9 November 2013
I got word yesterday that the fisher, a medium-sized mustelid (Like a marten, an animal that I’ve seen once up in the Adirondacks of New York), has begun re-colonizing wild parts of Virginia.
This is pretty exciting news – a friend from high school shared the image below with me:
That’s from a wildlife camera on my friend’s family’s land in northwestern Shenandoah County, in the Cedar Creek Valley. That’s about ten miles from my place, as the raven flies. The state’s Department of Game and Inland Fisheries has confirmed the identity of the fisher in my friend’s photo. They have an information campaign going on:
The DGIF has confirmed fisher sightings in Frederick, Shenandoah, Page, Rockingham, and Botetourt Counties. We could very well have these critters here on our land in the Fort Valley – a tantalizing prospect!
I just purchased and deployed my own wildlife camera; I’m looking forward to sharing images – perhaps even images of fishers! – in the months and years to come.
8 November 2013
Marble below, schist above; the Appalachian mountains in miniature…
A beautiful specimen – Wish I knew more about it. Bill Burton gave it to Alan Pitts to give to me. I don’t think any of us know where it came from, beyond “the leftovers pile in the saw room at USGS headquarters”… I’ve put in some elbow grease lately polishing it up. Hopefully soon I can share a macro GigaPan of it with you. For now, this will have to do…
7 November 2013
I had a conversation the other day with a former undergraduate student (now two years past the acquisition of a B.S.) who was considering graduate school. I shared some advice with the student, emboldened by the fact that previous students I’ve shared it with said it was very useful and helped clarify their thinking. And as I was relating it again (for the fifth time in as many years), it occurred to me that I could (and should) put it out there on this blog, so that it might experience some wider circulation, and thereby increase its utility. I offer this advice because it seems like critical information that most of the undergrads I’ve met are unaware of.
Caveat: The advice below is based on my experiences, and may not be applicable to everyone’s particular situation. Also: I’m a community college professor who supervises zero grad students, and who “only” has an M.S. in geology, not a Ph.D. So you should bear those comments in mind when you read what I’ve written below. More experienced professors who have active research programs might be able to add to, or contradict, some of the advice I offer here. Talk to them and see what they say.
First up: Graduate school isn’t like undergraduate college, and neither is applying for it.
The point of graduate school is to train you to be a researcher, first and foremost. You will get personal mentoring in the development of research questions, and the technical assessment of those questions. You’ll also get the opportunity to communicate your science orally and in writing. At the same time, most programs will have you take some classes, a few per semester for the first couple of years. The classes will go into geological topics in more depth than you did as an undergrad. But if your experience is like mine was, then you’ll essentially be “mining” these classes for tidbits, ideas, and techniques that can be used in your own independent research efforts. Grad school is less about breadth, and more about depth.
So the goal is different, and it’s centered around your development as a researcher. Though you’ll have a committee of multiple faculty members advising your project, the lion’s share of the advising is done by your adviser, a single individual who will guide the most important part of your grad school experience. Because this person will serve in such a pivotal, central role, you should be sure to find someone who you like/respect/admire. You should find someone you want to learn from. You should find someone who you get along with.
So: How do you find this person?
Short answer: By any means necessary. You need to do some searching. This searching can take many forms. It could be reading journals and noting the authors of articles that catch your eye as particularly interesting or innovative (or, I suppose, with implications that could be lucrative). You could go to talks at a national meeting such as AGU or GSA, or a regional event, like (for people in my area) the Virginia Geological Field Conference or the annual “Geology of Virginia” Symposium at the DGMR in Charlottesville. Find people who articulate an interesting vision of some scientific question. The particulars of the research are less important, I think, than finding a viable personality to guide you along. Perhaps you could ask trusted faculty at your undergraduate institution or co-workers if you are lucky enough to have a job or internship during your undergrad years. See who they would recommend – they have a lot more experience than you do, and they might have some good ideas of who’s doing splashy research, or who just got funded (see below) and might have room for new graduate students.
Next up: start talking to multiple potential advisers.
E-mail them. Call them. Walk up to them after talks at conferences. Strike up a conversation on a field trip. Ask your trusted undergrad professor make an introduction on your behalf. Get the ball rolling.
