FEATURE
Interpreting Wonder, Fostering Connection
Awe. Astonishment. Curiosity. Fascination. Marvel. Wonder.
When have you experienced one of these emotions? You can probably remember it in vivid detail, as the experiences that cause these emotions can be life changing. Maybe you gasped involuntarily while witnessing a solar eclipse or found yourself moved to tears while standing in front of a particular piece of art. Maybe it was exploring the delicate veins on the wings of a dragonfly as it emerged from its aquatic larval stage, and realizing you’d never paid attention to the details before.
Wonder evokes our curiosity, inspires our observation, and reminds us to celebrate the world and our place within it. Rachel Carson, scientist and author, felt that wonder was such an important emotion for humanity that she wrote “The Sense of Wonder: A Celebration of Nature for Parents and Children,” published as an essay in 1956. She believed that helping children engage with their own sense of curiosity was one of the most important things that an adult could do. We often hear the curiosity about our resources in the questions of young children and if we utilize that sense of inquiry in our programs, we can reignite wonder in audiences of every age.
An imprint of bird wings in the snow connects us to a sense of awe and wonder about the story left in the snow. Photo by Erin Parker.
A Journey into Wonder
My own journey with wonder started during the pandemic. At the time, I worked as the nature center manager at the Belle Isle Nature Center, part of the Detroit Zoological Society and located on an island in the Detroit River. Lockdowns meant that staff were at home most days, with a few solitary onsite workdays assigned to each of us. Every morning, we were tasked with walking the perimeter of the building and grounds, checking on the animals and facilities. On these walks, I would see moths perched on the smooth siding of the building, where they’d been attracted to the overnight security lighting. I found myself first startled by their presence, then their diversity, then their shifting populations from week to week.
Like many people, I thought of moths as small and drab, but close attention yielded wildly diverse shapes, patterns, and colors. And every week, there would be another one that was completely new to me. I wondered how I had never noticed this entire world with whom I shared my urban nature center and parkland. Like many others, my sense of wonder was sparked by my own backyard ecology when I slowed down and paid attention.
Mindfulness may be a buzzword, but it’s also a beneficial tool for stoking our interest and awareness—and, as a result, our curiosity and wonder. Simply slowing down to notice the new moths each morning led to a whole series of questions that have consequently led to new programs and experiences for site visitors, a deeper appreciation for my own unique corner of the world, and fostered connections that help our resource come alive in new ways.
And the best part of inspiring wonder in myself and others? Wonder connects us to the world wherever we are—from the tiniest of organisms in our own backyards to the grandest of views of the universe.
On a fall wonder walk, don’t overlook the leaves! Oaks in particular provide tiny habitats for a variety of organisms like these fuzzy galls from the wooly oak gall wasp. Photos by Erin Parker.
Benefits of Wonder
Tapping into our sense of wonder helps our work as interpreters because it can facilitate connections between our program participants and our work. We can foster wonder no matter our resources or location—these emotions are not limited to huge vistas or spectacular sunsets. Developing our own practice of deliberately seeking out awe and wonder can have positive impacts on our audiences, our colleagues, and even our health.
When we experience awe and wonder, we go through a series of physiological changes, as Maria Monroy and Dacher Keltner describe in their 2023 article. These emotions take us outside of ourselves and make us feel connected to others (when we experience things collectively such as art or music), connected to the world or universe (when we experience natural and historical phenomena), and more integrated into social networks (when we experience anything that makes us part of something bigger than ourselves). In other words, not only does tapping into our sense of wonder foster connection to our resources, it facilitates connections among our audiences as well.
Tuning our attention to the seasons can provide new opportunities for wonder—this promethea moth cocoon looks leaf-like as it hangs from a tulip tree branch in winter. Photos by Erin Parker.
Connecting to Our Work as Interpreters
Where does wonder fit into our work as interpreters? Facilitating connection between our audiences and our resources is one of Freeman Tilden’s principles. “The chief aim of interpretation is not instruction but provocation” reminds us that our own knowledge of our resources, while vitally important, doesn’t have the impact on our audience that provocation or wonder do. Fostering emotional links between our audience and work can forge deeper relationships for them.
Wonder and awe are facilitated by curiosity, and nothing squashes curiosity faster than a one- or two-word rote response. Pulling out visitor thoughts and questions can add emotional depth and meaning-making to our programs that wouldn’t exist if we simply shared all of our own knowledge. Some of our best experiences with our audiences happen when we are open to the teachable moment—a question or observation that arises from the participants and is unplanned.
