We began our morning with breakfast and our morning meeting before heading into one of our favorite STEAM in the PARK experiences: Rainforest Connections. Working together, campers built living webs that represented the relationships between plants, animals, fungi, water, insects, and people. Then came the challenges. One by one, changes were introduced—habitat loss, invasive species, pollution, disease, climate shifts, and other disruptions that tested the strength of our interconnected systems. We watched as one small change affected countless others. But the story didn't end there. Just as nature has an incredible ability to recover when given the opportunity, our teams worked together to restore their ecosystems, discovering that restoration takes cooperation, patience, creativity, and hope. It was a powerful reminder that while life brings brokenness, healing often begins with people willing to step in and help reconnect what has been lost.

After lunch, we gathered with Ranger Cody at NatureBridge's watershed model to explore one of Olympic National Park's most remarkable restoration stories—the removal of the Lower Elwha Dam. Using the interactive model, Cody helped us visualize how water moves through an entire watershed and explained how the dam, completed in 1913, forever changed the Elwha River by blocking salmon from reaching more than 70 miles of their historic spawning habitat. For generations, salmon populations declined as one of the Pacific Northwest's most productive rivers became fragmented.​

Then something extraordinary happened. In 2011, work began to remove the Lower Elwha Dam, followed by the Glines Canyon Dam upstream. It became the largest dam removal project in United States history. Today, the Elwha River is once again flowing freely from the Olympic Mountains to the Strait of Juan de Fuca. Sediment is rebuilding beaches, forests are changing, wildlife is returning, and perhaps most inspiring of all, salmon are finding their way home again. It is one of the greatest restoration stories in our national parks and a powerful reminder that nature has an incredible capacity to heal when we give it the opportunity.

Our learning didn't stop with the story of the river. Rangers Cody, Paul, and Alex led us into Barnes Creek, where we rolled up our sleeves and became scientists ourselves. We tested water quality, explored the health of the stream, and talked about how temperature, dissolved oxygen, pH, and other indicators help us understand the condition of an ecosystem. It was hands-on science at its best—standing in the water, asking questions, collecting data, and seeing firsthand how every measurement tells part of the story of a healthy watershed.

As evening arrived, our focus shifted from science to culture as we were welcomed by Jamestown S'Klallam Elders for a deeply meaningful experience. They shared stories woven with history, family, and respect for the land before teaching us the beautiful art of cedar basket making and cedar rose crafting. Every strip of cedar carried a lesson in patience. Every fold reminded us that traditions survive because people choose to teach them, and others choose to listen. There was something incredibly special about watching hands of every age carefully shape cedar while conversations filled the room with laughter, curiosity, and gratitude.

One of the greatest gifts of STEAM in the PARK is discovering that science and culture are not separate stories. They are chapters in the same book. The health of a river matters because of the salmon. The salmon matter because they sustain ecosystems and communities. The cedar matters because it provides shelter, art, and tradition. Everything is connected, and today we had the privilege of seeing those connections through both the eyes of scientists and the hearts of those whose families have called this place home for generations.

As we head into Day 3, we are carrying more than new knowledge. We're carrying stories of restoration, reminders that healing is possible, and a deeper appreciation for the people who continue to care for this remarkable place. Olympic National Park has a way of teaching lessons that stay with you long after you've gone home, and today was certainly one of those days.

Less than twenty-four hours.

That's all the time between saying goodbye to one incredible group at North Cascades and welcoming thirty-six new educators to Olympic National Park.

Normally, we have two full days between camps. Those days give us time to unpack, reorganize supplies, catch our breath, and prepare for what's next. This time, there wasn't any of that.

Steve and I, along with our incredible ambassadors Amanda, Dave, Rachel, and Desiree, arrived together at NatureBridge around 11:00 this morning. In just two hours, we unloaded vehicles, transformed empty spaces into welcoming learning environments, organized supplies, prepared materials, set up registration, and somehow made it all feel like camp had been waiting for our educators all along.

There's something beautiful about people who don't ask, "What needs to be done?" because they're already doing it. They simply stepped in, saw the need, and made today happen. Steve and I are deeply grateful for each of them.

Then another first happened.

For the first time in fifty-one STEAM in the PARK adventures, every single camper arrived between 2:00 and 3:00 p.m. There were no delayed arrivals, no late check-ins, and no one missing our opening welcome. It may sound like a small thing, but it gave us the gift of beginning together.

After dinner, we wandered into the Moments in Time Trail, a quiet pathway through one of Olympic's temperate rainforests. Here, massive Sitka spruce and western hemlock have stood watch for centuries while nurse logs give life to a new generation of trees. Every fallen giant becomes the beginning of something new, while thick blankets of moss remind us that in this rainforest, even stillness is full of life.