Go into the conversation prepared: make sure you’ve at least taken a look at their university website, to get a sense of the scope of their research. Ideally, read a few of their papers. Yes, I get that you won’t understand everything in the paper, yet. That’s what grad school is for – but you’re smart enough to get a general sense of what sorts of problems interest your potential mentor, and how they go about addressing those problems. Are they field oriented? Do they do lab experiments? Do they run computer models? There’s a lot of different ways to do geology; some of which will be familiar to you, some of which won’t. Some will be stuff you yourself are attracted to, some might not be. But you won’t know (and therefore you’ll be at a conversational disadvantage) until you do some background reading. Do your homework, in other words. Be prepared.
What should you say? If you’re cold-calling them or cold-e-mailing them, start off by saying who you are, briefly summarizing your background (i.e. “I just earned a B.S. in geology from Localville College”), and how you became familiar with their work. State plainly and clearly that you are looking into graduate school opportunities, and ask if they might have any openings in the years to come. Specify whether you think you’re interested in M.S. or Ph.D. programs*. Tell them how to contact you (phone, email, good hours to chat, etc.). Attach a résumé (also called a “C.V.”, short for curriculum vitae, which is basically Latin for résumé, or maybe “résumé” is French for C.V.?). Be sure to name your C.V. file with your name, like this: Callan-Bentley-CV.pdf, not merely CV.pdf. After all, the professor you’re writing to is going to be getting a lot of these inquiries, and you can make their lives easier by practicing good file naming procedure. You can also annoy them by failing to practice good file naming procedure, but since they potentially hold your future in their hands, you probably don’t want to do that.
* Some graduate programs admit B.S. students directly into Ph.D. programs, without the “stepping stone” of an M.S. in between. Ask what the rules are at each different graduate program you investigate. There are pros and cons to going into a Ph.D. right off the bat. It’s more efficient if you ultimately want to end up as a doctor of geology, but it’s a pretty big “bite” to take in when you have limited experience self-directing huge, complicated projects.
Also: pro tip – Proofread that résumé, that e-mail, and anything else written before you send it. Seriously. Typos happen, but smart people will go and look for them. Lazy, non-detail-oriented, or harried people don’t. Typos say “I’m lazy or not detail-oriented, or I’m in a rush,” and none of those are messages you want to send to the person who might help sculpt you into the geoscientist that you want to be. Some readers will judge writers pretty harshly if they write sloppily. So make an effort to present a clean front.
Great. So now you’re talking to several potential advisers. Hopefully you can meet with some of them in person. This is easier to do if you are talking with scientists in your area of the world, or if you set up an in-person meeting at a conference. The latter is probably your best “bang for the buck,” considering that a national conference like GSA or AGU draws a huge percentage of the nation’s geoscientists: a lot of the people you want to talk to are going to be in the same building for several days in a row. Capitalize on that. It’s a lot cheaper than taking multiple flights all over the country to meet with potential advisers and visiting their departments.
Ask about (a) living in the area where the university is located, (b) ask to talk with current grad students in the department, or in that professor’s lab, (c) support for graduate students (see below), and (d) what their philosophy of mentoring is like. Ask about (e) coursework, and what courses are “standards” in the department, and which courses they themselves teach.
So then there’s the question of costs: Paying for graduate school: Don’t.
You should not pay to go to graduate school in geology. Instead, you should get paid to go to school. Most programs will offer graduate ‘assistantships,’ which is basically a formal way of saying that they will pay you to go to school. There are two typical flavors of assistantship: a Research Assistantship (RA) and a Teaching Assistantship (TA). Both come with a tuition waiver (meaning you don’t have to pay for classes) and a cost-of-living stipend (meaning you can buy food and pay rent, but you won’t get rich).
The RA will go to a graduate student in the lab of a professor who has grant money. These professors have successfully written grants to fund their research, and one of the “line items” for which they request money is the funding of graduate student stipends. This is a standard thing that professors do – when they pitch a research initiative to a funder like the National Science Foundation (NSF) or private industry, they ask for money for research travel (if it’s a field project), equipment, special analyses (e.g., uranium-dating of zircons), conference travel, publication costs, and students. So what does an RA have to do in exchange for their free 2 to 5 years of grad school? Basically, research. And if it’s lined up right, it’s the same research that will be part of their thesis (M.S.) or dissertation (Ph.D.). Bonus: two birds with one stone!