How many of us have had a question that utterly threw us off our program plan, and made the experience better for everyone involved? I have learned to ask more questions than I answer, not because I don’t value expertise or support access to accurate knowledge, but because I have learned to value the ability to foster connections through wonder and curiosity. Letting my program participants lead with their own curiosity lets me experience things with a new viewpoint, embraces their sense of inquiry, and deepens their involvement in learning.
On an unseasonably warm day in November, I was tagging along on a high school field trip led by a colleague. The students were on site to learn about water quality and explore our marsh, but a wooly bear caterpillar stopped us all in our tracks. After gently lifting the caterpillar from the trail, students examined it, took pictures, and asked questions. Not only were they engaging in wonder, they deepened their connection to their world and our site. We couldn’t answer all of the questions that were asked and that probably benefited their sense of curiosity—this small animal had made us all pause, wonder, and connect. We could tie the caterpillar, now safely back on its mysterious journey, to the healthy marshes around us and our roles as stewards. The program was changed for the better by encouraging and engaging with the students’ sense of wonder.
Noticing and wonder connect us to even the smallest of organisms. This smeared dagger moth caterpillar was hiding in the marsh grasses even with its vivid colors. Photo by Erin Parker.
Moths, far from being universally tiny and dull, come in a diversity of colors, shapes, and sizes, like this Virginia creeper sphinx moth resting on a milkweed leaf. Photo by Erin Parker.
Even the familiar can spark curiosity and wonder as this wooly bear caterpillar did, trudging across the path on a warm November day. Photo by Erin Parker.
Cultivating a Practice of Wonder
Spend time with children and you’ll experience a practice of wonder through their eyes. But how do we reignite our own curiosity about the world as adults?
One simple way to start adding a wonder practice to your life is to head outside and slow down. Connecting to our senses can help with this exercise. Stopping to close my eyes and letting myself actually hear the sounds around me, picking out bird calls and other natural sounds, can be a good starting place. By focusing, I notice things that were hidden while my thoughts were intruding on my attention.
Another way to flex your wonder muscle is to examine something in detail. In a small patch of grass near my nature center, I found more than a dozen plants and flowers, many so small I’d never noticed them before. None of them were plants I could name or that I knew how they fit into the ecology of the lawn. Were they indigenous? Used as food or medicine? Do any of the insects nearby use them for food? How long do they bloom each season? My curiosity was engaged and time slowed down as I explored this miniature, unknown world in my own backyard.
Head outside before sunrise or after sunset and see a familiar place made new. Nocturnal wildlife programs, full moon hikes, and owl prowls inspire a different experience than identical walks during the day. Senses are heightened and attention is narrowed. Suddenly, we hear everything—wind in the trees, an owl’s call, the crack of a branch that suggests a deer or other animal.
Spend time at a working farm and find a heightened sense of wonder as you interact with the animals. Witness a birth (or hatch) and find yourself connected to the cycles of life.
Wonder doesn’t just connect us to the natural world. Curiosity and openness to new ideas and perspectives help historical interpreters engage with their resources and audiences as well. Who made this object and how? What were the biggest challenges they faced and how were those challenges overcome? We feel connected to those that were here before us.
Developing a practice of wonder is a way of developing our attention to and appreciation for the world around us. Slowing down, using our senses, looking up and looking down, going outside in all seasons, at dawn and dusk and after dark, re-engages our sense of wonder. Both the natural and human-built realms provide inspiration for wonder. Stand in the forest in a snowstorm and be present to the sounds, scents, tastes, and touch of the snow.
The Ask and Gift of Wonder
Wonder asks us not only to be astonished by grand vistas and spectacular feats of human engineering, but to also pay attention to the small things that happen every day—the caterpillar camouflaged as a tiny twig, the sense of connection between humans spanning centuries, the seasonal return of redwing blackbirds to a still-frozen marsh.
Wonder benefits us as human beings and, as interpreters, can bring us a fresh engagement with and enjoyment of our resources and our audiences. Interpreting wonder can foster connection between us and our audiences, our audiences and our resources, and even among the audience members themselves.
And the moths that sparked my journey with wonder are still inspiring me years later. Every morning when the temperature is above freezing, I take a short walk around the building and delight in their presence—noticing, wondering, and being connected to the bigger world.
