Intern Reflection: Flipping Logs and Looking at Salamanders

“Who remembers the four rules?” I ask, holding up my ready-to-count fist to the group of toddlers, preschoolers, and parents gathered for this week's Nature Playgroup. “Scoop them!” one student yelled. My pointer finger shot out. “Wet your hands!” another proclaimed. My second finger followed. “Put them back at home!” a third student shouted. My ring finger next. “Close to the ground!” the last student screamed. And finally, my pinky showed proof that we passed the test.

The kids looked around in excitement, their energy bubbling over into antsy wiggles. We were about to hike over to Beaver Pond, reviewing the salamander respect rules one more time. This go around, they got all four back to back. So, we started the hike.

On our way, we passed a freshly rotting log, and a few students ran over to flip it. I had seen Audubon educator Emily Calder demonstrate how to look for roly-polies and carpenter ants without disrupting their habitat, so I started to repeat her words: “Make sure you roll the logs back to the same place when you leave.” But before I could even finish, a student had already done exactly that.

That was the first lesson I learned: give kids the opportunity to demonstrate their strengths. In this case, the strength was remembering instructions about caring for our environment. At that moment, a pivotal mindset shifted. I realized that teaching wasn’t just about delivering instructions, but it’s about giving the opportunity for students to show and use what they have learned. When we take a step back, we often make room for pride, confidence, and independence to step forward.

Once we got to Beaver Pond, we walked along the edge of the mud flat and peered into the water. A few kids spotted salamanders and called me over to help. As I demonstrated, I pointed out each of the four steps; wetting my hands, scooping gently from the sides, lifting the salamander only a few inches above the water, and placing it back exactly where it came from.

After a few bug-eyed gazes and excited “Mom, come look!” calls, the kids began their own hunt. As I remembered the moment at the log, I tried to resist the urge to hover, and instead took a step back and watched. To my surprise, almost all of the rules were followed. The hardest one, of course, was keeping the salamander close to the water. Everyone wanted to show off their latest discovery.

Growing up in Brooklyn, the closest thing to a salamander I got to hold was the tactile version of The Very Hungry Caterpillar. When I came to the University of Vermont, I fledged my concrete nest and plunged, headfirst, into the hills of Vermont. By my second year, I found myself exploring further in the Green Mountains, eventually passing Sherman Hollow Road and noticing Green Mountain Audubon Center's signs. That night, I looked up the center and found their internship page. Since then, I’ve had the privilege of working as the Spring Education Intern — teaching programs from Hemlock Swamp to the sugarhouse for budding ecologists aged 2-17 years old. I even had the opportunity to co-lead the Vermont Woodlands Association Kids Conference. 

Most of all, I’ve gained invaluable experience observing and working with the other educators at Audubon. The goal of environmental education isn’t about following strict rules, or memorizing wildlife facts (as fun as it might be for some). But rather, learning how to explore and interact with the life around us in reciprocal and meaningful ways, and I’ve done exactly that during my time here.