It was the perfect setting for our opening reflection, Becoming.

Together we spoke words that we hope will shape this week: wonder, belonging, courage, curiosity, grace, listening, rootedness, kindness, hope, and becoming. We talked about arriving with full calendars, busy minds, and expectations—and giving ourselves permission to simply notice. To slow down. To listen. To become.

Our annual Book Buddy exchange followed, and just like every camp, strangers began becoming friends. There were smiles everywhere—and yes, a few wonderfully sleepy faces from educators who had boarded East Coast flights before sunrise and somehow still found enough energy to laugh, connect, and embrace the evening.

We closed Day 1 gathered around our first campfire on the shores of beautiful Lake Crescent. As the fire crackled and the mountains settled into twilight, it felt like the week quietly whispered, "You're exactly where you need to be."

Thirty-six educators. Countless stories. One shared adventure.

We have a feeling this group didn't just come to learn from Olympic National Park. They came to learn from one another.

"Coming together is a beginning. Keeping together is progress. Working together is success." — Henry Ford

"Sometimes the greatest view isn't from the mountaintop. Sometimes it's the perspective we gain after walking the trail together."

Today we hugged new friends goodbye, packed up Camp 50, and slowly made our way out of one of the most breathtaking places we've ever called home for a week. North Cascades gave us turquoise water, towering peaks, laughter that echoed through the forest, campfires, hikes, conversations, and countless reminders that nature has a remarkable way of helping us see ourselves a little more clearly.

This week also reminded us of something we've learned over the past fifty STEAM in the PARK camps. Building community isn't always easy. People are wonderfully different, and with those differences come different expectations, opinions, and experiences. Sometimes we realize we could have done something better. Sometimes we discover that despite our best efforts, we won't meet everyone's expectations. That's simply part of being human.

But we've learned that some of our greatest growth has come from those very moments. Listening—really listening—is one of the greatest gifts we can give another person. Not listening so we can defend ourselves, but listening so we can understand. Every conversation has something to teach us if we're humble enough to receive it. We hope that after fifty camps we're still learning, still growing, and still becoming better because of the people who have trusted us with their stories.

Camp 50 became much more than a milestone. It became another reminder of why Steve and I continue saying yes to this crazy dream. Being away from our family week after week isn't easy, and there are sacrifices that come with choosing this road. But this week we sat beside educators who shared stories of heartbreak, healing, courage, new beginnings, and hope. We listened through tears. We celebrated victories. We watched strangers become dear friends. Those moments don't show up in the group photo, but they are the heartbeat of STEAM in the PARK.

As we drove away today, our hearts were full. Full of gratitude for every educator who said yes. Full of appreciation for the North Cascades Institute staff, the National Park Service, and every person who helped make this week possible. And full of wonder that a little dream Steve and I started has somehow grown into fifty camps and thousands of lives woven together through public lands.

To those of you who have smiled this week and said, "Here's to fifty more!"... we'll see. Right now, we're simply grateful for these fifty. They've shaped us far more than we've ever shaped them. If there's one thing these camps have taught us, it's that people are always worth the effort, grace is always worth extending, and growth is almost always waiting on the other side of listening.

"The adventure isn't ruined when the trail changes. Sometimes the detour becomes the story you'll tell for years."

Day 4 at STEAM in the PARK reminded us that nature has a way of rewriting even the best-laid plans—and sometimes she writes a better story than we ever could.

Our morning was supposed to be spent paddling together in Salish canoes, but the winds sweeping across Diablo Lake had other ideas. Safety always comes first, so our canoe adventure became an opportunity to practice one of our favorite Expedition skills: the art of the pivot. Around here, we've learned that flexibility isn't just a camping skill; it's a life skill.

Instead, our campers headed out with the incredible naturalists from the North Cascades Institute on several unforgettable adventures. One group explored the Buster Brown Trail, a peaceful forest walk winding through towering Douglas-firs, moss-covered logs, and the rich understory that makes the North Cascades feel almost enchanted. Along the way, conversations shifted naturally from forest ecology to the quiet lessons hidden beneath every fallen tree. It reminded us that sometimes slowing down is exactly how we begin to see more.

Others ventured onto the Diablo Lake Trail, where every bend revealed another breathtaking glimpse of that unforgettable turquoise water. Created by glacial rock flour suspended in the lake, Diablo's brilliant color almost seems unreal until you're standing beside it. Surrounded by rugged peaks, waterfalls, and dense evergreen forests, it was one of those hikes where cameras were busy, but everyone knew the best memories would never fit inside a photograph.