TAs don’t come from the supervising professor, but from the geology department. The department needs people to teach undergraduate labs, or run reviews / discussion sessions for undergraduate classes, and grad students are an easy choice for them. So basically, in addition to doing your own research and taking classes, you’re going to have an extra duty that an RA won’t have: you’re going to have to teach. This means preparing for your weekly class or classes, conducting the class, and doing grading afterward. It’s more work, and so a lot of grad students want to steer clear of a TA and hope for an RA instead. My perspective on this issue is a little bit different: I hoped for a TA, and got one, and I’m very glad I did. My goal when I went to grad school was to end up teaching introductory geology at a community college (exactly what ended up happening!), and so I wanted (a) teaching experience at the college level (for myself), and (b) evidence of teaching experience at the college level (for potential employers). Yes, it’s more work, but you gain additional skills. You’re going to grad school to learn, and you know you’re going to have to work hard, so why not pick up another skill set while you’re at it?
Furthermore, I think a fundamental flaw with modern geology graduate school is that it emphasizes research at the expense of everything else, at least as it’s formally set up. A good adviser will go beyond that with their students, and guide them towards writing cleaner papers, delivering more effective talks, managing their time, networking with fellow professionals, and so on. But really, there are very few programs that formally place an emphasis on effective teaching. The assumption is that a research-savvy Ph.D. will also be able to teach, but I’m pretty sure we all know that to be baloney. Both you and I have had professors who were talented researchers who could teach well, and we’ve both had others that gave awful classes. So there’s something screwy with the way the academic system works now, and you’re the solution. If you’re going into academia for your career, use graduate school as an opportunity to learn how to teach as well as an opportunity to learn how to research. If enough of the rising generation of geoscientists embrace thoughtful educational practice as a valid use of their time, then eventually the departments they comprise will see teaching success on equal footing with research success. Once that idea is institutionalized (in tenure decisions, for instance), hopefully the “crappy professor” phenomenon will decline.
An additional “pro” to consider for the TA as compared to the RA is this: research assistantships are tied to specific projects and specific grants. If you get into the weeds and decide your project is not for you, then you don’t get to change your project. It’s “take it or leave it.” On the other hand, a teaching assistantship is project-agnostic. The support for the graduate student isn’t linked to any particular grant or study. So a person goes to grad school, starts one thing, realizes it’s not for them, and then, if they’re a TA, they can switch to something else in the same department. It’s trickier for an RA to do that.
Okay, now what?
You’ve gathered information, gotten a sense of which advisers would probably work well with you, who has attractive amounts of money to offer, which departments have good student support, which institutions you want to be associated with, and maybe you’ve started forming a vision of what it would be like to live and work in Place X or Town Y for several years while you professionalize yourself. Now you apply to grad school. This is the first formal, official thing you’ve done in the whole process. You’ll probably have to take the GREs, and submit undergraduate transcripts, and stuff like that. Then you wait.
At some point, all the professors in each department to which you have applied will gather for a meeting. They will cluster around a table and review applications to their program. You want to have an advocate at that table. At least one (preferably more) of the professors needs to have the information and motivation to speak up on your behalf. You want someone to say “I spoke to Sally, and she seems like a great candidate,” or “I met Bill at a conference last week, and I think he would be a good choice for my petroleum research group.” If the professor has money to support you as an RA, they will say that at this meeting, and the decision is done: “I’d like to have Ian in my lab.” If your project isn’t funded, then it gets competitive: there are only so many TA spots available, after all. This is when it really helps to have some professor making the case about why you should be one of the lucky recipients. In the pile alongside your application will be the applications of people who have applied to grad school as if it were undergrad — that is to say, without talking to anyone first. Those people may have higher GRE scores or a better undergraduate GPA than you, but the personal connection with potential advisers carries more weight. Just like you wanting to know your adviser before you commit to 2+ years under their gaze, the professors also want to have some quality control on the students who will be enacting their research vision. A professor wants grad students they can trust, not “unknown quantities” who have applied without talking to them first. If they know you and like you, they’re more likely to speak up for you in that moment of critical decision-making.
And then what?
Then they make you an offer. If you’re a smart, charismatic student with a solid academic history who has fostered a series of exploratory relationships with potential advisers at different programs across the country, hopefully you’ll get multiple offers of fully-funded graduate school. I would encourage you to wait until all the offers come in before making any decisions. The departments may pressure you to make a decision quickly, but you owe it to yourself to wait until you know all your options before committing to one. The ball’s in your court now!
