Inquiry and the National Science Education Standards: A Guide for Teaching and Learning (2000)

When I began my three-year masters program, I had several reservations about teaching through inquiry. I thought it would require more time than my typical lecture and laboratory teaching. I also thought it would conflict with the demand for “coverage” of science content. And I didn’t want to leave my “comfort zone” where my students and I generally knew what was expected.

At the same time, I felt that I was not exposing my students to enough of the important and interesting ideas of physics. I had known for years, based on the questions I asked on tests and during classes, that my students weren’t retaining much of anything I “taught.” They seemed to know a lot and understand very little. It was obvious to me that the students were memorizing the terms and equations only long enough to answer questions on a test and then the information vanished.

I gained a number of insights as I tried and refined various methods introduced during my masters program. The program consisted of six-week full-time summer institutes and seminars during the academic year. My first important insight occurred when I was involved in a long-term inquiry at the beginning of the first summer. Being

challenged to ask good questions, to design effective investigations, and to carefully craft our explanations of what we found as we explored the watershed in southern Colorado—these experiences demonstrated the complexity and importance of learning to do science as well as learning about science. Another important step forward came when I appreciated the significance of focusing on the “big ideas” in physics. For example, I had planned to teach a physics unit on energy, and I decided to look more deeply into the subject. In the course of the reading I did as part of the program, I gained a much deeper understanding of the relationships among the storage, transfer, transformations, and conservation of energy. As I reflected on my past teaching, I realized that I had taught this subject in a piecemeal manner, jumping from one topic to the next. I never gave my students this broad vision of physics because I never had it myself.

My greater understanding of energy became the basis for a unit that was, without question, the most effective I had ever taught up to that time. I sought to have my students use inquiry to understand about energy conservation, different kinds of energy, and energy transformation. For example, I used a relatively open-ended laboratory in which I brought in a large “Rube Goldberg” contraption in which various bells and whistles were activated as balls and other devices were in motion. I asked the students to identify some questions they had about what was going on in the contraption related to energy, thinking about ideas of energy conservation, different kinds of energy, and energy transformation that we had been studying. They also identified how they thought they could answer their questions, what experiments they could design, and data they could collect that would provide sufficient evidence to explain what was happening. It was obvious from the high level of student engagement in their investigations and from their performance and feedback that they were making sense of the physics concepts and building their inquiry skills simultaneously. Teaching to the “big ideas” of physics through inquiry also helped me implement my

state’s science content standards, which had been developed to be consistent with the National Science Education Standards. Furthermore, the assessments I gave students at the end of the unit demonstrated to me that they had learned more about energy than when I had taught it in earlier classes.

One of my previous ideas about inquiry was that it consisted mainly of doing laboratory activities. I discovered that, although labs can aid in the process of sense-making, they often don’t because they are either “cookbook” (they don’t allow the students to make choices or judgments) or “confirmatory” (they follow lectures or students’ reading). What I have realized is that the essence of inquiry does not lie in any elaborate, equipment-intensive laboratory exercise. It lies, rather, in the interactions between the student and the materials, as well as in the teacher-student and student-student interactions that occur dozens of times each and every class period.

One way that we learned about student-teacher interactions in my program was through a series of videotapes of teachers. We also were encouraged to try our hand at such behaviors as listening, clarifying statements, and open-ended questioning. I found myself responding to students with statements like, “Tell me more about Y,” “What is the evidence for that conclusion?” and “How did you decide on that explanation over the one you were convinced of yesterday?”

I tried more small-group activities that were structured to encourage the team members to talk, debate, and come up with predictions based on initial observations and with explanations based on evidence. I informally assessed my students’ knowledge almost daily. Frequently, I began lessons with activities to set the context for helping students discuss conceptual ideas and make my presentations more meaningful.

Another major step I took in my growth as a teacher was to begin allowing student questions to influence the curriculum. Instead of always framing the questions myself, I encouraged the students to pose questions that arose in their minds. This idea was a revelation! Listening to the students’ questions has uncovered countless points of confusion that otherwise would have gone completely unrecognized.

As part of my masters program, I decided to monitor how much I was listening. I recorded the amount of time I was talking and the amount of time my students were talking. At first, the proportion of teacher/student talk time was approximately 80/20. By midway through the first semester, this proportion had been exactly reversed. This small piece of research was a turning point in my appreciating the value of teaching through inquiry.

