Eastern cottontail rabbit

Always alert.

This past July I’ve been seeing all sorts of rabbits in the outdoor grassy spaces where I work. So far, they all appear to be Eastern cottontails, and during the daylight hours I see them on overcast days, during a gentle rain, or when things are quiet after a drenching storm. There is a wooded area nearby for a quick retreat, but I seem to be tolerated if I don’t stop and look too long. They are wary enough that I have to be content with memory and photos for later sketching.  

I’ve been seeing all sizes – from larger adults to young bunnies I could cradle in my hands. The young ones are especially jumpy and restive, so I try not to linger. Naturally I’ve now been reading up on Eastern cottontails and was surprised to find a wide range in the US up to the Canadian border, even extending south into central America. How adaptable! They are vegetarians and like to inhabit habitat edges – the fringes between woods and meadow, lawn and garden. The sources say that rabbits prefer to feed at twilight or night, even though I’m seeing plenty during the day when the sun is behind the clouds. 

Sketched from photos, because they would never pose this long!

Exploring nature as a child, I thrilled to find evidence of rabbit “nests” – magical hollowed-out circles in the tall grasses or low shrubby foliage in the woods. Sometimes a bit of fur was the only evidence inside the cozy nest of twisted and flattened grass, but I could never surprise any residents. Only if I was lucky and very quiet, I might glimpse the ball of white furry tail bounding away, then suddenly vanishing. I intended to do some quick gesture sketches in pen, but those turned into detailed studies… because, well… just because. Caught up in trying to capture the mass and weight of the larger ones, and describing the fur with the right pen strokes, I dropped into my default mode – go for the detail. Observation and making an eye-hand-subject connection is a way for me to learn about what I’m sketching, and detail does that for me. The challenge! 

Trying to capture those crazy fur textures and colors.

 A large and shiny eye, fur that varies in direction and color, unusual and unfamiliar shapes of skull and body. And the fur color – unique in that it has gray and brown fur tipped with black, and then russet and white parts. Each rabbit I saw seemed to have slightly different patterns of brindled black markings. Some almost all brown with very little black, some more gray, others heavily marked with black. The markings mimic the dappled shade of leaf litter or pine needles, even dry grasses. A good strategy if one is part of a food web.

Our influx of rabbits might be due to the expanding territory of the invasive pythons that curse the Everglades and beyond. These large constrictor snakes have become a new enemy to our small mammals. Biologists have documented the loss of rabbits, raccoons, possums, and foxes in Florida, and the statistics are sobering. Sigh. But that is a post for another day. 

Today I will just enjoy the experience of sharing a space with our rabbit families, and keep a lookout for pythons. 

A sketch from two years ago -
their coloring blends well with tree bark and leaf litter.

Media: 

Aquabee Super Deluxe Mixed Media sketchbook 

Mechanical pencil .7mm 

Rabbits: Pitt Artist Pen S, Sepia 

Fur: Micron Pigma 01, black 

Watercolor pencils – Derwent and Kimberly 

Niji waterbush, round M

Live oak – a keystone species (and friend)

 Live oak is one of my favorite trees -- one of the many types of oaks in the world, but only growing in the US within a limited southern range. My nature journal entry is of a tree that’s about 20 years old, an acorn volunteer from a larger and much older live oak nearby. 

Click on image to view larger.

I love discovering the many things that live oaks support. The bark on the trunks of older oaks is furrowed deep, often dressed with an embroidery of lichens, fungi, and mosses -- sometimes ferns. Look up into the branches and you will probably see several types of epiphytes, those plants that grow on others (not to be confused with parasites), and get sustenance from rain and air as well as sunlight. Sometimes called air plants, many epiphytes are from the bromeliad family – in Florida we have a variety of tillandsias and Spanish moss as the usual suspects. 

Some of these air plants collect water in bowl-like centers, created by the broad bases of their overlapping leaves. It becomes a good water source as well as a habitat for insect larvae that start their life underwater. Small insects attract the things that eat them – larger insects, spiders, anoles, and birds. The thick foliage and sturdy branches of live oak provide shade, cover and a retreat for bird and squirrel nests. About 5 years ago, I enjoyed watching a trio of raccoon kits scamper up and down the trunk of a mature live oak outside my office window as they grew to maturity. When the storms came, they high-tailed it to the 10-foot-high nest tucked under a large staghorn fern in the first fork. 