Good luck. I hope this was useful. If you have additional queries (or additional advice to offer), the comments are below…
6 November 2013
Check out the scene at Natural Bridge in Yoho National Park, British Columbia, Canada:
Don’t confuse this “Natural Bridge” with the one in Virginia. Here, in the western Canadian Rockies, the structural geology is much better. You may recall that I’ve previously featured outcrops from nearby this site as a Friday fold.
It’s a great place for examining bedding / cleavage relationships in the rocks. Here’s the previous picture, annotated:
…It’s a broad synform, with a cleavage fan.
Another scene, close by, in the same rocks:
Another nice well-developed expression of cleavage overprinting bedding:
Here’s a bed that has begun to buckle (note the small wrinkles with axes perpendicular to compression), but not yet cleaved so nicely as the strata in the previous pictures:
Finally, a conjugate pair of faults disrupting bedding in a nearby outcrop (also only very lightly cleaved):
I’m looking forward to returning to this site next summer on my Canadian Rockies field course. We are accepting applications now, if you’re interested in joining us. Know any great students who would benefit from this trip? Please pass the information on to them!
5 November 2013
Last week on the flight to and from Denver, I consumed (via audio book, freely downloaded from my public library system) the 2004 microhistory Coal: A Human History, by Barbara Freese. It’s light on the geology, and heavy on the historical implications of coal. As with many of these sorts of books, it’s basically a complication of related nonfictional explications of topics of diverse scope, all of which have a connection to a single subject, in this case, coal. Labor unions? Trains? Manifest Destiny? Canals? Check, check, check, check.
The cultural connotations were interesting to me. Some people read their god’s beneficence in coal’s energy storage and ability to warm. Others read the punishment of their god in the hellish conditions of the coal mine – the earthbound damnation of people – or in the intense smog that resulted from unregulated coal burning in dense urban settings. (One particularly fascinating passage detailed “The Black Fog” of London, wherein a temperature inversion trapped an ever-thickening wad of coal smoke in The Big Smoke over the course of a week.) In the introduction to the book, Freese makes a telling comparison between oil and coal in terms of the way we perceive them. “Striking oil” is an expression of luck, while if you’re a bad (Christian) kid, you’ll get a disappointing lump of coal in your stocking. It’s glamor vs. poverty.
Before reading this book, I had not realized that it took a different kind of stove to effectively burn anthracite coal, as opposed to bituminous coal. U.S. cities would specialize in one or the other. New York was an anthracite town, while Pittsburgh was a bituminous borough. There were tribal and practical tensions that resulted, of course: people will find any doggone excuse to treat each other inhumanely.
Freese is a lawyer, and so she brings a lawyerly perspective to the book. She recounts an early case in Newcastle-upon-Tyne, for example about who exactly owned the coal in the ground. These are the legal precedents that wrought the system we have today, and I found it interesting –to a point– to examine these historical case studies.
She also brings some medical expertise to bear. I was fascinated to learn about the numerous connections between skin diseases and coal. “Carbuncle,” for instance, is a term meaning “small ember,” so named for the resemblance of those skin irritations to glowing embers. Along similar lines, the word “anthrax” apparently comes from the Greek for coal, and the buboes of the bubonic plague (black swellings of the lymph nodes) were repeatedly compared by observers as looking like coals. Again – these are all negative connotations.
One thing I appreciated about the book is that Freese grants no editorial concessions to science deniers (you’ll recall this was a particular beef of mine with Simon Winchester’s Atlantic), either with regard to climate change or evolution. She’s very even-handed but firmly matter of fact. She has no truck with such irrational fantasies.
Climate change is where her interest in the topic of coal began – as an attorney for the state of Minnesota as they grappled with the legal math of independently assigning a greenhouse “cost” to various fossil fuels. Her journey into coal traverses hundreds of millions of years and the modern globe, but focuses mainly on 1700s and 1800s England, 1800s and 1900s America, and present-day and future China. The latter is explored in a travelogue sort of style in the book’s final chapter.
If your job or hobby is coal-related, you’ll have to read this book. If coal is merely a side interest, then it’s not as essential. It held my attention, but really “only just.” A lukewarm review, overall.
