I love field trips. Always have and still do. In fact, I recently participated in two of them, which is what has me thinking about how these experiences embody the rich, varied, and most meaningful moments of our lives.
In mid-April I volunteered to drive for the monthly field trip at my son’s Montessori school. A bunch of us parents and teachers caravanned to a popular wildlife center where we were split into two groups. One group went on a nature hike with a guide while the other spent time in the nature center getting to meet the reptiles and learning about the geographic regions of our state by placing items found in those regions on a masking tape map of Georgia outlined on the worn carpet floor.
As we explored the varied regions of the state of Georgia, I was reminded that for the great majority of my life I have lived in the same Piedmont region, just in different states (South Carolina and Georgia). Learning is a consistent part of our lives, and it’s lifelong. Field trips take us beyond our traditional spaces of learning and help us tap into our five senses.
When it was time to switch activities, my group then traipsed through the woods exploring some of the plants and tiny creatures along the way to our destination. Which was a random spot in the middle of the trail. It turned out to be the place where we would turn around and then walk back for lunch. But not before our guide, after answering a few questions, moved us into a contemplative practice. She didn’t call it that, but that’s what it was.
Speaking primarily to the children, she invited them to make a fist and close their eyes. This helped all of us stop talking for a moment. Once we had our eyes closed, she asked us to listen. “Listen for anything and everything you can hear,” she said, “all the while keeping your eyes closed.” Every single child (and adult) participated. I’ll confess, I peaked just so I could make sure. She asked us to capture a fistful of sounds. To reach up and grab the sounds we heard.
We all did this and rested in the quiet for a moment. Our field trip had already tapped into our physical and mental well-being, but now our guide moved us into the emotional and spiritual realm. When we had all been quiet for a couple of minutes, she asked us to name the sounds while keeping our eyes closed. One by one, the kids and adults named all the sounds we heard. Many of us heard the same things, of course. Cars on the road above. Birds singing. People talking and working on the lodge nearby. The nine-year-old next to me named something I hadn’t heard. In fact, I’m not sure our guide had even heard it as she responded with a bit of surprise and joy to her reflection. Field trips are usually done in groups, which brings home the beauty and power of community shaped during them.
When we were in the nature center, we learned that some of the most important plants in the barrier islands of Georgia grow on the sand dunes. That includes sea oats, which are crucial habitats for sea turtles who lay eggs there and then cover them. The sea oats are a good source of nesting and protection. We also learned that the turtles go back to the same beach where they were born to lay their eggs.
As I learned about the turtles, I thought about a student trip I was about to take a month later following Oxford College’s commencement. An anthropology professor and I were set to take students to the Georgia coast to learn more about the history, food, and sustainability of Sapelo, Cumberland, and Jekyll Island. When we visited the sea turtle center on Jekyll during our trip, I marveled at what I already knew about sea turtles from my son’s field trip. Life is a constant field trip.
I recently returned from that week-long trip with our eighteen- and nineteen-year-old students, and I’ve been reading their evaluations and reflections. One part of our trip that we couldn’t have planned for was how we would encounter the older, retired population along the way. We stayed at a retreat center at St. Simons and had our meals there with a mostly retired crowd who were engaging in some programming and lifelong learning for a week. On one of our Sapelo days we were on a public tour and everyone on that bus with us was retired and exploring the island for the first time. Half college kids and half retirees in their 60s, 70s, and 80s. Most of the ones I talked to had lived in Georgia most of their life but never explored the coast, at least not the barrier islands. They were impressed we had college students there learning about them at such a young age in their life.
In the student evaluations and reflections, they talked about usual things like the food we ate, experiences they had, and the tours that had been arranged. What I didn’t expect, though, was how they consistently mentioned their encounters with the retired adults along the way. They were surprised and delighted to see the joy they brought to their experience. That joy shaped how our students thought about the experience too – both in the present and as they reflected on it in the evaluations. A few students even commented on how they were reminded that learning is lifelong.
I love field trips and often wonder how I might help turn more of the everyday experiences of our lives into a field trip. Or better yet, how might these field trips we get to have teach us to be more present and attentive to the everyday. I believe they help us tap into our five senses in a deeper way, engage the multi-layered aspects of our well-being, and leave open the possibility of being surprised by something we didn’t see coming.
The Rev. Dr. Lyn Pace is the college chaplain at Oxford College of Emory University and lives in Oxford, GA with his spouse and ten-year-old. His most recent book, published by the South Carolina United Methodist Advocate Press, is The Sacred Year: A Contemplative Journey Through the Liturgical Year.