Back on campus, another group spent the morning examining wildlife skulls, learning about the fascinating history of this remarkable place, and discovering more about the animals and people who have shaped the North Cascades for generations. Whether hiking through the forest or gathered around hands-on discoveries, everyone found themselves learning in ways that simply can't happen inside four classroom walls.

After lunch, we all made our way down to the shores of Diablo Lake for one of the most anticipated moments of the week—our official 50th STEAM in the PARK Celebration Photo. Picture dozens of educators dressed in silly costumes, balancing on inflatable ducks, flamingos, unicorns, and every other floatie imaginable while standing by fifty-degree glacial water. There was plenty of laughter, a little bit of shivering, and countless moments of, "This is definitely going to make the photo!" Celebrating fifty camps in one of the most beautiful places in America felt like the perfect way to honor this milestone.

The rest of the afternoon belonged entirely to our campers.

One of the greatest gifts of STEAM in the PARK is that we intentionally leave room for unstructured time. In a world filled with schedules, notifications, and endless to-do lists, free time often feels like a forgotten luxury. Here, it becomes part of the experience.

Some wandered down to enjoy a cheeseburger or celebrate with a well-earned ice cream. Others explored the visitor center, soaking in the stories of the North Cascades. Several laced up their hiking boots one more time, determined to squeeze every last mile from these incredible mountains. A few browsed the gift shop searching for the perfect keepsake, while others found a quiet chair overlooking the lake, read a book, took a nap, or simply sat with new friends whose conversations somehow felt like they'd been happening for years instead of days.

There was no agenda to complete. No lesson to finish. Nowhere anyone had to be. Just space to breathe, to laugh, to reflect, and to enjoy being exactly where they were.

Sometimes the most meaningful part of camp isn't found in the scheduled activities. It's found in the unscripted moments when friendships deepen over an ice cream cone, when a quiet walk becomes a treasured memory, or when someone finally has enough time to simply notice the mountains surrounding them.

After another wonderful Mediterranean dinner, we gathered for one of our favorite evenings of every STEAM in the PARK experience. Gratitude, the National Parks Adventure Film, Framework of Nature, our Firefly Ceremony, and one final campfire brought our fourth day to a close.

We rarely share the details of our Firefly Ceremony because some moments are meant to be experienced rather than explained. It is simply a sacred time of gratitude—a chance to recognize the courage it takes for every educator to say "yes" to stepping away from home, investing in themselves, building community, and carrying the light they discover here back to their classrooms, schools, and families. Every camp leaves a little brighter than it arrived, and that is something we never take for granted.

As the campfire glowed beneath the North Cascades sky, it was impossible not to think about how quickly a week can pass. Tomorrow morning we'll share hugs, pack up cars, and begin the journey to our next STEAM in the PARK adventure. Every goodbye is bittersweet, but we've learned that each farewell simply makes room for another community waiting to be built.

Fifty camps later, we're more convinced than ever that the greatest thing we create isn't a program.

It isn't a curriculum. It isn't even a week in a national park. It's a community of people who remind one another that the world is still full of wonder, kindness, and hope.

"Life is less about finding the perfect path and more about finding the right people to walk beside you." And this week, we were blessed to walk together.

"Sometimes the truest friendships are built in the moments when honesty feels safe enough to speak and kindness is strong enough to stay."

Day three at STEAM in the PARK reminded us that nature has a remarkable way of teaching lessons we didn't even know we needed.

Our morning began with birds—not simply watching them, but learning to truly listen. There is a difference between hearing and listening. Hearing is something our ears do. Listening is something our hearts choose.

As we wandered the forests surrounding the North Cascades Institute, we slowed our pace enough to notice the distinct calls, behaviors, and personalities of the birds around us. Some announced themselves boldly from the tops of towering trees. Others remained hidden, revealing themselves only through a quiet song or a quick flutter in the understory. We learned that bird identification isn't just about color or size. It's about habits. Movement. Voice. Community. We began noticing how certain birds warn one another of danger, how some work together, and how each species has unique traits that help it survive.

Before long, we found ourselves seeing a little of ourselves in them.

Each of us carries gifts that are easy to overlook until someone else points them out. Just like birds, our communities become stronger when we recognize one another's strengths, help when someone needs us, and learn that everyone has a role worth celebrating.

Of course, learning quickly turned into laughter as our campers transformed into their assigned birds through a series of delightfully creative skits. Suddenly, birds found themselves dodging predators, navigating unexpected challenges, and escaping all sorts of precarious situations. Watching everyone fully commit to becoming chickadees, woodpeckers, ravens, and wrens reminded us that learning sticks best when joy gets invited to the lesson.

