I recently read a book with my kids called The Observologist - A Handbook for Mounting Very Small Scientific Expeditions by Giselle Clarkson. The book emphasizes noticing the small details we often walk right by. I love the idea of observology because, in today’s fast-paced world, it asks us to slow down and cultivate focused curiosity using all our senses. These moments can feel rare, but with deliberate intention, they’re available—and nature is the perfect canvas for practicing this mindset.
I love the idea of observology because, in today’s fast-paced world, it asks us to slow down and cultivate focused curiosity using all our senses.
That mindset came in handy on a recent hike I was leading at our Oppenheim Woods preserve in Kosciusko County, Indiana. It was a chilly, windy morning, and not much was moving. We could have speed-walked the trail and kept discoveries to a minimum, but instead we became “Observologists.” We slowed down, investigating micro-movements, the undersides of leaves, and the forest debris underfoot. Once we dialed in our approach, every next step offered something new to see. We admired the golden tips of beech buds, the internal workings of pawpaw flowers, and the way trilliums shift color in a gradient from white to pink—each one worthy of curious attention.
About halfway around the loop, the sun broke through, and insect life emerged to catch the warmth. I’d brought my camera outfitted with a macro lens specifically to look for bugs, so this was perfect. We started with crane flies and an orchard orbweaver, then came across a wonderful nomad bee as it warmed up for the day.
Finding the dark-spotted palthis moth felt like the embodiment of what it means to be an observologist—and of the art of noticing.
Just down the trail from there, I gasped and called the others over: I’d found a moth. I had to point it out with my finger hovering just inches above it because, at a casual glance, it looked like a piece of leaf debris. But after taking a few photos, zooming in revealed the intricacies of the dark-spotted palthis moth. Finding it felt like the embodiment of what it means to be an observologist—and of the art of noticing.
We left that 65-acre preserve feeling like we’d been immersed in a different world. Our world is full of hurry. But if you slow down and look closely, there’s an expedition waiting on the next trail.