Sitting. Watching. Waiting. Well, it sounds kind of creepy when I put it that way. But in my Big Sky Watershed Corps role with the National Wildlife Federation (NWF), I spent nearly 100 hours across 20 different events staffing a community outreach table about our Garden for Wildlife® (GFW) program. So you could say I’ve become pretty familiar with the art of tabling.

The Garden for Wildlife® program encourages the sustainable creation of habitat for wildlife by providing food, water, cover, and places to raise young. When these elements of habitat have been met, the program certifies a space as a Certified Wildlife Habitat®. Anything from a massive property to a tiny city balcony can get certified! Missoula, where I was based throughout my term, is already doing a pretty good job of making sure our furry, scaly, and feathered neighbors have what they need. It’s known as the “Garden City,” after all, and it’s been certified as a Community Wildlife Habitat since 2018. But, the education team at NWF loves to do everything they can to expand the program’s reach, and that’s where tabling comes in!

When I arrange a booth at an event, my approach might vary slightly based on context, but the general framework is the same. I set up a felt folding board that features a program overview and examples of our wildlife posters. I lay out a variety of “tip sheets” with information on attracting butterflies, caring for bird feeders, and selecting native plants in our area. I set out stacks of Ranger Rick magazines, packets of free native wildflower seeds, and a place to sign up for volunteering and more information. And then I wait!

The primary goal of this particular type of outreach work, at least in my conception, is to share resources and excitement about the program. We talk with people who have vastly different levels of background knowledge on NWF, gardening, and wildlife in general. This makes adaptive communication – and a wide range of informational materials – critical to the task. I was very nervous when I started out: there was so much to convey, and I was still so new! In the end, the only cure was practice. As the weeks went by, I developed both a spiel and an adeptness at referring people to the resource they needed. I became familiar with the common refrains and how to respond: “What kind of bat did I see the other night?” (Probably a little brown myotis, but we have 15 native species!) “What do I do about the deer?” (Fence them out, and learn to love them.) “Are these magazines really free?” (Yes!). And once my fears had dissipated, the experience became one of sharing, refining, and learning, rather than one of self-critique.

For most of my time spent tabling, I was out there on my own. In a way, this was easier because I knew I had to rely on myself to answer all the questions, or otherwise refer my visitor to a business card. There was no question about who was doing or answering what. But, hours on end having very similar conversations with people over and over again can get a little repetitive and lonely. Most events are populated with booths from a whole range of organizations, and tabling for the better part of a day causes you to forge strange bonds with the people around you. I fondly recall long afternoons getting to know the roofing salesman at the Home and Garden Show, the DJ at a local Earth Day celebration, and the girl selling kombucha at the farmer’s market, who is actually now my friend!

The frequent pockets of tabling time in between actively speaking with community members have also given me ample opportunity to observe. A more frivolous result of this is that I now have a particularly keen eye for the current trends in footwear. But of course, more meaningful observations about people arose for me too: what draws them in, what causes them to actually stop in their tracks and commit to talking to you. I especially appreciated that while I would typically have things for sale at our table (gardening books, yard signs, etc.), I was not TRYING to sell anything. This meant that when our bumblebee poster caught someone’s eye and they came over to ask me about it, I could fully be there in the moment with them, with no agenda other than to converse and share. For me, that made each interaction all the more meaningful.

All this time spent sitting behind a table has led me to one key message: the importance of curiosity and meeting people where they are. I often open the conversation with a simple question: “Are you a gardener?” The responses vary: “Yes!” “Sort of, I’m learning!” “Not yet, but I want to be!” I’ve found that this provides a launch point from which people feel invited to share about the aspirations they have for their spaces, the work they’re already doing, or their dreams for the garden they might one day build when they finally have a backyard. It’s a magical feeling to watch someone’s excitement blossom in front of you. Tabling was the reason that I got to witness it, moment after moment, through rain and wind, and sweltering heat. Truly, what a gift.