After lunch, our investigative teams officially opened the files of the NCI Detective Agency.

The case? The Mystery of the Disappearing Log.

This wasn't your average Nancy Drew mystery.

Clues appeared. Evidence was examined. Theories were confidently proposed—and just as confidently abandoned. As the investigation unfolded, we discovered something much bigger than the answer itself. Good science requires curiosity, careful observation, and the humility to admit when our first assumptions are wrong. The same is true in life. When we rush to conclusions about people without knowing their stories, we risk making someone feel unseen... or even invisible. The missing log became an unexpected reminder that both science and relationships ask us to slow down, gather evidence, and choose understanding before judgment.

Then came the Dam Walk.

To be fair, it was far more of a Dam Hike.

The trail led us through the dramatic landscape surrounding the impressive Diablo Dam, one of the engineering marvels built and operated by Seattle City Light. Since the early 1930s, this hydroelectric system has helped generate clean electricity while nestled among some of the most breathtaking scenery in the country. Towering peaks, emerald waters, and incredible feats of engineering reminded us that human ingenuity and natural beauty can sometimes coexist in remarkable ways when stewardship remains at the center of the conversation.

After climbing, exploring, and soaking in the views, we intentionally slowed ourselves again with a Wonder Walk before settling onto yoga mats for our solo sit. The plan was reflection. The reality?

For a few campers...reflection quietly drifted into a perfectly respectable afternoon nap. And surrounded by moss, tall trees, and a roaring stream-who could blame them. 

Throughout the day, another unexpected gift appeared.

Poohsticks.

Simple sticks dropped into moving water.

Many of us hadn't thought about Poohsticks in years, yet almost instantly we were children again. Inspired by the beloved adventures of Winnie-the-Pooh and Christopher Robin, campers lined bridges, selected the perfect sticks, and watched eagerly to see whose would emerge first downstream. For a few beautiful minutes, careers, responsibilities, emails, and to-do lists disappeared. Wonder won. Childhood returned. Sometimes growing up simply means remembering how to play again.

As evening settled over camp, we gathered once more for our Civilian Conservation Corps Connections session, exploring the incredible legacy left by those who built trails, bridges, buildings, and communities throughout our national parks. Their work reminds us that lasting impact is often built one small act of service at a time.

A campfire followed, bringing stories, laughter, and conversations that only seem possible beneath a canopy of stars. We ended the evening wandering the forest with our Night Wander Hiking Cards, noticing sounds, shadows, moonlight, and all the tiny details that daylight often hides.

There were moments today that had us doubled over with laughter. There were also moments that became unexpectedly honest. Those are often the very best camp days. Because somewhere between bird songs, detective work, disappearing logs, mountain hikes, Poohsticks, campfires, and quiet conversations, friendships grew a little deeper.

Tomorrow brings Salish canoes, more time to explore, and the gift of unhurried moments together. We can't wait to see what stories the next adventure has waiting for us.

​Photo Cred to Campers!

 ​"There are friends for a season, friends for a reason, and then there are the forever friends you never expected to find around a campfire, on a trail, or beside a glacial lake."

Day 2 at STEAM in the PARK: North Cascades National Park reminded us that the greatest gift of our national parks isn't just the scenery—it's the people they bring together.

Our morning began with a truly special visit from Acting Superintendent Jason Taylor, a longtime friend from our years together at Indiana Dunes National Park. Jason has been one of the biggest supporters of Expeditions in Education. Seeing him now serving at North Cascades National Park felt like watching a friend doing exactly what he was meant to do. Jason is at his very best when he's sharing his love for nature, connecting people to these remarkable places, and reminding others why our national parks matter. His enthusiasm is contagious, and whether he's talking about the landscape, the wildlife, or the mission of the National Park Service, you can tell this isn't just a job—it's his calling.

He generously spent part of his morning with our educators, sharing stories, answering questions, and encouraging all of us to continue building connections between classrooms and our public lands. It was a wonderful reminder that the parks are made even more meaningful because of people like Jason—people whose passion, kindness, and commitment inspire others to care a little more deeply for the world around them.

Thank you, Jason, for your friendship, your encouragement over the years, and for continuing to help others discover the wonder of nature. We couldn't have imagined a better way to begin our day. We are incredibly grateful that he spent part of his day with us. It felt less like welcoming a guest and more like reconnecting with family.

From there, we made our way to the breathtaking shoreline of Diablo Lake for our official group photo. Standing together on the banks of that impossibly turquoise water, surrounded by peaks that seemed to stretch endlessly into the sky, we captured more than a photograph. We captured a moment in the story of fifty STEAM in the PARK camps—a reminder that educators from across the country continue to say yes to learning, adventure, and one another.

