By Julie Douglas, Family Program Specialist

Another muggy Iowa summer morning was making my trek up the gravel road a sticky affair.  I hiked my long broadcloth skirt up to my knees and trudged up the hill to the log cabin.  A busy day lay ahead.  Candle-dipping was on the schedule this morning; the back vegetable garden needed to be hoed; and once all the chores were completed, I could spend some quiet moments working on a beautiful blue and white "Grandma’s Fancy" coverlet that I was weaving on the floor loom. 

Working at Living History Farms in Urbandale, Iowa was not a typical summer job.  Instead of serving up burgers and fries, my coworkers and I boiled turnip stew in a kettle over an open fire.  While my friends babysat rambunctious grade-schoolers, I spent many mornings chasing down runaway piglets and returning them to their pen.  And although most kids my age were learning to drive cars, I was excited to also be learning how to maneuver a pair of oxen using the commands "gee" and "haw." This was the life of a docent on an 1850 Pioneer Farm.

The part of my job that taught me the most was interacting with the scores of people who would visit each day. Living History Farms was (and still is) a place where visitors can see, hear, and smell the past.  As docents, our job was not to lecture visitors about what we were doing, but to engage them in a conversation while doing our work.  We weren't just pretending to be pioneers; we were doing the actual work that had been done by settlers over a hundred years ago, using the same tools and methods they used. (Ok, ok, we were allowed to go home to our air-conditioners and running water at the end of the day, but still…) 

On any given day, visitors could watch a barn being "chinked," see sheep's wool carded and then spun into yarn, inhale the spicy scent of gingerbread baking in the Dutch oven, or enjoy an impromptu fiddle and dulcimer session under the shade of a tree.  Visitors came with a wide variety of experiences and questions.  Some recalled their own parents' or grandparents' stories about building a barn from hand-hewn logs. Others had trouble believing the flames in the fireplace were real.

One of the challenges of being a docent was meeting people where they were as learners and then interpreting what they were seeing in a meaningful way. We learned quickly that a good question was far more engaging than a long explanation.  Instead of simply demonstrating a craft or chore, we used the tools and crops and animals as props in a story that unfolded each day in new and interesting way.  Whether we were crushing berries to use to dye yarn or boiling a huge kettle of lard and lye to make soap, we used questions and conversation to draw visitors into a typical day in 1850 in the middle of Iowa.

I have often thought about how being a "pioneer" shaped me.  Certainly it sparked an interest in history and crafts and made me appreciative of the modern conveniences that I might have otherwise taken for granted.  But more than that, I think learning to be an effective docent taught me skills that I would use later as a student, a teacher, and a writer.  "Show, don’t tell" is a good start, but not quite enough.

In order to really guide another's learning, a good docent must help a visitor to connect with the experience and be wrapped in the story. Encouraging a visitor to abandon, if only for a few minutes, the comforts of modern life and imagine himself living on the Iowa plains in a home he built by hand was our goal. 

We weren't trying to teach a crash course in Iowa history.   I, personally, was not presenting myself as an expert on farming! (Almost daily, older visitors, often sporting John Deer caps or Pioneer Seed tee shirts, would educate me on how something was grown or harvested or used before the advent of modern farming.) 

We were creating interest in our daily activities by telling a little, showing a little more, and listening most of all.  By tuning in to our visitors' experience and level of interest, we could effectively interact with them in a way that was meaningful and memorable.

Years later I still look back on that experience as one of the great gifts in my life.  Though I have never had to rely on the pioneer skills that I acquired (but I could whip up a mean batch of turnip stew if I had to), learning how to make a visitor feel welcome, discerning what someone is really interested in learning, and finding effective ways to share information has served me well.