1 When Are You Going to Start Teaching?

By its nature, geology is interconnected and interdisciplinary. Drawing on the combined knowledge of chemistry, physics, biology, mathematics, and astronomy, it places the study of the earth within a scientific and human framework. Such is the framework for learning and teaching geology. Even at the introductory level, a student learns to appreciate the immensity of geologic time (billions of years), the scale of Earth processes (thousands of cubic kilometers of debris moved during a single volcanic eruption), and the precarious balance of life on Earth (90% of Earth’s species became extinct 250 million years ago). My main aspiration as a teacher is to infuse students with a comprehension of these things – to show them what questions to ask and what observations to make. Embedded in this goal is the hope that students will leave my courses better thinkers and therefore better citizens than they were 15 weeks earlier. Even in the process of doing the hard work for a course, these goals infuse the hard work with a sense of wonder that’s difficult to shake. Sometimes, the students catch it too!

Growth as a Teacher

“When are you going to start teaching?” These words, uttered 2 hours into a 4-hour active-learning class day by a colleague observing my project-oriented course, forcibly reminded me that I don’t teach the way I, and members of my generation, learned. My courses are student- focused; I spend, on average, about half of each class session (less in lab and field instruction) talking. Nevertheless, I am teaching, even if I’m not the one doing the talking. This colleague’s remark, now more than a decade old, no longer stings – just the opposite! If students can learn without it appearing as though I’m doing the work, then I’ve accomplished my goal, and they’ve accomplished theirs.

I read the literature on science education; I attend (and give) talks on geoscience pedagogy at conferences; I engage with my colleagues within my department and across campus; and I participate in projects to improve science learning, like the InTeGrate project that I and colleagues at Gustavus implemented. Is I assembled this dossier, I realize that my teaching practice has changed in the past five years, as it changed during the five years before that, and the years before that. In each iteration, I get some things right, and find some things that don’t work, or don’t work anymore. I’m beginning to think that one never masters this craft. Perhaps that’s why it’s so much fun.

On the ground, my teaching is informed by feedback from students and colleagues and by assessment. In every course, I rely on several measures of student learning, from traditional exams to informal writing assignments, with a balance struck among measures according to the learning outcomes for each course. Mainly, I want to know the following: 1) Are the students learning the material? 2) Do the students realize they’re learning? 3) Are they becoming better thinkers? 4) What can I do to help?

If you were to hop in a time machine and observe a class in my first decade of teaching, in my second decade, and now in my third, the most obvious difference would be a marked increase in the degree to which I expect students to be active in the classroom and to engage the material. In most courses, I employ a combination of lectures, case studies, inquiry learning, group work, individual assistance, peer evaluation, writing assignments, exams, and web-based assignments. The proportion of each of these components depends on the level and size of the class, but nearly every course has some of each element. I’ve noticed that my reliance on traditional lectures has diminished and I have observed that students can (and do) learn things that I haven’t delivered on a chalkboard or projection screen.

I have organized the following summary to highlight a few key aspects of my teaching approach that are especially relevant to Criterion 1, rather than summarizing each course separately.

Quality of and Enthusiasm for Work

A persistent theme in my teaching evaluations is that the students perceive my enthusiasm for teaching and for course content. I really do enjoy teaching. What does it mean, though, to be a “high quality teacher”? For me, it means that every teaching event is an opportunity for students to learn – about geology, about themselves, about the world. It means that I construct each course and each class meeting around one principal goal – for every student to succeed in mastering the material set before them. Does every student accomplish this? Well, no. Does every student have the opportunity to do so? Yes, I believe so. Deep learning requires the consent of the learner; a teacher can only set the stage and invite the student to join. In my classroom, though, I set the expectation that every student can and should learn.

For example, Geochemistry of the Environment (geo/env-120) has many students who have little experience with either chemistry or geology and may not see themselves as “science people.” This course, though, is required for all Environmental Studies students and may be the only physical science course they take. I therefore approach the science with the aim of engaging in observations about the natural world. Many class sessions begin by asking students to describe a dataset, photos, or observations that they’ve made themselves. I then ask them to venture explanations, tentative though they may be. The “lecture” portion of the class (the part where I stand at the front and talk) focuses on helping students clarify the principles underlying the salient phenomena and providing a conceptual framework in which to situate this new information. I ask the students to process the material – by way of a minute paper, short exercise, or extension of the basic content, so that they’re formalizing and synthesizing what they’ve learned. This pattern of iterative learning helps students recognize that they don’t have to be “good at science” to learn science.