Back at the North Cascades Institute, Ambassador Chelsea led a beautiful SEL activity called Shadow Buddies. Campers traced one another's hands and filled them with words describing the strengths, gifts, and qualities they saw in each other. It was a simple exercise with a powerful reminder: sometimes the things we see in others are the very things they struggle to see in themselves. There is something deeply encouraging about hearing your strengths spoken by someone else.

Next came one of our favorite community-building activities, To Each Its Own, and KT did a beautiful job facilitating this opportunity for our campers. As always, she created a space where different perspectives weren't just welcomed—they were celebrated. It reminded all of us that there isn't one right way to experience nature, solve a problem, or see the world. Diversity of thought is one of the greatest strengths any community can have.

After a camera walk that encouraged us to slow down and notice the little things, campers enjoyed a bit of free time before gathering for lunch at the amphitheater overlooking the lake. Good food always seems to taste a little better when the mountains are your dining companions.

The afternoon invited us into our Rewilding session, enriched by thoughtful insights from campers Stephanie and Nathalie. Rewilding isn't simply about landscapes. It's about remembering the parts of ourselves that become buried beneath busy schedules, endless to-do lists, and the constant pace of everyday life. It asks us to notice, to breathe, and to reconnect—with nature, with each other, and with ourselves.

Free time looked different for everyone, and that might be one of the best parts of camp. Several adventurous campers tackled the 3.5-mile round-trip hike to Sourdough Creek Waterfall, winding through towering old-growth forest, crossing lively mountain streams, and finally arriving at a beautiful cascading waterfall tucked into the North Cascades wilderness. The trail offered quiet moments beneath giant trees, countless shades of green, and the kind of peaceful conversations that only seem to happen while walking through a forest. Others chose naps, books, porch conversations, or simply the joy of sitting still in one of the most beautiful places on Earth.

Following an incredible Greek-themed dinner, we headed out for one of the most creative evenings of the week. After asking permission from the plants—and saying thank you—we gently gathered leaves and flowers, pounding and pressing their natural pigments into beautiful inspirational note cards. It was another reminder that art and science often begin with careful observation and gratitude.

Then... KAMPioKE happened. Let's just say there is no shortage of talent—or courage—in this group.

Our ambassadors had everyone laughing and singing along to Girls Just Want to Have Fun, setting the tone for an unforgettable evening. Then Kayla, Marge, Alex, and Rodney absolutely stole the show with their spirited performance of Goodbye Earl. By the end of the night, everyone was cheering, laughing, clapping, and realizing that sometimes the best memories happen when we're willing to look just a little bit silly together.

As the music faded, hugs replaced microphones.

Now, as the evening settles over North Cascades, some campers are braving the icy waters once again, others are deep into competitive UNO games, while small groups continue conversations on porches, in cabins, and beneath the stars.

It feels a little less like a group of educators now. It feels like the beginning of forever friends.

And perhaps that's one of the quiet miracles of STEAM in the PARK. We arrive hoping to learn about national parks, but somewhere along the way, we discover one another.

That's a lesson worth taking home.

​Fifty camps ago, Steve and I had a dream. Tonight, sitting beside a campfire in the North Cascades with thirty-two new friends, we realized that dreams don't simply come true—they keep growing.

Today marked the beginning of our 50th STEAM in the PARK adventure. Somehow, celebrating fifty camps here at the North Cascades Institute feels exactly right. Surrounded by towering mountains, the incredible turquoise waters of Diablo Lake, and a community eager to learn together, we couldn't have asked for a more beautiful place to continue a dream.

The first day of camp always carries a little magic. New faces. New conversations. New friendships waiting to happen. We laughed our way through team-building activities, made leather bracelets that will hopefully become little reminders of this week together, and stood in awe of the stunning glacial waters surrounding us. That brilliant turquoise color almost doesn't seem real until you're standing beside it. It is one of God's masterpieces.

One of the meaningful moments of the day was learning about the people who have called this place home for thousands of years. The North Cascades are the ancestral homelands of the Upper Skagit, Sauk-Suiattle, Swinomish, Nooksack, Stillaguamish, and other Coast Salish peoples. Long before these mountains became a national park, they were places of life, culture, and deep connection. We are grateful to learn on these lands and to honor those stories as part of our own.

It's hard to believe this is our 50th camp. When Steve and I started STEAM in the PARK, we never imagined where this journey would lead. We certainly never imagined hundreds of educators, dozens of national parks, thousands of friendships, and communities that continue long after camp ends. Yet here we are, still believing that bringing good people together in beautiful places can make a difference.