4 November 2013
Here’s a close-up of today’s macrobug: Hard to tell what it is from this close in…
It’s a beetle grub of some kind.
Notice that it’s lying on its back, with its dorsal surface down and its ventral surface facing the sky.
This is actually the way this thing moves – rather than crawling, it undulates on its back, and moves forward (toward the head) that way. I see them crossing the road every so often.
I wonder: Why did the backstroking grub cross the road?
Ponder that on this lovely Monday!
1 November 2013
At the GSA booth of Kansas State University, they had some nice specimens of rock on display. Here’s an example of a fold that caught my eye: rhyolite (flow banding, I presume) from the Owyhee Mountains:
According to the gentleman manning the booth, the sample belongs to Dr. Matt Brueske.
As soon as I got back from GSA, I had to run two field trips, back to back. Both are the same trip: my Historical Geology field trip to the Massanutten Synclinorium. Here’s yesterday’s crew perched on a moderately-dipping slab of Massanutten Sandstone along Passage Creek:
Today, it’s the same routine all over again, though the weather ain’t as purty…
Here’s Friday’s group at one of the four Veach Gap anticlines:
29 October 2013
One thing I got out of reading (listening to) Atlantic, by Simon Winchester, was a recommendation to read a classic story of adventure: Joshua Slocum’s Sailing Alone Around the World. As you might suspect, it’s an account of Slocum’s solo trip sailing his small boat, the Spray, around the world. He was the first person to accomplish this feat. The book, I was delighted to find, is in the public domain, and so was available as a free download from Project Gutenberg. I used the Overdrive app to read it on my iPad. I also use Overdrive to listen to audiobooks that I can download from my public library’s website. It’s proving to be a most useful app.
So, as for the book: Slocum builds the Spray himself, and then sails it around the world, and has a lot of fun doing it. His writing is a wry delight – much is tongue-in-cheek observations about his own surreal situation or societal mores, or else it’s simple, heartfelt reflections on the joys of being at sea, of exploring, of solving problems. Storms rage, wildlife visits, he navigates port bureaucracy and conversation with natives and colonists alike. It’s not a long book, and it’s mostly quite interesting. And you can’t beat the price. If you’re into travelogues as a genre, or if you enjoy sailing, I’d recommend it.
28 October 2013
These annual meetings of the Geological Society of America seem to fly by faster and faster. I’ve found that, through the years and as my career has developed, that I have less and less time for attending talks or contemplating research presented on posters. Instead, I spend my time sharing my own work, supporting students, networking and catching up with colleagues, and attending meetings for various groups and projects. Less absorption, in other words, and more activity.
As soon as I stepped off the plane Saturday, I headed straight for the Tivoli Student Center on the Auroria campus – a multi-college shared campus downtown, not too far from the convention center. It’s an old converted brewery, which gives it a really cool outside appearance, and a labyrinthine interior – it’s one of those buildings with short little staircases connecting proper “floors” to other levels, between the main floors. There, in the short course on student success at two-year colleges, I found a who’s who of the two year college geoscience scene – many familiar faces and old friends. Over the course of the day, I got to meet some new people, too, including Alan Cutler of Montgomery College in Maryland, a compatriot on the DC-Metro geology scene who I’ve heard a lot about, but had never previously met. Several people came up to me to express their appreciation for the SmartFigures that I produced last year for the 11th edition of Tarbuck and Lutgens’ Earth. As far as the actual content of the short course, I got some new insights into math anxiety, supporting veteran students, and even how the principles of group therapy can be applied to the classroom. Many of my colleagues are dabbling with exciting new pedagogical techniques, and it’s a key benefit of attending sessions like this to get exposure to (a) those ideas and (b) the fact that other people are actually doing them now.
In the latter portion of the session, I thought about a particular problem that I would like to see solved in my classes, and found myself mulling over the lack of racial and ethnic diversity in the geosciences. I came up with an action plan that’s more exploratory than definitive, so while it’s not as well-delineated as I would like, I feel like I’ve got some clear starting steps I can take to move forward.
