I do not have any children of my own, and the chances of me generating any are about the same as the human race developing a faster-than-light starship drive in my lifetime. That fact that I chose not to procreate doesn’t mean I don’t care about the younger generation.

When I was about six years old, a jolly and friendly geologist, built like a bull and named Wally Robbins, took me under his wing during one of our family vacations to the US. He gave me my first trilobite fossil (I went on to find some spectacular specimens in later life, but I still have that first little Elrathia kingii and still treasure it) and some lovely rocks and minerals. I watched him walk the beaches and rivers of New England at low tide, collecting rocks. His wife joked that the only exercise he ever got was when he bent down to pick up something of geological interest.

Were it not for Wally, I may never have followed my path into the world of scientific adventure and exploration. I remember how inspiring he was to me and—in my own small way—I try to pass it along.

Yesterday, I had the very great honor of participating in the Lunar and Planetary Lab‘s Apollo 11 40th Anniversary celebration. My staff and I set up a display of rare and unusual meteorites, as did several of our professional colleagues. I had the unexpected pleasure of meeting astronomer Thomas Bopp, co-discoverer of Comet Hale-Bopp “the most widely observed comet of the twentieth century.” I also got to spend time with John Terry White, an aerospace expert and president of White Eagle Aerospace, and a most charming and fascinating man. Scott Schneewels astounded me with his collection of genuine Apollo mission historic artifacts, including a control panel from an actual Lunar Module, hand-woven memory from one of the command modules, and tools designed to collect and transport moon rocks.

I was afraid that all of this “science stuff” might be a little dry for the scores of kids who were in attendance, and who were born more than thirty years after the Eagle touched down at Tranquility Base. There was no chance of that. We gave away small meteorites with identification cards, all day long, to wide-eyed children who were enthralled to hold something from outer space. And we distributed free DVDs, magazines, and postcards about meteorites and answered a million questions: “How does the Earth know there isn’t life on other planets?” (Well, that was a tough one)

If one of those kids decides to devote his or her life to aerospace, or meteoritics, or some other important scientific discipline, then we really are leaving something worthwhile behind. With budget cuts in research and education resulting in tragedies like the wonderful Flandrau Planetarium remaining closed for five days out of every seven, those of us who care about the future must take up the slack in other ways.

Photographs by Leigh Anne DelRay, Callisto Images © Leigh Anne DelRay, all rights reserved.

In my professional life I travel to a lot of weird places looking for meteorites, fossils and other natural history treasures. More often that not, we are working in remote areas, far from civilization, and regularly encounter unusual plants, animals, and environments.

A typical expedition might involve two or three 4WD vehicles, enough food and water to keep a small group active and healthy for a couple of weeks, maybe an ATV or two, and other heavy gear such as large metal detectors and digging tools. On one hand I am thrilled by the opportunity to experience aspects of the natural world that city dwellers rarely, if ever, get to see. On the other hand, I am always somewhat concerned by the impact our convoy might have on delicate ecosystems.

Recently, we have been exploring a zone that would have been quick and easy to scout on ATVs, but we decided to work on foot instead. What might have taken only an afternoon on a motorized all-terrain vehicle took days to explore the old fashioned way: boots in the dirt. During the past few weks we have run across numerous beautiful (and protected) horned toads. cacti with new, brightly-colored buds; intriguing millipedes with their hundreds of tiny, perfectly aligned legs; rare flowers; hummingbirds, and many other small living things that would be crushed in an instant by the fat tires on a quad.

When driving off-road in trucks, we try to stay on existing trails as often as possible, and I frequently make an instantaneous detour to avoid flattening a plant or pummeling a flying insect. Campsites are typically set up in a natural clearing and my team is always meticulous about packing out all of our trash, except for the very few things that are naturally biodegradable and will, in fact, provide food for our temporary neighbors—apple cores and orange peels for example.

If we need a campfire we either bring wood with us, or gather dead branches from the ground. Using a small portable gasoline stove prevents us from having to burn any natural materials at the site. When we are excavating, we avoid damaging plants as much as possible, and always fill in our holes. Team members who smoke collect cigarette butts in an empty bottle, and we even make a point of picking up other people’s trash (if there is any out there in the wilds). We try to leave a site just a little cleaner than we found it.

Some things are unavoidable: We burn gasoline in the trucks, and we need batteries and electricity to power our equipment. Food and water are consumed. Weeds are run over by vehicles. But we do our best to be considerate visitors. I make my living by working with the natural world, so it is my duty and pleasure to respect its integrity.