Our professional development program allowed ample time during each of our classes for us to talk with each other about our recent “experiments” in our classrooms. Although the group was quite diverse in backgrounds and grades taught, those conversations were important to my growth and encouraged me to keep trying inquiry approaches. As I reflect on the three years I spent in the program, I know I gained immensely from the other teachers and from the education faculty and scientists with whom we worked closely.

The curriculum used in physics courses for teachers should be in accord with the instructional objectives. If the capacity to teach “hands-on” science is a goal, then teachers need to work through a substantial amount of content in a way that reflects this spirit. However, there is another compelling reason why the choice of curriculum is critical. Teachers often try to implement instructional materials in their classrooms that are very similar to those that they have used in their college courses. Whether intended or not, teaching methods are learned by example. The common tendency to teach physics from the top down, and to teach by telling in lectures, runs counter to the way precollege students (and many university students) learn best. Therefore, courses for precollege teachers should be laboratory-based.

In the curriculum that we have developed and use in our courses for preservice and inservice teachers, all instruction takes place in the laboratory. The students work in small groups with equipment similar to that used in precollege programs. The approach differs from the customary practice of introducing a new topic by stating definitions and assertions. Instead, students are presented with a situation in which the need for a new concept becomes apparent. Starting with their observations, they begin the process of constructing a conceptual model that can account for the phenomenon of interest. Carefully structured questions guide them in formulating operational definitions of important concepts. They begin to think critically about what they observe and learn to ask appropriate questions of their own. As they encounter new situations, the students test their model and find some instances in which their initial model is inadequate and that additional concepts are needed. The students continue testing, extending, and refining the model to the point that they can predict and explain a range of phenomena. This is the heart of the scientific method, a process that must be experienced to be understood.

To illustrate the type of instruction summarized above, here is a specific example based on a topic included in many precollege programs. It describes how we guide

students to develop a conceptual model for a simple dc (direct current) circuit. Mathematics is not necessary; qualitative reasoning is sufficient.

The students begin the process of model-building by trying to light a small bulb with a battery and a single wire. They develop an operational definition for the concept of a complete circuit. Exploring the effect of adding additional bulbs and wires to the circuit, they find that their observations are consistent with the following assumptions: a current exists in a complete circuit and the relative brightness of identical bulbs indicates the magnitude of the current. As the students conduct further experiments (some suggested, some of their own devising), they find that the brightness of individual bulbs depends both on how many are in the circuit and on how they are connected to the battery and to one another. The students are led to construct the concept of electrical resistance and find that they can predict the behavior of many, but not all, simple circuits of identical bulbs. They recognize the need to extend their model beyond the concepts of current and resistance to include the concept of voltage (which will later be refined to potential difference). As bulbs of different resistance and additional batteries are added, the students find that they need additional concepts to account for the behavior of more complicated circuits. They are guided in developing more complex concepts, such as electrical power and energy. Proceeding step-by-step through deductive and inductive reasoning, the students construct a conceptual model that they can apply to predict relative brightness in any circuit consisting of batteries and bulbs.

We have used this guided-inquiry approach with teachers at all educational levels, from elementary through high school. Having become aware of the intellectual demands through their own experience, the teachers recognize that developmental level will determine the amount of model-building that is appropriate for their students. For the teachers, however, the sense of empowerment that results from in-depth understanding generates confidence that they can deal with unexpected classroom situations.

In late spring of my first year of teaching, I was informed that a drop in enrollment would result in the elimination of the 2nd grade position that I held. The good news, however, was that I was welcome to take a newly-created position as the science specialist for grades K-4. Not wanting to relocate and not stopping to consider that my major in French might not have appropriately prepared me for this new position, I

quickly agreed to take it for the following year. The district science supervisor suggested that we start with a couple of Elementary Science Study units, Clay Boats and Primary Balancing. The unit guides and equipment were ordered. I was all set to begin my new teaching role.

Never having had a science lesson in elementary school, I was not predisposed, as I had been with the other subjects, to teach it as I had been taught. In fact, without any real textbook to guide the students, I was left with the materials and a few general instructions in the teacher’s guide. And so it was that my students and I became “explorers of materials.” We had a great time. The students were engaged. They talked a lot about what they were doing and we all asked a lot of questions. But I wanted to do more than just explore and ask questions. I wanted to learn some basic principles and have a clear vision of where we were going. I wanted to lead my students to discover and understand something. But what was it that we should understand? I hadn’t a clue. This is when I first came to recognize that if I were to become a truly effective teacher, I would need scientific skills and understandings that I had not been required to develop during my undergraduate years.