Our goal has never simply been to teach science. Our goal has always been to build community. We hope people leave knowing a little more about nature, but even more than that, we hope they leave believing in one another. We hope they find people who encourage them, challenge them, laugh with them, pray with them, and remind them that there are still good humans in the world.

After a wonderful dinner together, we shared one of my favorite STEAM in the PARK traditions—our book exchange. Every book tells a story, but it also says something about the person who chose to bring it. It's a small gift that often becomes a meaningful connection.

Then the evening unfolded in the best possible way. Some gathered around our first campfire. Some wandered the trails as the sun settled behind the mountains. Some brave souls jumped into 50-degree glacial water (you are officially much tougher than I am!). Some stayed inside playing games and laughing together. Others quietly headed off to rest, preparing for a full day tomorrow. And somehow, every one of those choices was exactly right because community isn't everyone doing the same thing. Community is making space for everyone to belong.

As Steve and I walked back to our room tonight, we prayed the same prayer we've prayed since the very beginning. Lord, we hope we're doing the right thing. We pray that these communities of good humans continue to grow. We pray that kindness spreads farther than criticism, that curiosity wins over certainty, that laughter echoes through these halls, that friendships formed this week last for years, and that every educator who leaves here carries a little more hope back to the students who are waiting for them.

Camp number fifty has begun. Our hearts are full. And somehow, it still feels like we're just getting started.

After six years, more than 1,500 educators and partnerships with more than 50 National Park Service sites, STEAM in the PARK is demonstrating how public lands can become places of renewal—not only for teachers, but for the parks and communities they serve.

By Dacia Jones

The dragonfly larvae were hiding beneath rocks in a shallow stream at New River Gorge National Park and Preserve.

On a warm June morning, eighteen educators from across the country stood knee-deep in the water, carefully turning over stones and sorting through leaves alongside park scientists participating in the Dragonfly Mercury Project. The work was slow and deliberate. Every rock revealed a tiny world, and every discovery sparked another question. For a little while, no one was thinking about grading papers, state assessments, faculty meetings, or overflowing inboxes. They were simply curious.

Watching them, I was reminded of something we often forget: before educators become teachers, they are learners, and learners need wonder too.

For years, much of the national conversation about education has focused on students. We talk about achievement gaps, engagement strategies, standards, and outcomes. Those conversations matter, but as I watched those educators searching for dragonfly larvae in a mountain stream, I found myself thinking about a different question: Who takes care of the people who spend their lives taking care of everyone else?

Teaching has always required heart. Today's educators are expected to be instructors, counselors, mentors, problem-solvers, and community builders, often all within the span of a single day. Many spend their careers helping others grow while rarely finding opportunities to recharge themselves.

That reality is one of the reasons STEAM in the PARK was created. Founded in 2020 by Expeditions in Education, the program brings educators into national parks and public lands for immersive learning experiences that blend science, storytelling, conservation, creativity, and community. What began as a single experiment has grown into a nationwide effort that has connected more than 1,500 educators and college students with national parks through hands-on experiences alongside scientists, historians, interpreters, artists, and park rangers.

Yet the true value of these experiences cannot be measured solely by attendance numbers or professional development hours. Over the past six years, I have watched educators search for synchronous fireflies in the Great Smoky Mountains, kayak through the salt marshes of Assateague Island, collect dragonfly larvae in West Virginia streams, study wildlife tracks in mountain meadows, and stand silently beneath some of the darkest night skies in the country. I've watched them laugh around campfires, wrestle with new ideas, share stories about their students, and reconnect with parts of themselves that had been buried beneath the demands of daily life.

One of those moments came during a sunrise trip to Grandview at New River Gorge. A group of educators had risen before dawn, hoping to watch the sun break across the valley below. Instead, thick fog settled over the overlook, obscuring the view entirely. What could have felt like a disappointment quickly became something else.

As the group stood together talking and laughing in the mist, Alex—a first-year educator attending his first STEAM in the PARK adventure—offered a perspective that seemed to capture the spirit of the week. "Maybe the real Grandview is the friendships and relationships you build along the way," he said.

The comment drew smiles from those around him because everyone understood what he meant. While national parks provide the backdrop, it is often the relationships formed within those landscapes that leave the most lasting impression.

What they discover is not simply new content to teach. They rediscover curiosity—the feeling that drew many of them into education in the first place.

At New River Gorge, that curiosity carried educators from streams to rivers and from daylight into darkness. After spending the morning collecting scientific data, participants paddled the New River on stand-up paddleboards, explored one of the longest steel arch bridges in the world, and later gathered around illuminated moth sheets as insects emerged from the surrounding forest. Conversations flowed easily, questions led to more questions, and learning felt less like work and more like exploration.

