I'm a 'Master Naturalist' Now

Some ways to think about what that means.

The wheel bug. Nature’s little timer, dialing up the drama. Source: Carnegie Museum of Natural History.

The Journey Begins: Opening Ceremony

For nine Monday mornings this summer, Fred and I have slipped outside just after daybreak. The air was fresh, or somewhat fresh given how we basically live in a heat dome. Like kids headed to camp, we’d always packed our lunches: PB&J wrapped in wax paper. We were on our way to master naturalist classes at Smithgall Woods State Park, a 1.5-hour drive to the North Georgia mountains.

I’d been wanting to take master naturalist classes for some time so I felt fortunate that this summer session worked out with our schedules. All 50 states now offer “master naturalist” classes of some sort. In my area, similar sessions are offered by BirdsGeorgia, the Dunwoody Nature Center, Cobb County and the Chattahoochee Nature Center.

Is that too much? No, it is not.

On our final day in class, the Smithgall naturalist left us with this: “Think of these classes as train-the-trainer. Use it for yourself, yes, but also go out and share what you know with your neighbors.”

With the summer Olympics in mind this week, I’ll share some highlights:

Gold Medal Moments

Chanterelle Surprise

🏆 One day I took a lunchtime stretch break and walked alone on the little lane out behind our classroom building. I stopped at my turnaround spot, looked down, and there I saw my first chanterelle mushroom! I had been looking so hard for them, and I was very excited. Figuring my classmates would want to see it, and remembering how our mycology instructor said it is okay to pick mushrooms because it is like picking apples, I broke it off at the ground. Back at class:

Me: Hey look, a chanterelle!

Fred: Nice. But you weren't supposed to pick it.

But the mycology guy said it was okay last week. They grow back.

I know, but we’re not supposed to pick them in a state park.

Oh, my bad.

Indigo Encounter

🏆 On our birding day we are out on the edge of the forest, and everyone is looking through the binoculars, pointing, saying: I see an indigo bunting….oh I hear it….over there…right on that bottom branch. I saw it too, but it just a dark bird-shaped shadow. Then, when I put my eye to the lens of the fixed telescope our teacher had trained on Mr. IB, I really saw this guy. At first, he was plain dark. Then, he shifted just a hair—in his case, just a feather—and flashed me with his brilliant gemstone blue body. Stunning.

Plenty of Community Science Opps

🏆 As June and July slid by, I was able to keep a constant flow of images rolling in to iNaturalist, thereby steadily feeding my community science habit. One of my favorite parts of iNaturalist are the project pages, which are for particular parks or species. For months now, I routinely add to my favorite projects such as the Blue Heron Nature Preserve Wildlife Inventory, Mushrooms of Atlanta, and Robber Flies of Georgia. (Like the wheel bug, I’m now a big fan of robber flies and apparently others are too. There are 3,581 photos of these stout bugs in the project.)

After our Smithgall experiences, I created a special project page for the park. It is open to anyone, so check it out: Smithgall Woods State Park Flora and Fauna. The project is new, only 103 observations so far, so if you live in the area head up to North Georgia and add some images.

Silver Medal Moment

Wheel Bug Wonder

🥈 I liked the wheel bug the minute our teacher told us they come from the family of beneficial assassin bugs (oxymoron-ish name if there ever was one). Out tromping around in the weeds, Fred got lucky and netted one. We got some good close up photos while the bug rested easy in an insect dorm room. (A little net box with zippered doors our teacher brought along.) Back at home, I sketched this guy, marveling at the half-dial he wears between his shoulder blades.

Bronze Medal Moment

Sweet, Sweet Peace and Quiet

🥉 This year, I’ve been on a kick about noise-related community science, and I wrote about it here: Spread the Silence: IT’S TOO LOUD. One day after class was over, Fred and I hiked the 3-mile Laurel Ridge Trail at Smithgall. At the top there’s a great view of Mt. Yonah; a tidy lavender bump on the horizon. The hush in the woods reminded me to take a decibel reading.

“Wow,” I told Fred. “My quietest place yet—31 decibels.”

I wasn’t surprised. There was no wind, no birdsong, just slow-mo clouds traveling the sky. The single bench at that opening invited us to sit, take a load off and listen to peace. So we did.

Reflection: Closing Ceremony

🏅 The full-day sessions, half classroom, half field, were totally enriching. I boosted each week’s topic by finding podcasts on our upcoming classes. For instance, before our class on soil, we listened to “Tyler and the Soil Doctor” as our nerdy version of pre-gaming. Remember how we had a 1.5 hour drive up each week? We had plenty of time in the car.

What does it mean to be a “master naturalist?” I’m not sure. I’ve learned some things, and I have new resources so that’s what it means for me as of today. I’d like to join another series at some future date, and especially would love to learn in another part of the country.

Making field journals and event map journals after our Mondays helped me learn. This was an optional activity, but after I started creating them (and after I bought a fresh pack of colored Faber-Castell pencils), I really got into it.

Field journals are a page of notes and sketches about what you’ve seen in a given period of time. An event map is similar, but when doing these you chart things out in space somewhat geographically, usually displaying them along a path or trail.

On the left is a regular field guide. The other is a field guide as an event map; you can see we were at three places that day: the classroom, on the back lane, and on a trail. Drawing skills are not the point. You can add as much written documentation as you want (weather, species, questions, relationships). Also, pro tip: in hot weather, don’t do these outside. I take pictures and take my time with the drawings at home. In the A.C.

In closing, I’ll add that the other folks in our class were fantastic people, and we had a ball learning with them. Fred and I agreed that we felt like we could be really good friends with every single one of them, but we wished we lived a lot closer. We are planning some reunions.

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I felt bad about picking that mushroom, but at least we ate it for supper that night.