In upper-level courses, students are ready to test their skills and develop the habits of independent learning that will be so crucial after graduation. In Paleontology (geo-241), students have a wide range of experience (sophomore-senior) and disciplinary interest (geology, biology, ES, non-science students). I unabashedly take advantage of the fact that a senior biology student likely knows more cellular and developmental biology than I do. I invite them to provide the class with key pieces of biology that help us understand fossil forms. Similarly, geology majors are quick to explain geology to the non-geologists in the room. A spirit of peer-teaching emerges spontaneously when students are invited to share and apply their knowledge. The professor, then, becomes just another (and not the only) source of information. Although a little unsettling to the students sometimes, they learn that the edges of knowledge are the most interesting places to be. A culminating project, in which students propose a research project to address an unanswered question in paleontology, further reinforces the idea that paleontology is an exciting, evolving discipline.

For each course, I have identified skills in each course that I expect students to develop. I use these skill lists both to evaluate (grade) students and as benchmarks for evaluating and improving teaching. I present one example here, from the Sedimentary Systems (geo-324) course (I, along with Tom Hickson at St. Thomas, will present this course as a case study at a GSA meeting this year).

This course represents the greatest departure in my teaching repertoire from a traditional class structure. The class enrolls 10-20 students and course goals are specifically skill-oriented. Student work is structured around four projects, each of which begins with field work or data collection. Importantly, students collect data before they know what to do with it. For example, in the first project, students describe a set of core samples (vertical “shafts” of rock drilled into the subsurface). Students begin by asking questions, “What are the grains?” “Does size matter?” “What structures are here?” After initial observations, we have a discussion, guided by student questions and informed by their reading, in which students report on and discuss the things they already know how to interpret and are invited to pose questions that I might help them with. After they’ve identified (with guidance) the things they understand and those they don’t, I give one or more lessons on those topics where they need additional information or formalization of interpretation. Each year is different, as each set of students has a distinct knowledge base and skill set. The real learning happens as the students work their way through the activity and are moved by curiosity (or frustration, perhaps) to locate and evaluate information. At the end of the activity, students can cogently explain the most important interpretations for the kinds of rocks in the core (a typical learning outcome for a course like this one), but additionally, can articulate what belongs in a comprehensive description, make interpretations, and evaluate the security of their conclusions.

This guided inquiry approach often meets with resistance from students, because of the open-ended, uncertain nature of the learning process. Along the way, students commonly report uncertainty about whether they’re learning “what they’re supposed to.” One student had the following to say, in a mid-semester check-in:

This course is being taught in a very peculiar way, unlike the many other courses I’ve taken where you just cram information into your brain. This course allows us to navigate our own learning of sedimentary structures and use our own observations to create interpretations to allow for our learning. It is very unique, and I’ve come to like it.

Effective Advising

At present, I have 14 geology and environmental studies majors as formal advisees. Because of the small size of the geology department and the retirement of Jim Welsh last spring, I have maintained my advisee load while serving in the Provost’s Office. For these students, I am their official academic advisor, assisting them in choosing courses and selecting majors that support their personal and academic goals. Naturally, this advising process also involves getting to know these students and helping them navigate their complex college experience. In addition then, I frequently find myself playing the role of “benevolent auntie”, providing some insight, perspective, and support for a student’s academic trajectory. Just as frequently, though, they really need a boot-camp drill sergeant who can… umm… motivate them to step outside their comfort zone and take control of and responsibility for their choices, education, and future. It’s difficult to assess the effectiveness of this kind of comprehensive advising, but I’m pleased to say that I’m still in touch with numerous of my previous advisees, dating back to my time in graduate school. I think these long-term relationships speak to a depth of shared experience that is one hallmark of effective advising and attendant concern for student learning.

Some of the most important teaching/advising/mentoring interactions with students occur “off the books,” in the context of directed student research. Since arriving at Gustavus, I’ve continuously involved undergraduates with my scholarship and engaged them in field and lab work. The nature of geology makes it easy to engage students this way, because even a novice can make a key observation that changes our understanding of the world – students can make a real contribution to knowledge. In addition, students at every level of aptitude can engage in the research process and grow as learners.

Our department requires every student to engage in this process. Not only does this inspire growth in each student, but it makes me a more effective teacher and mentor. Working individually with students helps me to understand their challenges and to develop teaching strategies that are effective across a wider range of students. The goal of this type of research mentoring is not a published work, though that’s sometimes an outcome; rather, success is measured by the growth of the student as an independent learner, a responsible geologist, and a developing professional.