Not long after this recognition of my deficiencies, I happened to glance through the school district’s newsletter, and came across a notice for a Summer Institute in Physics and Physical Science for Elementary Teachers. I applied and was accepted.

The professional development provided by that first summer’s intense coursework was the first meaningful education I had experienced since high school. Nothing I had been exposed to in college had really addressed what I needed to know to guide my students to develop the conceptual understanding and thinking and reasoning skills needed to make sense of the world around them.

I walked away from that summer feeling that my brain had been to boot camp. No course of study, no one teacher had ever demanded so much of me. I had never before been asked to explain my reasoning. A simple answer was no longer sufficient. I had been expected to think about how I came to that answer and what that answer meant. It had been excruciating at times, extricating the complicated and detailed thought processes that brought me to a conclusion, but I found it became easier to do as the summer progressed. I also began to realize that just as important as what I came to understand, was how I came to understand it. Through the process of inquiry, I had come to an understanding of content that I had always felt was beyond me. I wanted to be able to ask the questions that would lead my students to the same kind of understanding. The key to the questions was first understanding the content.

The content had been the focus of the summer institute and as a result I had developed a conceptual understanding of several basic science concepts including balance, mass, and volume. Along with these concepts I had discovered an appreciation for the need to control variables in an experiment. I was now better equipped to take a more critical look at the science units I had used the previous year. I recognized that Clay Boats had probably not been the best choice for a teacher with only a budding understanding of sinking and floating, but Primary Balance seemed to be an appropriate choice since I had explored very similar materials and had some ideas of how I could lead students to discover, through experiments in which they would come to understand the need to control variables, which factors seem to influence balance and which do not.

Now, after many years of professional development in the UW summer institutes, both as a participant and as an instructor, I feel comfortable teaching most, if not all, of the science concepts covered in elementary and middle school. It is an understanding of the content that allows me to teach with confidence units such as electric circuits, magnetism, heat and temperature, and sinking and floating. And although this content knowledge was essential, simply understanding the content did not assure that I could bring my students to an understanding appropriate for them.

How does one begin to develop some expertise in these strategies we call inquiry? For me, I can only suppose that it began by reflecting upon my personal experiences. I don’t believe that this was ever a deliberate exercise on my part until recently. However, in subtle ways, over a period of many years, I began to teach in the way in which I had been taught in the summer institutes.

I know that early on I began to pay attention to the questions that I asked, for the questions stood out in my mind as the tools that, when deftly wielded, resulted in the desired state of understanding in me. I knew, too, that questions would help me to discover the intellectual status of my students. In other words, where they were. Armed with the necessary conceptual understanding, aware of several “pitfalls” (misconceptions) that I had personally encountered, I was prepared to think about questions that would help me find out where I needed to start. I envisioned the terrain between the students and their conceptual understanding. I liken the terrain to an aerial photograph that clearly details all the various roads that lead to the designated destination. It also indicates the “dead ends” and the hazards from which I want to steer my cover me with white

students clear. I am well acquainted with this terrain, because I have traversed it on more than one occasion myself, and have conversed with others who have, perhaps, taken a different path to the same destination. It is in this way that I can offer guidance to my students, so that they may not wander too far from a fruitful path. I want them to encounter some difficulties and to resolve conflicts and inconsistencies, and to grow intellectually from these experiences. But I do not want them to wander aimlessly or to plunge headlong over a cliff. I want them to arrive at the destination relatively unscathed. For this reason it is crucial, that like a vigilant parent, I continue to offer support in their intellectual insecurity. I question and listen carefully. I scan the territory to find where the explanations and responses to my questions place them, and then plan my next strategy to keep them moving ahead. I recall from my own experience as a learner that sometimes this next strategy is a question such as, “What would you need to do to find out?” Sometimes it is a suggestion of some experiment to try. And sometimes it is a comment such as, “Why don’t you think about that for a bit.” It has only been through many years of trying these strategies out that I have learned to gauge which tactic is appropriate at what time and with which student.

There are, of course, other considerations in the teaching of inquiry-based science to elementary students. Engagement has never been a problem for the students with whom I have worked. Science is naturally engaging. Developmental appropriateness is another matter. I have come to a much clearer recognition of what will “fly” and what will not as a result of the research-based curriculum I worked through in the summer institutes. These materials were carefully designed to build conceptual understanding in logical, sequential steps. You do not, for instance, begin to think about why things sink or float without first developing an understanding of what we mean by mass, and what we mean by volume, in terms of concrete operational definitions. Only then can one begin to think about how these two variables may influence sinking and floating.