That distinction matters because most professional development takes place inside conference rooms, hotels, or school buildings. National parks offer something fundamentally different. They invite people to step directly into the subjects they are studying. Ecology is no longer a chapter in a textbook when you're standing in a stream beside a scientist. History feels different when it is told by someone who lives and works in the place where it happened. Conservation becomes personal when you've experienced a landscape firsthand.

The parks themselves benefit as well. Over the years, Expeditions in Education has partnered with more than 220 National Park Service sites and partner public lands through educational programs, livestreams, field experiences, and collaborative projects. Every educator who develops a deeper connection to a park becomes a storyteller for that place. The lessons learned beside a river in West Virginia or beneath a canopy of stars in Tennessee often find their way into classrooms hundreds or even thousands of miles away.

A ranger's story becomes a classroom discussion. A scientific investigation becomes a student project. A park that once felt distant suddenly becomes real for students who may never have considered visiting a national park before.

The ripple effect is difficult to calculate, but it is easy to imagine. One educator may teach hundreds of students each year. Over the course of a career, that number grows into thousands. The influence of a meaningful experience in a national park extends far beyond the individuals who attend.

What has surprised me most, however, is how often these experiences impact the people working in parks as much as the educators themselves.

During a recent visit to New River Gorge, one of our bridge walk guides shared that life had changed dramatically since we had last seen him. After nearly five decades of marriage, he had lost his wife. The grief was still fresh, and he spoke honestly about the loneliness that followed. Throughout the afternoon he did what he had always done—guided visitors across the bridge, told stories, and helped people overcome their fears of walking hundreds of feet above the river below.

At the end of the tour, he paused before saying goodbye and quietly said, "You gave me hope today." His words lingered with many of us long after the week had ended.

We often talk about what parks give to visitors: recreation, education, inspiration, and opportunities for reflection. Moments like that remind us that these relationships are rarely one-sided. Visitors bring something too. They bring curiosity, appreciation, conversation, and community. They remind park staff why their work matters, just as park staff remind visitors why these places deserve our attention and care.

In a world that often feels rushed, fragmented, and increasingly disconnected from the natural world, national parks remain places where people can gather around a shared sense of wonder. They preserve extraordinary landscapes, but perhaps their greatest contribution is preserving opportunities for human connection—to nature, to one another, and to the stories that help us understand our place in the world.

For educators, those opportunities can be transformative. A week in a national park will not solve every challenge facing education. It will not eliminate burnout or erase the pressures teachers face when they return home. What it can do is provide something many educators desperately need: time to breathe, space to reflect, and the chance to remember what it feels like to be inspired.

Beneath every great teacher is a learner, and sometimes the best way to remember why we teach is to spend a few days learning again—standing in a stream, asking questions, sharing stories, and rediscovering the wonder that started it all.

About the Author

Dacia Jones is a writer, educator, and outdoor learning advocate who co-founded Expeditions in Education with her husband, Steve Jones. Together, they have spent years helping educators and students experience national parks as places of discovery, connection, and wonder. Their nonprofit's programs—including STEAM in the PARK and Crossing America—have connected millions of learners with public lands through immersive experiences, storytelling, and place-based education. Learn more at expeditionsineducation.org.

Every year when we come to New River Gorge, there are certain things we know we want our educators to experience. The beauty of the river. The wonder of the forests. The thrill of walking beneath one of the longest steel arch bridges in the world. And if we're lucky, Sam.

That isn't his real name, but it is the name we'll use for this story. For more than fifteen years, Sam has led visitors across the catwalk beneath the New River Gorge Bridge. Thousands of people have walked beside him. He knows every bolt, every beam, and every story hidden within the steel. He knows when to make people laugh, when to tell a story, and when to gently encourage someone who isn't sure they can take another step. If you read reviews about the experience, you'll find people talking about his humor, his energy, and his ability to help even the most nervous visitors feel safe.

We've experienced it ourselves. In fact, this year we specifically requested Sam because that's how much we enjoy spending time with him. At 78 years old, he still walks the bridge. Still tells the stories. Still welcomes strangers and somehow makes them feel like old friends.

But this year, as we walked together high above the gorge, the conversation took a different turn.

Sam shared that in the past few years he had lost his wife. They had been married for forty-eight years. Forty-eight years of building a life together. Forty-eight years of routines, traditions, conversations, celebrations, and ordinary moments that become extraordinary only after they're gone.