The leaves are larval food for several species of moths, plus a couple of butterflies. You might notice the tracks of leaf miners or the swellings from gall-forming insects. Live oaks are called “live” because they appear to be evergreen to many people, but they do drop their old leaves, waiting until spring when the new leaves emerge. Live oaks bloom in the spring, and although the catkins rely on wind pollination, they also offer pollen to bees and other insects. 

Oaks are well-known for acorns, not just as food for squirrels, but also for grubs, birds, and small and large mammals (even people). The nuts were processed to remove the tannins and eaten by humans all over the world. Acorn culinary history spans thousands of years, as a regular food source and later as a sustenance and survival food. Contemporary interest in acorn flour and nuts comes from the curious, the epicures, and the food and agriculture specialists working on food security for our future. 

Some of the species noticed over time!

Acorns start dropping to the ground in the fall, with some years (called mast years) welcoming an overabundance. Last year (2021) was a mast year, and we had acorns everywhere! Blue jays and squirrels left pock marks in the dirt and sand as they busily buried as many acorns as they could. Between the nuts on top and the divots below, it was dangerous walking ground.

Oaks are considered a keystone species, which means that they support a large community of living things. They support, shelter, and feed all sorts of life – from the smallest insects to deer and even bears. Live oaks have personal connections for me as well, besides the trio of raccoon kits. The first pair of pileated woodpeckers I spotted in Florida were on a live oak tree. The plonk-plonk of falling acorns has put me to sleep at night; the battles of jays and squirrels over a nut have amused me in the daytime. I enjoy trying to capture the textures and colors of the bark and leaves in my nature journal. There’s not much time to observe our two urban oaks, but I still notice an abundance of life just in passing. I’ve sketched live oaks often enough that I consider them old and beloved friends. 

I hope my words and nature journal entries help you see oaks in a new light. We appreciate the beauty and shade they bring, but they offer so much more. Planting or preserving one oak makes a difference: a cascade of life follows, and this is a wonderful thing! 

More on oaks: There is much more to learn about oaks. For an overview on the many values of oaks (for nature and ourselves), I suggest you start by watching a presentation by Dr. Doug Tallamy on his book “The Nature of Oaks” on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EdiUgB_3A9w 

Media: 

Mechanical pencil .7mm 

Micron Pigma 01, black 

Aquabee Super Deluxe Mixed Media sketchbook 6x9 in. 

Daniel Smith watercolors 

Niji waterbush, round M

Midsummer Florida

Summertime in Southwest Florida has a rhythm of its own.  It’s a pattern of heat and moisture and rain and cooling.  It’s a time of luxuriant growth for the plants adapted to it.  It’s also a time when I notice young lizards and birds and bunnies out and about, learning the ways of the world. 

Storm coming.

  Our rainy season typically starts the first part of June, sometimes late May.  The days are hot, spilling over with intense bright light as the clouds start forming.  Smaller cotton-ball clouds gather and grow from the moisture that evaporates and rises from the warming land and earth-bound waters.  Boundless clear blue skies start filling up with towering cumulus clouds, sometimes building many miles upwards.

 The clouds roll in from the Everglades, sunlit white, gathering colors of violet, blue, and dark gray along the bottoms and up through the centers.  The air feels a bit cooler when the clouds hide the sun, but it’s still quite humid.  When water saturation reaches a critical point, the rain starts, typically late afternoon.  The other night we had torrential rain off and on for hours – along with booming thunder and sporadic lightning.  Abundant water recharges our underground aquifers, and brings on an explosion of plant growth.

 

So much nature can be seen in suburban spaces.

The flowers of spring are turning into fruits now – nearby I see Simpson stopper ripening, seagrape (still green), cocoplum and more.  June flowers are blooming of course: a casual suburban observer might see common natives like Spanish needles, beach sunflower, and duck potato easily.  These are just a few volunteers in the space I move within every day, the ones I happen to stop and notice.  I also see the birds and their nests, an occasional small black snake, and young Eastern cottontails (one every day!), and other signs of procreation and growth.