In summary, the most important step for me in becoming a more effective teacher of science was gaining a sound understanding of the subject matter content. It was equally important that this content was learned in an environment of inquiry-based instruction. It was then necessary to reflect on my experience as a learner so that I could put into practice what had been modeled for me. Finally, I must add that it is essential to take a critical look at what we are doing and to evaluate what is working and what is not. If what we are doing does not result in a better understanding of the content by our students, it could be that the problem lies with us and not with them.

How do I design a classroom environment that facilitates children’s efforts to conduct investigations? How do I behave to promote, support, and observe inquiry?

I had been teaching kindergarten for many years before coming to a two-week workshop on light and color at a prominent science museum. I was ready to learn a new way to teach science. I was convinced that traditional approaches were not giving my students a sense of the skills they would need to succeed in later science courses and in a technologically advanced world.

But instead of learning about teaching, we began as learners of science. First the instructors set the stage for a long-term inquiry. We played with different ways to mix colored pigments and colored light. I had always believed in hands-on activities for my students, but I had never had the opportunity to engage in a long term investigation of my own — I had only taken high school laboratory classes where you filled in the blanks on worksheets. What a surprise doing an inquiry turned out to be! I thought I knew about hands-on science, but I discovered that there is big difference between inquiry and hands-on.

From the starting points provided to us by the staff, we came up with a series of questions that would guide our investigations. The staff told us that, like scientists, we might take some twists and turns, but that the time spent on our investigation would

lead us to new understandings about light and color and also about the process of inquiry.

In partnership with two other teachers from my district, we choose our own question to investigate. We all had been intrigued with an exhibit called colored shadows; it didn’t make sense to us that colored lights (red, blue, green, etc.) could cast different colored shadows (yellow, magenta, cyan, etc.). We figured that if we could explain it to ourselves, then we could explain it to others and really understand the phenomenon.

At first we re-created all the colors of the light spectrum and then determined what shadows each created. As predicted, our investigation took many twists and turns, but each gave us a new piece of the puzzle. For example, with staff assistance, we made visits to other exhibits, one of which was color removal, a demonstration of how removing colors (by putting colored filters in front of a light source) changed the light that reached our eye. We also read about the frequencies of visible light and about how the eye perceives those frequencies. If we had more time we could have gone in many more directions. As it was, we felt we had learned a tremendous amount of science content and also how to go about answering our own questions.

As we worked, we talked with other investigators, shared ideas, and began to understand how important it is to collaborate. When the time came to share our inquiries, we were amazed to see how far our group had come in a few short days and how well our investigation meshed with the other inquiries into light and color.

As elementary school teachers, most of us had never undertaken independent investigations in any of the sciences. We felt proud of our ability to pick a question and pursue it to some conclusions. In addition, by experiencing inquiry firsthand we came to appreciate some of its critical pieces, such as the power of questioning at every stage. Establishing a question to pursue at first was important, but so were other questions, such as, how can you explain what you observe? What evidence do you have that your explanation is a good one? Is there an alternative explanation you can think of and why is your other one more credible? We were given models, materials, and subtle guidance for how to inquire. We learned important scientific content by experimenting, interacting with scientists, and consulting a variety of resources, including the exhibits at the museum. We gained an understanding about the complex interplay of color addition (light) and color subtraction (pigment) and about what causes the colors that we see. We tasted firsthand the sense of competence and confidence that comes with being a self-reliant learner.

After my investigation into colored light at the science museum, I began to consider seriously how I might begin to create a classroom environment focused on inquiry for my kindergarten class. I began to understand that inquiry has a structure that I could use to enable my students to ask and answer their own questions about light and color. That was four years ago, and each year I get a little better at understanding how kindergartners do inquiry.

I now have several light sources and lenses that can be tinted different colors as regular learning stations. Students investigate light and color all year long, with many opportunities to revisit their work. Some years the students call themselves the “Rain

bow Kids” because we typically start our work with light using prisms. The National Science Education Standards call for young children to gain an understanding of the properties of objects and materials as well as of light. We pursue these understandings in part through our mixing of different colored paints and then the mixing of colored lights. Each year the students make books of their experiences.

