11 minute read
Let the Plants Be Your Teacher
By Scot Pipkin, Director of Education and Engagement
As these words are being written, spring has taken hold of Santa Barbara. The sweet, musky scents of ceanothus (Ceanothus spp.) that began wafting through my office window in February have given way to clouds of pollen drifting from oak (Quercus spp.) catkins. Matilija poppies (Romneya spp.) are waking from dormancy and soon their white blooms will accompany the sage green foliage that is currently growing rapidly. Almost every color imaginable is on display somewhere in Santa Barbara Botanic Garden. Several times a day, I find myself pausing to examine the minute structures that allow for pollen exchange, fertilization, and, ultimately, production of fruits and seeds that will ensure the next generation of plants. This ritual serves multiple purposes. My intellectual curiosity is satisfied as I push myself to recognize the pollen-bearing flower parts, their fruit-bearing counterparts, and the creatures that are attracted to these structures, and, in turn, I think about the ecological pressures that affect future generations. It’s also an opportunity for me to engage in a mindfulness practice, where I ask less empirical but no less important questions about what personal lessons I can glean from the plants: “What can I do to attract compatible collaborators?” Or, “Can I hold this feeling of serenity in my heart for future reference?”
The Plants Are the Teachers
What I love about working in a garden is that it occupies that precious liminal space between the rigors of plant science/ecology and the poetry of design, art, and expression for the sake of sharing something beautiful with the world. I think this is why the Garden resonates with others, as well. For some, this is a place to take a morning stroll, bring friends from out of town for a picnic, or marvel at the scale of a coast redwood tree (Sequoia sempervirens). For others, the Garden’s efforts to understand, protect, and restore native plant populations and habitats are what make this institution worthy of their trust and support. For many, it is a mix of science, imagination, and possibility that make the Garden so precious. Whatever the reason, I’d wager that our commitment to honoring the plants of California’s flora and fighting to protect native plant habitats are driving the groundswell of support that is growing for the Garden and other native plant institutions.
This spirit has informed a central principle that drives our educational and outreach programs: The plants are the teachers. As an environmental educator, this is simultaneously an easy concept to embody and a challenge. Naturally, the outdoor classroom invites ample opportunity to connect people with native plants in powerful ways. The challenge comes from making the invitation and then getting out of the way. The most powerful, transformative moments come when a student or participant can make a discovery themselves. Rather than emphasize the instructors’ knowledge about plants and deposit information in people’s brain banks for future withdrawal (as in, a test), the “content” we teach should be related to genuine curiosity, which often comes from direct experience.
Learning Through Observation and Curiosity
With plants as teachers, the learning environment transforms. Whereas not knowing the answer to a question can feel like a deficiency when 15 expectant faces look to you for clear direction, shifting oneself from the clearly defined role of “teacher” and placing it back onto the plants allows us to model a process of inquiry and enthusiasm. Not knowing is an opportunity to learn. I love when people ask a question I don’t know the answer to, which is often. That’s a perfect opening to look more closely and work through the possible answers as a group. Together, we can model practices of observation and inquiry that go beyond a simple response.
This very principle is central to the increasing number of forest-therapy and nature-immersion programs the Garden has been hosting. Participants are guided through a series of invitations, where they are asked to be present in the natural world around them and connect with nonhuman life. The results can be remarkable, and the approach is somewhat radical. Rather than tell participants what they should notice or understand about a place, they are given an opportunity to discover for themselves.
The Garden has also been working to feature our plant teachers in other ways. The Backcountry Section is a perfect illustration of how we are encouraging visitors of all ages to be curious, explore, ask questions, and build a personal relationship with plants and the natural world at large. This is evident in the design of the Backcountry and the programs we are building in the space. An example is our Pathfinder curriculum, which provides opportunities for youth aged 8 to 11 to develop skills in horticulture and plant identification — and skills with making practical tools, such as cordage with native plants. While we’ve deliberately planned learning outcomes and themes to these activities, our intention is to facilitate moments where young people are developing a relationship with the nonhuman world. So far, the activity from which we’ve received the most positive feedback is when we invite participants to find a “sit spot” and quietly observe the world around them, listening to nature’s messages.
For landscape professionals, home gardeners, and designers, we’ve started the California Native Plant Landscaper Certification program. This 19-hour course prepares people to effectively specify and care for California’s native plants in home, commercial, and institutional settings. Here, the intended outcome is clear: transfer horticultural know-how that the Garden has pioneered and practiced for nearly a century into the minds and hands of those who will grow biodiversity and native plant habitat in our communities. Using plants as teachers has greatly influenced how we deliver the curriculum. We emphasize hands-on activities and encourage students to share their personal knowledge and experiences of growing California’s native plants. With the plants as teachers, we can facilitate a community of practice, rather than a hierarchy of knowledge (i.e., teacher knows best/ most, students listen, content is static). It keeps the class fun, encourages greater interaction, and allows us to bask in the joy of caring for native plants. Instructors are free to celebrate others’ knowledge and spread joy and appreciation, while remaining knowledgeable, reliable resources who advance the conversation.