He spoke about loneliness honestly—not dramatically and not looking for sympathy. Just honestly. The kind of honesty that comes from someone who has lived long enough to know that life is both beautiful and heartbreaking, often at the very same time.

Then he said something that stopped us. He told our group that it had been a good day because of them. He said they had given him smiles. They had given him hope.

As I watched our educators laugh with him, ask questions, listen to his stories, and genuinely enjoy his company, I was reminded of something we don't talk about enough.

We often say that STEAM in the PARK changes educators. And it does. We watch exhausted teachers arrive carrying the weight of a long school year. We watch them reconnect with curiosity, wonder, friendship, and joy. We watch them remember why they chose this work in the first place.

But maybe that isn't the whole story. Maybe STEAM in the PARK doesn't just save educators. Maybe it saves humans.

The park ranger who spends all week sharing what they love. The scientist who lights up when someone asks one more question. The cook preparing meals for people they'll likely never see again. The volunteer. The bus driver. The bridge guide. The person quietly carrying a burden no one else can see.

What if every conversation matters more than we know? What if every smile is an act of service? What if every shared meal, every laugh, every moment of genuine connection becomes part of someone else's healing story?

Sam reminded us that people need people. Not because they are weak, but because they are human.

As we finished our walk beneath the bridge, I found myself thinking about all the things we measure in education. Test scores. Standards. Outcomes. Attendance. Participation. Yet some of the most important things can never be measured.

A smile. A conversation. A story. A little bit of hope.

This week at New River Gorge, our educators learned about dragonflies, biodiversity, watersheds, fireflies, and forests. They learned from scientists, naturalists, and park staff. But maybe one of the most important lessons came from a bridge guide who has spent years helping strangers cross a great distance above a river.

Because long after we forget the statistics and the facts, we remember the people who helped us cross our own difficult places. And sometimes, without even realizing it, we help them cross theirs too.

This morning, we packed sleeping bags, swept cabins, loaded vehicles, hugged new friends, and said goodbye to another STEAM in the PARK adventure. As we leave New River Gorge National Park and Preserve, it feels like the right moment to pause and take stock of where we have been and where we are headed next.

We have been on the road since May 30. In just a few short weeks, we have crossed state lines, explored incredible national park sites, learned from park rangers and scientists, shared meals around tables filled with laughter, and watched complete strangers become a community. With New River Gorge now behind us, we find ourselves nearly one-quarter of the way through our summer journey. That realization is both exciting and humbling.

This week was filled with remarkable experiences. We studied dragonflies and learned how they help scientists monitor environmental health. We paddled on the water, walked beneath one of the most impressive bridges in the world, searched for moths under the night sky, listened for birds in the early morning hours, and spent time learning from people who have dedicated their lives to understanding and protecting this special place. Everywhere we looked, there was something worth noticing.

As beautiful as the landscape was, the greatest lessons of the week came from something even more important: paying attention. Paying attention to the weather when storms rolled through the mountains. Paying attention to the stories people shared. Paying attention to the needs of others. Paying attention to the natural world and recognizing that we are connected to it in ways we often overlook.

In a world that constantly encourages us to move faster, scroll farther, and look past one another, this week reminded us that some of the most important things happen when we slow down. The more we paid attention, the more we noticed. We noticed the patience of our park rangers. We noticed the passion of the scientists who welcomed us into their work. We noticed acts of kindness among campers, encouragement offered during challenging moments, and friendships forming in unexpected ways.

Being a good human is not about grand gestures. More often, it is found in the small choices we make every day. It is choosing kindness when it would be easier to be impatient. It is offering help when someone needs it. It is listening carefully to another person's story. It is treating the people around us—and the places around us—with care and respect. It is recognizing that our actions matter, even when no one is watching.

One of the greatest gifts of our national parks is that they help us remember these truths. Parks teach us to pay attention. They remind us that we are part of something larger than ourselves. They encourage us to be curious, to care deeply, and to become better stewards of both the natural world and the communities we call home.

As we head toward our next STEAM in the PARK adventure, we do so with grateful hearts. We are thankful for Ranger Lori, Jennifer and her team, Paul, Emma, Ellie, OUR amazing ambassadors and chefs- LeAnn, Cadie, Lyndi, and everyone who helped make this week possible. We are thankful for the beauty of New River Gorge, for the lessons learned here, and for the reminder that the world is still full of wonder if we are willing to notice it.

A quarter of our summer journey is now behind us. The miles continue ahead, along with new parks, new friends, and new stories. If this week reminded us of anything, it is that the journey is not just about where we go. It is about how we show up along the way. We hope to continue paying attention, continuing learning, and continuing to do our best to be the kind of humans our parks—and our world—need.