One of my particular interests in the past four years has been to encourage my students to develop their language skills using science as the subject of talk. At the workshop I learned the importance of learning how to ask questions, work with materials, and listen. I begin each year by modeling these skills. For example, I show them how to ask questions using prisms and shadows as a starting point.

I have noticed that many kindergartners do not have the language skills to express their questions, but that they often ask questions with their bodies by moving objects around. I help this ability along. I model the beginning of questions by saying: “I’m going to think out loud now — I’m wondering how I can find out if this prism will work if I move it to this side of the window — that’s asking a question.” As students are working with the mirrors and light, I model how to ask their questions. For example, I’ll say: “I see by the way you are moving that mirror that you are wondering, ‘Can I bend the light?’” I copy down students’ questions and post them for all to see.

I allow time for free exploration with materials in a safe environment, so that mirrors and prisms are as much regular parts of the classroom as are paints and sand. Now that I have learned how to set up the classroom environment, I am trying harder to listen to their questions, watch their actions, and gently guide small groups into planning and conducting longer investigations.

Looking back, I can see how my own experience with inquiry has shaped how I work with my students. I want them to experience the curiosity, success, and perseverance that I felt. I know that they can accomplish much with the right kind of teaching and that their feelings of competence grow with each step along the way. I feel that I am helping students to learn for themselves to become independent thinkers, a skill that will serve them well in their future schooling. And they will never look at light, shadow, and color the same way again.

I used to lack confidence about teaching science, largely because my own science background was limited. I tended to put my efforts into teaching literacy and numeracy. So when our school decided to adopt a new “hands-on inquiry” science program, I was anxious.

All teachers, plus the principal and librarian, were expected to participate in four professional development sessions: two days at the beginning and midway through term one, and a half day at the beginnings of terms two and three. Between sessions, we would teach one assigned unit (there were three per grade level) with the support of colleagues in the building.

Jenny, the district professional developer, had organized my school and three other schools to do the course together. She began the first session with an overview of the course and the curriculum materials. For each grade level there was a teacher’s book (and a student book) that focused a series of units, each on a major concept and a major skill. We participated in a number of activities that helped us see what was in the materials and experience some of the active investigations on which they were based.

In the afternoon, all of the fifth-grade teachers met together. We reviewed the first lesson for the unit on animal behavior that we would be teaching that term, viewed and discussed a video of a few minutes of teacher-student interactions during the lesson, and looked at some student papers in which they responded to the question about the topic of the unit, which focused on the behavior of mealworms: “What do you know and what questions do you have about mealworms?” We had a wonderful discussion about what the unit was designed to teach students and how the combination of materials, student activities, and teacher-student interactions could best help them achieve the goals. Then we were each asked to choose a lesson that interested us from early in the unit and come prepared after teaching it to lead an in-depth discussion among the teachers at our next session three weeks later. We were to bring some “artifact” to focus discussion — for example, some student work, a video or audiotape of a teaching episode, or some student assessments. For example, I chose the lesson on how mealworms behave toward light — whether they move toward it, away from it, or are neutral to it. I brought in an audiotape of a small group discussion in which the students were puzzling over the mealworms’ behavior when they were placed different distances from a bright lamp. The students’ data indicated that the mealworms closest to the lamp moved away from it, but those within about a meter moved towards it. One student noted that it may be the heat that was influencing the mealworms’ behavior, not the light: another student said that they had too many things in the experiment that were varying and asked how they could determine the influence of light only, if lights were always hot. Another student looked around the room and located a relatively cool light and so they together devised a way to distinguish between the influences of light and heat on the mealworm behavior. It was a remarkable example

of students solving a problem and in the process learning not only about the behavior of mealworms but also developing an appreciation for controlling variables in an investigation. We teachers talked about whether I could have done anything differently in both setting up the activity for the students or in my questioning of them during their investigation. It was very stimulating to be able to “stop action” on a lesson, to clarify learning goals, and to examine the different possible consequences of different teaching behaviors.

We learned a lot from the experience of sharing our work with students. Working together, we figured out how to use the set of lessons to stimulate, respond to, and draw out the students’ thinking. By the end of the session, we had a good idea about how to complete the unit in the next few weeks, how to teach the full unit next time, and also how to teach the other two units.

While we were teaching, we had support from our school’s science coordinator, who had taken an in-depth one-week summer session on the curriculum and participated in monthly follow-up seminars with the other coordinators. Jenny had a strong science background and had previously pilot tested the curriculum materials we were learning to use. She had release time to help with the equipment or any problems we were having.

