Sparking Discovery and Wonder With Augmented Reality

The scuffling feet of a group of four first-grade students follow me as we break off the main trail on our field trip to McDonald Woods, a nature area in northern Illinois containing woodlands, tallgrass prairie, and wetland areas. We are hunting for a place, the perfect place, to stop for our “solo spots”—a place to sit and be in nature with the possibility of writing or drawing about what we are seeing. McDonald Woods is familiar to me, and I am leading the small group to a secluded area by a pond that many of the other groups will not know about. Suddenly, an exclamation of equal parts dread and wonder comes from behind me: “Ewww, what’s that?!” I turn and head back to what a student points to a mess of gray and white fur that has seemed to explode all about just off the side of our path.

“Looks like you found a kill zone,” I say in a whisper, the students gathering around me in interest.

“What’s that?” another student asks. We spend the next few minutes discussing what may have happened in that area between a rabbit and whatever may have been hunting it not too long ago. A couple of students think it may have been a coyote that caught the rabbit, a couple others think it may have been a hawk. We then make our way towards the secret place by the pond for the solo spot and I smile listening to the excited voices discussing the scene we had happened upon.

The kill zone was one of the highlights when the class reflected on what we had seen, heard, and experienced throughout that day. A sense of wonder showed through all the stories they shared. This was a regular occurrence during my time teaching first and second grade as we explored the world around us. The wonder of discovery led to students who were dedicated to doing what they could for the environment and the community around them. The link between wonder, discovery, and passion forging a connection to the natural world is something I saw over and over again; however, I also knew this was a byproduct of working in a unique environment where integration of the environment into all areas of instruction was the norm.

Questions began to percolate as I reflected on my own practice: Why isn’t environmental education a part of every school curriculum in the United States? How could I help make this happen? What if an environmental educator hadn’t been there when questions were asked?

To answer these questions, I moved from the windy tall-grass prairie and woodlands of the Midwest to the Sonoran Desert of Southern Arizona for a doctoral degree in environmental education. While I always felt a sense of wonder walking through the goldenrod and compass plants of the prairie and separating myself from the rest of the world by sitting among the six-foot-high big bluestem grasses, the Sonoran Desert held a myriad of wonders of its own. Once again, questions began to percolate, but this time about my new surroundings.

I was fortunate enough to intern at the Cooper Center for Environmental Education, during the first year of my studies, which meant I was able to ask many questions about the plants and animals of the area and to start to see the relationships they had with each other and the land. I was walking the path of wonder, discovery, and passion just as my students had. However, I had the expertise of friends at the Cooper Center who were able to answer my questions and lead me to new ones: What if there isn’t someone there to explain the relationship between plants and animals? What if the student can’t see any animals at all? How could I provide important information to students just when they needed it?

The beginnings of possible answers to these questions came from an unlikely source—a digital literacies course. A culminating project found me creating an augmented reality experience for a trail in the Sweetwater Trailhead near Tucson which explored the different Sonoran Desert flora. When you think of augmented reality, or AR, think of Pokémon GO! You are taking a mobile device out of the house and digital images are superimposed onto the environment. In the case of Pokémon GO!, the little monsters are superimposed onto the real world seen through the camera of the mobile device. The course introduced the class to a couple of apps that made it easy to create your own AR experience. I was excited to find one that allowed creators to use GPS coordinates to anchor activity spots where the users could interact with the AR experience, assuming a cell signal could be found. These activity spots could be used to explore the story of the place through plants, animals, and the landscape itself. Even if the user cannot see the animal, they could see pictures, listen to the sounds it makes, and perhaps find other signs of the animal being there.

For example, hiking during the day means the user will not see bats pollinating saguaro blooms at night; however, on the AR trail, videos showing this can be viewed and further information accessed as desired by the user. In telling these stories, the relationship between the animals, plants, and land can therefore be explored further through videos, pictures, and information. However, perhaps more importantly, the relationship could also be explored through the observations and reflections of the people using the AR experience as they collect their own pictures and videos and write reflections that are saved for others to see when they visit the same spots. Could creating such AR experiences be a way to help others in their journeys of wonder, discovery, and passion?

Several years after exploring the kill zone with my students, I am hiking the Painted Hills Trail in Tucson with my daughter, following a route mapped out on our smartphones to see if the next activity spot on an AR trail I have just created is working. I watch her stop and press the icon to begin exploring the area. A digital javelina appears on her screen as she holds it up—a virtual window to the real world around her. The text in the javelina’s speech bubble scrolls across the screen, explaining how the young saguaro needs another plant, such as a palo verde or mesquite, to serve as a nurse plant as the cactus begins to grow. The nurse plant provides shade and protection for the saguaro as it grows up through the plant’s branches. I see her eyes dart across the screen as she makes choices about learning more about nurse plants or exploring the ways animals find shelter in the Sonoran Desert. She makes her choices by pressing buttons, watches a video on nurse plants, and then lets the guide know we are going to make our way to another activity spot after a few minutes have passed. She smiles as the digital javelina guide challenges us to count how many nurse plants we can find along the way to the next stop.

We spend the time walking to the next activity spot discovering there are a lot more nurse plants in the small area than we expected. Later, she says learning about something “even as simple as the nursing plant thing for saguaros” is important because for them to grow as tall as they are now “they have to have been nursed by something, so the past does matter for what is happening now.” 

The spark of wonder and discovery is evident. Only time will tell if it helps lead to passion and connection to the local environment. Only time will tell if AR experiences such as these can aid in this journey. This is why I continue to study the use of AR as a tool in environmental education. We protect what we are passionate about—but it is the spark of wonder and discovery that leads us to that passion.

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Kelly J. Smith is a Ph.D. candidate in Teaching, Learning, and Sociocultural Studies in the College of Education at the University of Arizona, focusing on environmental and sustainability education. His current research explores how augmented reality experiences that employ place responsive design decisions and incorporate critical place inquiry may help foster connections with place. Prior to coming to UArizona, Kelly spent 20 years teaching students in first through third grade, a majority of which was dedicated to helping students explore the environment in all subject areas through the use of place-based education, problem-based learning, and inquiry-based learning. He obtained his BA in History and Elementary Education Certification from Seattle Pacific University and his MA in Teaching and Learning from Nova Southeastern University. He is a member of the editorial team for The Journal of Environmental Education, where he served as associate editor from 2018-2020 and currently serves as managing editor. 

The Carson Scholars program at the University of Arizona is dedicated to training the next generation of environmental researchers in the art of public communication, from writing to speaking. Partnering with Terrain.org, the program will present essays and other writing from students and alumni of the Carson Scholars Program—A Life of Science—with hopes of inspiring readers to understand not only research findings but the textures of the lives of scientists and others engaged in the crucial work of helping the planet along in an age of unprecedented change. 

Originally published on terrain.org >>