CAN’T DO IT

Sam is a queer nonbinary trans woman, 26 years old, and a Taurus Rising. They are a white settler on occupied Wintu ancestral and current territory, colonially named Redding, California. She served with the California Conservation Corps from 2017-2019, and served seasonally from 2019-2021 in the Eastern Sierra Conservation Corps WILDlands Technical Crew program.

Sam is currently based at Whiskeytown National Recreation Area as a Community Volunteer Ambassador with Stewards Individual Placement Program. She is an enthusiast of planets, plants, and harmony. They hope to encourage heightened awareness, engagement, and compassion within the many systems we inhabit and propel in our daily lives.

In my position as a Community Volunteer Ambassador with the Stewards Individual Placements program of Conservation Legacy, I had the privilege of joining the Whiskeytown National Recreation Area’s Interpretive Division for a three-day work trip. We visited several California State Park sites to hear how they described the California Gold Rush. In particular, we wanted to hear how they interpreted connections between the Gold Rush and local Indigenous histories. Our ultimate goal was to improve interpretive programs at our own park. I was able to join at no cost to myself using professional development funds provided to me by Conservation Legacy, and the trip was well worth the perspective I gained.

I was interested to find that only at a few of these sites were we led by paid staff. Most of the interactions we had with the park was through volunteers. They were knowledgeable and passionate, graciously sharing their experience and time as they led tours. The most effective interpretation I experienced came from volunteers who shared personal stories through the lens of the experiences and knowledge they had collected during their time at the park and throughout their own lives. For example, our volunteer guide at James Marshall Gold Discovery was referred to us as ‘the park historian’. He shared with us his profound, deeply nuanced understanding of the many different cultural systems at play—not only at his site, but across the state of California.

Indian Grinding Rock State Park includes a museum curated with the direction of local Indigenous Miwok volunteers. It includes informative, honest accounts of the experiences of Indigenous peoples before Europeans invaded, as well as the terror and genocide that white Europeans brought to this land during the Gold Rush. The park also features multiple U’macha conical bark houses as well as a ceremonial roundhouse, which were constructed by Miwok volunteers.

Park management once intended to put up a structure to prevent the erosion of the Grinding Rock itself, the largest known example of such a site in the U.S. The tribe felt that the Rock should be allowed to run its natural course and wear with time. In the end, park management respected the tribe’s decision, and the obtrusive structure wasn’t created. This outcome directly resulted from park management first consulting with the tribe.

So, what ingredients make up a healthy volunteer program? What is necessary for productive, meaningful relationships between organizations like the National Parks and the communities they serve? There are many answers to these questions, but the factors I observed most were communication and respect. The parks I felt had the most effective interpretation maintained both regular communication and respectful relationships with local Indigenous people, other parks and agencies, and with their local communities.

Some sites really struggled in connecting with their communities. Some had gift shops or entire sections of the park that were closed down—sections that had been historically run by volunteers, or that were built by volunteers in the first place. Typically, justification for these closures was cited as simply the desire for ease: the more involved parties, the more time required to finish a project. More help from outside of the park staff means more necessary communication, more factors to consider, more compromise, and more adjustment. I feel that this extra consideration is critically important to long-term success. The parks whose staff had either cloistered themselves from their communities or had actively ended relationships with other groups in favor of streamlining processes were also the parks with unusable exhibits, outdated programs with no adequate replacements, or gift shops unable to open more than a day or two a week. The problem may appear at first to be a lack of staff or volunteers, but I feel that instead, this was indicative of a bigger issue: poor communication and difficulty maintaining relationships.

At Whiskeytown National Recreation Area, our volunteer program is still very much in its developing stages. Often, the questions I ask myself fall into a self- starting line of thinking: “How can I make this better?” This is definitely an important question! But one of my takeaways from my trip is that none of these successful efforts were done by just one person, and rarely by park staff alone. Community involvement is not optional for volunteer or interpretive programs. It is a fundamental principle.

So, I ask myself again: “How can I make this better?” The answer is through communication and respect. Through the willingness to relinquish some control and sacrifice some speed by opening up the decision-making body to a wider group. Through community involvement and engagement. Through recognition of all the talents and inspiration that comes to the parks through our volunteers and partners.

I know now that I can’t fix any of these issues alone. They require a foundational willingness to communicate and cooperate with the communities that we as the parks serve. D