When we met at the beginning of term two, we again had much to share. Although each of us had some problems, we all were fortified by the positive way our students had responded to the activities. I know that I learned even more science that term than my students. I also adapted cooperative learning to use in my mathematics program, with much success.

In the third professional development session that preceded our second unit, we divided responsibility for studying and presenting to other teachers one lesson from the

new unit that we would teach that term. The unit was about density and focused on sinking and floating objects. As we shared our thinking about each of the lessons and developed our plans, we realized how much more careful we were being to identify the outcomes we wanted for our students. In some cases, we needed to problem-solve with Jenny about how to be certain that our students had learned these outcomes. The materials addressed both inquiry outcomes as well as science subject matter, so we paid attention to both.

For the final session of the year, Jenny brought in a videotape of part of her lesson on sinking and floating. The students were investigating which objects sank and which floated, and they were developing their explanations of why. They seemed to have concluded that when air is inside an object (e.g., a boat or holes in a log) it would float and when there’s no air (e.g., a penny, a chunk of clay), it wouldn’t. Jenny was stuck. She didn’t know what to do next. She wondered how she could help her students get to the “right” explanation when their explanations were all over the map.

We had a long and thoughtful discussion of this problem. We needed to consult our teacher’s guide to understand density better. We also needed to determine what the students’ observations and explanations told us about what they knew and where they needed to go. We asked, Are these students old enough to explain something they can’t really see? Are they really basing their explanations on the evidence they have? Have they considered enough of the explanations being posed by others? Have they listened and tried to understand how those explanations differ from their own? Can they explain in turn why they weren’t swayed to other explanations? At what point should I as the teacher come in and tell them which is the scientifically correct explanation, and what might be the consequences of doing so?

It was a terrific discussion and emphasized for us how important it is to consider our students’ thinking, our role as teachers in building on their ideas and helping them to learn, and how important it is to increase their inquiry abilities so they can investigate more carefully and discover important science ideas from the National Science Education Standards.

Last summer I had my first experience in doing real scientific inquiry. I signed up for a three-week institute sponsored by a nearby federal energy laboratory because I had been assigned to teach environmental science and had never done so before. It gave me the opportunity to learn more science as well as how to teach science.

Over the three-week period, we were immersed in four “scenarios”— problems that required us to use a wide variety of investigative skills and integrate knowledge from a number of scientific disciplines. I’ll describe just one of those scenarios here: the environmental geology scenario. The program staff loaded us into two field vehicles, with one geologist per vehicle, and we drove to a ravine where a farmer had dumped many kinds of waste, from diapers to leftover herbicide. The question posed to us was: what is the impact of this kind of dumping? A geologist asked: “What do you think you would need to know to address the question?” We suggested many questions about the soil, water, the underlying rock, the nature of the waste material, and so on. We then got back into the vehicles to do a thorough tour of the land.

We began 38 miles from the dump site and learned — through several stops and through reading materials provided to us — about the economy of the area, the rock deposits, and the water diverted for agriculture from the Grand Coulee Dam. We stopped near a roadcut and were given a handout with a cross-section of the area. A geologist asked: “Why is water seeping out between the two formations that we can observe in this roadcut?” We discussed possible explanations, and then the geologist talked about the difference in “hydraulic conductivity” between the two formations. We went on to another roadcut through the same formation and the geologist asked us to predict how water applied at the surface might move through the deposits. We came up with a couple of explanations and argued about the nature of evidence for each. We decided not to try to resolve our differences until we had more data.

After several more stops, we began to observe differences in the soils around the formations. We decided to take soil samples that we could analyze back in the laboratory. When we reached the dump site again, the geologists asked us to describe the general topography of the land and compare it to the contour lines on a topographic map. We investigated vegetation changes, what these changes suggest about water movement in the area, and the kinds of sediment predicted to occur in this location. We then scattered around the dump site and took both soil and water samples, marking clearly on the map where they were taken from.

We spent the next day in the laboratory testing water and soil samples and working with our descriptions, maps, and calculations to address the primary question (as well as many other questions that arose over the course of the day in the field). With input from the geologists and a laboratory chemist, we formulated answers to the question about the impact of dumping. We made predictions about where runoff from the site would go, how fast it would move, and how we could test our predictions. In this way, I feel that we developed a keen understanding of the scientific ideas behind our observations, analyses, and conclusions.