Inspiring Our Communities
In late February, the Garden hosted 175 eighth graders over the course of two days. The stated goal was to discuss evolution through the lens of California’s Channel Islands and provide students the opportunity to compare island plants with some of their closely related mainland counterparts. This was the second year working with eighth graders from this school, and we incorporated some adjustments that seemed to improve the program. Still, I felt we could be doing more to connect the students with our plant teachers. So, after the first small-group rotation, I decided to take a different tack with my other groups. I began by asking the students if they had a definition for “unconditional love.” Some groups required more coaxing than others, but eventually we would arrive at an answer that felt reasonable. I’d then ask the kids to consider the fact that no matter whether we trample, cut down, tear, deface, or otherwise mistreat plants, they continue to provide oxygen for us to breathe and food for us to eat. If that’s not unconditional love, I don’t know what is. While I can’t quantify the impact that exercise had, the awkward silence that would usually follow indicated that it got the students thinking. That’s a win, especially in my experience with middle schoolers.
More recently, some colleagues and I visited Montecito Union School District, where Superintendent Anthony Ranii shared the district’s outdoor learning space, the Nature Lab. It includes a slick outdoor classroom with integrated technology, cleverly named housing for their flock of chickens (Cluckingham Palace), and tower gardens for food production. I was especially excited about the space featuring fallen logs, ropes to climb, and stumps to jump on. We were told that the inspiration for these features was the Backcountry at the Garden. Another win! I asked Anthony what the most significant change has been as a result of inviting students to connect more with the natural world and use the plants as teachers. After a thoughtful pause, he noted a shift in students’ attitudes toward “science” and what it means to be a scientist. Instead of equating science with lab coats, sterile conditions, and abstract concepts, Anthony said the students are now seeing the world around them with joyful curiosity and value the everyday observations they can make in the schoolyard. My heart swelled. In Montecito, the plant teachers and influence of the Garden are instilling confidence and inviting connection to the natural world.
Find Your Plant Buddy
If the concept of plant teachers seems a bit iffy to you still, you could try an activity I call plant buddies. It’s a way to connect with the plants around us and with each other. First, find your plant buddy. This may be a family member, a friend, or perhaps visitors you regularly see on your trips to the Garden but with whom you’ve never conversed. Here’s your chance to connect with them. Just invoke this article and ask to be plant buddies.
Once you’ve established a buddy or two, you can start connecting. When you encounter a plant that strikes you, share it with your plant buddy via email, text, conversation, or another communique. I recommend you include a few key features, such as a description of what you noticed about the plant’s structures, habit, or context. Also take a moment to reflect on how that encounter with your plant teacher left a lasting impression on you.
Dear Plant Buddy,
I saw a plant the other day, and it made me think of you. I was in the Manzanita Section at Santa Barbara Botanic Garden, on a trail I don’t usually take, and this plant caught my eye. The sign told me that it is Styrax redivivus, or California snowdrop bush. It’s almost twice as tall as me, spindly, and has the most gloriously soft leaves. It also happened to be in bloom (early April). I leaned in to give the pure white flowers a whiff and was rewarded with a most delicious scent. It made me ask myself, “How do I ensure that my own sweetness is broadcast to the world?” When I got home, I looked it up and these plants grow in the wild in the Santa Ynez Mountains. I’m going to look for them next spring!
Photosynthetically, Scot
Turning Anxiety Into Actions
Looking to the plants as teachers has provided me with a helpful perspective on so many things. In an age that many are calling the Anthropocene (the geologic era in which human activity has dominated the planet’s processes), it’s no wonder that many of us are suffering from “eco-anxiety.” The unprecedented rapid loss of biodiversity on our planet summons deep feelings of grief and powerlessness. Yet, I have been able to disrupt those feedback cycles and reverse feelings of despair by looking to plants as teachers. It’s an invitation to celebrate the abundance of strategies for survival that I encounter each day. Of course, this approach does not change the statistical models suggesting, for example, that coast live oak (Quercus agrifolia) habitat will be significantly reduced by climate change in the coming decades. It does shift my perspective around that reality though. I’m more inspired to learn from the wisdom of oak woodlands while I have the chance to celebrate and give back to them. It’s why experiments like the Garden’s oak fuel break have been installed. Oaks might help protect our communities from fire in the Wildland Urban Interface. In turn, perhaps our homes can provide a small refuge for oak trees, where our care perpetuates biodiversity. I’m heartened by the path to this type of progress.
The Garden and its mission to conserve native plants for the health and well-being of people and the planet beg us to examine our relationship with nonhuman life. Seeing the plants as teachers is an opportunity to do so with open hearts and curious minds. Thank you for supporting these efforts and being part of the change.