As an aside, I had a conversation last night about the issue of diversity in the geosciences. One of my conversants raised the question: why are we as Americans so hung up about race? This person had spent time overseas, and remarked how unusual the U.S. custom of constantly assessing race is. Why should we be pushing for increased racial or ethnic or gender diversity, the thinking went. Why not just let people do whatever they want to do? While I think the ultimate point of this observation – that race is a valueless human construct – is entirely valid, that doesn’t mean that racism isn’t real. Inequality is still demonstrably is a major force in our society, and therefore helps steer the course of individuals’ lives, whether they want to be steered or not. I guess my thinking in response is that the point of making an effort to increase the number of students and professionals from underrepresented groups is not an end in itself. The point is to remove (or at least, counteract) those societal currents that push people where they don’t want to go. If they don’t want to be a geoscientist, fine. But if they do want to be a geoscientist, then I want to make sure they have that opportunity.
That evening, I made an appearance at the big “icebreaker” reception, but because I was hauling a huge bag (my luggage), I didn’t feel like I could mix and mingle very well. So I played the part of the wallflower, and that’s fine by me. I enjoyed one of the newly-released beers from Left Hand Brewery, the Field Assistant Ale. It was a tasty quaff, and it bore a lovely label:
Then it was time for a pre-meeting meeting with my fellow PIs on the GEODE grant, Steve Whitmeyer and Declan De Paor. We plotted out what we wanted to do at our project meeting an hour later, and also a strategy for our digital poster the following day (also about GEODE).
Then we met with our colleagues on the grant, including GigaPan luminaries Ron Schott and Bill Richards, who will be working with me on the gigapixel geoimagery part of the project. I was seriously tired at this point, having risen at 4am east coast time (2am Denver time), but managed to be coherent, I hope. It was good to see everyone face to face, a welcome sight after so many emails bandied back and forth over the previous year.
After that, I caught a taxi up the hill to my friends’ house, and had a beer with them as a way of reunion, and then headed straight to bed.
Sunday dawned and I rose, gathering up strings and pens for our poster’s suggestion notations areas (“scribble boxes”), downed some excellent coffee, then jumped on a loaner bicycle and spun my wheels downhill. It was nice to start the day with a bit of high-speed exercise.
I got my digital poster set up with Steve and Declan, and spent most of my non-otherwise-scheduled time in there, talking GigaPans and GEODE with interested passers-by.
I ducked out at 1pm to give my talk on the annual Rockies field course that I run with Pete Berquist, and made the case that we’ve hit upon a useful field experience that students appreciate, and that co-teaching it is the way to go. In addition, I outlined the institutional support network that makes the class possible – our collaborations with schools and foundations in the study areas. The talk was well received, I think. I got some laughs and good questions. Right after my talk, I was delighted to hear Amanda Colosimo and Jessica Barone presented another field course talk. The opportunity to compare and contrast the two approaches was a real benefit: it was an example of good scheduling on the part of the session organizers.
After checking in on the digital poster again, I returned to the same session and gave a talk for my colleague Shelley Jaye, who had had a sudden family emergency, and had left the meeting. So I quickly reviewed her PowerPoint and did a reasonable job (I think) presenting a summary of three key initiatives that she has developed at our institution. It’s the first time I’ve “subbed” a talk, and I can say that I enjoyed it – expectations for my performance were probably quite low, and so I was able to easily exceed them.
At 4pm, NOVA student Mercer Parker gave a talk in the undergraduate research session. He was talking about his work on describing the petrology of the lowermost portion of the Bayside Core, a USGS-drilled vertical sample into the Chesapeake Bay Impact Structure. NOVAians Jim Buecheler and Robin Rohrback and Rich S. and I were there to support Mercer’s efforts.
I slipped back into the geoscience education session after that, and caught Pranoti Asher’s (AGU) talk before zipping across the street to the Geo2YC division meeting (I had volunteered to act as meeting secretary in the absence of our regular secretary). After that concluded, it was into the NAGT-sponsored geoscience educators’ reception. There I met up with some old friends, and talked shop on many topics – from student drug use to the InTeGrate project to the ethics of sharing outcrop information. I had dinner with some of them, and then rode my bike back up the hill and got a decent 7 hours of sleep. Sleep is critical to making it through a marathon meeting like this. I don’t understand how some of my colleagues can go out and drink beer until midnight or 1am and then show up to the conference at the same hour as me, and more coherent than me to boot!
Now it’s Monday, and our big Digital Geology Express session has commenced. Here’s the scene at our demo area this morning:
If you’re here at GSA, we hope you’ll stop by and talk about these exciting technological developments and how they can be employed for geoscience education.