at their feet or watched sand crabs scuttle along the shore. For them, it wasn’t just a field trip—it was an awakening to a world of possibilities they hadn’t imagined.
One day, as I guided a group of fifth graders along the shoreline, I offered them a chance to explore on their own and collect shells. A little boy approached me, his small hands clutching a treasure trove of shells, and asked earnestly, “Excuse me, Miss, but who do I have to pay for these shells?”
His question stopped me in my tracks. It was a moment of wonder—for him and for me. I knelt down and told him, “They’re free. Nature is free. You don’t have to pay for the joy of discovering this beauty. It’s yours, it’s ours, to connect with.” The look on his face was pure amazement, a mixture of disbelief and joy. In that moment, he wasn’t just learning about shells; he was learning about the abundance of nature, about belonging to something bigger than himself, and about his right to enjoy and care for it.
These are the moments we live for as interpreters. These moments of connection and discovery are what make our work so special. We take the unfamiliar—be it a fossil, a painting, a story, or a birdcall—and make it familiar. We create bridges of understanding that bring people closer to the world around them and to one another.
When we think about wonder, we often think of big, awe-inspiring moments: standing at the edge of the Grand Canyon, watching a rocket launch, or witnessing a solar eclipse. But wonder doesn’t always have to be grand. Sometimes, wonder is in the quiet moments, in the small revelations. It’s in the realization that the intricate patterns of a sand dollar are as marvelous as the Milky Way. It’s in the understanding that a historical artifact carries the weight of human stories, of lives lived and lessons learned.
Feeling the soft and gritty textures of sand between toes on a Pacific Northwest beach. Photo by PNW Production.
A young person’s hands overflowing with seashells on Hobe Beach, Florida. Photo by Javel.
As interpreters, we are the ones who breathe life into these moments. A historical artifact doesn’t speak for itself—it’s our words, our stories, our ability to connect the dots that make it resonate. A tide pool isn’t just a puddle of water until we reveal its inhabitants and the fragile ecosystem they depend on. We help to translate objects into connections, facts into emotions, and curiosity into understanding.
It’s not only children who experience these transformative moments. Adults, too, are often caught off guard by the wonder we share with them. I’ve seen grown men fall silent as they listen to the calls of dolphins just off the shore. I’ve seen mothers and fathers exchange astonished glances as their children explain the life cycle of a sea turtle after an interpretive session. These moments of wonder cross all boundaries—age, background, experience—and unite people in a shared sense of amazement.
To do this work is an honor. To interpret wonder is to invite others into a shared journey of discovery. It is to say, “Look at this. Isn’t it incredible? And here’s why it matters.”
And yet, as interpreters, we know that the job isn’t just about inspiring awe—it’s also about fostering understanding. We have the unique ability to make the abstract tangible, the complex accessible, and the unfamiliar approachable. Whether we’re explaining the migration patterns of monarch butterflies, the cultural significance of a historic site, or the science of a volcanic eruption, we have the power to create connections that resonate deeply and personally with our audiences.
For me, that little boy on the beach represents the essence of what it means to interpret wonder. His simple question—“Who do I have to pay?”—wasn’t just about shells. It was about access, about belonging, and about recognizing that the natural world is something we can all share. And for him, that realization was the beginning of a lifelong relationship with nature.
I want every interpreter reading this to walk away with pride for the work you do. You have the power to change perspectives, to open minds, and to foster a love for the world in all its complexity. Whether you work with nature, history, art, or science, you are an ambassador of wonder. You create moments that last a lifetime.
As you continue in your work, think about the first time you felt wonder—the first time a place, a story, or a discovery made your heart race. That feeling is your gift to share. And as you do, know that you are part of a legacy, a tradition of interpreters who have been sparking that same light in others for generations.
Here’s to the wonder we create—and the wonder we share.
Jellyfish alight in the starry sky of the deep ocean. To interpret wonder is to invite others into a shared journey of discovery. It is to say, “Look at this. Isn’t it incredible? And here’s why it matters."