 This is our lazy summer rhythm, the days hot and humid, then the clouds and rain, cooler but wet.  Nothing drenches and soaks to the bone like a Florida summer rain.  We’ve just passed the Summer Solstice and the days still feel long, although they are starting to shorten.  Our rainy season continues through the lingering months of July, August and September, and by mid-October I imagine a massive collective sigh of relief among residents.  We may still have the potential for tropical storms and hurricanes until the end of November, but at least we’ll be more comfortable.

No matter what's going on in the human world, the natural world keeps marking time, finding its own rhythms, confirming new life.  These are the drumbeats that feed my soul and the music that helps me make sense of life. 

Munching on a bit of grass.

Media:
Mechanical pencil .7mm
Micron Pigma 01, black
Aquabee Super Deluxe Mixed Media sketchbook
Daniel Smith watercolors, Botanical Floral half-pan set
Niji waterbush, round M

Green heron

Just walking, I happened to veer to the small lake nearby and discovered a green heron intently gazing at the water’s surface.  The heron perched on a concrete culvert in the bright sun on the edge of the lake, blue sky above, green water below.  Rocking slightly in the breeze on bent, sturdy legs and anchored by long toes, waiting …waiting for a ripple in the water, a movement that might mean dinner.

Click on image to view larger.

 I think of these smallish herons as shy birds, easily bothered and not tolerant of prolonged observation.  I quickly took a photo or two, and tried to spend the remaining precious moments in deep observation.  Ki flew off within minutes, not sure of my intentions.  I made a few drawings afterwards, and starting learning more about green herons. 

 This green heron was not exactly green, but had green glints and highlights along darker back body feathers. A beautiful russet-colored neck patch, body structure, yellow legs and eyes add to the distinctive markings.  A year-round resident of Florida, populations swell at times with migrating kin from the north.     

 I read that breeding season in Florida starts in March and runs through July, so perhaps this heron was out hunting for food for the family.  One of our smaller herons, about the size of a large crow, they like to inhabit the edges of wetlands, with food on one side and cover on the other.  With a stocky build and a long thick neck settled on shoulders, they can look ungainly on land. 

A fascinating item – green herons sometimes use tools to catch food, one of a few species that do this.  They drop twigs, insects or other tidbits onto the water surface to entice fish to surface and feed within their reach.  Debate may continue over definitions of tools and tool use, but many agree that this type of behavior indicates an increased intelligence. 

 Things to think about. 

Want to read more about green herons?

Wikipedia:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Green_heron

Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission fact sheet: 
https://myfwc.com/media/19710/bba_grhe.pdf

ebird.org:  https://ebird.org/species/grnher  

Media
Aquabee sketchbook, 6x9”
.7 mm mechanical pencil
Micron Pigma Pen, black 01
Kimberly watercolor pencils
Niji waterbrush, Medium

I am from: using nature memories to define who we are and to celebrate our unique sense of place.

The inspiration

Recently I came across an article about the “I Am From” poem and the project that flowed from it.  The poems moved me deeply as I read through the unique and diverse experiences reflected in the poems people submitted.   Some of them, very powerful and moving.  The original poem and catalyst for this project was written by George Ella Lyons.  People are welcome to submit poems to the project’s Facebook page and website, and have even created videos for YouTube.  They do this individually or as a group.  There is a wonderful video of a collaborative fabric art project that not only celebrates each unique person, but creates a strong sense of place as a whole.

 I wrote a poem for myself and was surprised at the countless sights, sounds, and events that define who I am today! It includes good parts and the not-so-good, and some of the pain that emerged during this process.   I suggest a focus on what is true, but to also look for the good.  Good seems to endure and light the way, for ourselves but also for others.   I submitted this poem to the website, and hope it will be added to the “river of voices” and the amazing diversity of experiences.

 A nature perspective

Then I wondered if condensing my focus to nature would also work and tried it out – you can read that result below.  This process inspired me to add the words and resulting imagery to my nature journal.  I loved the renewed connection to the nature of my childhood and beyond, and drew with abandon, not worrying about tidy lines or splashing color around! 

This was such a memorable experience!  I suggest you try it in your own nature journal.  You can see that some of my sketches are uncomplicated while some have a bit more attention.  Some reflect that inner child.  Don’t worry about your skill level – just the basics, or even descriptive color swathes work.  Both Clare Walker Leslie and Mimi Robinson have used color shapes alone to beautifully describe environments and seasons.  Try it and see.  There are also other ways to add visual imagery:  photos, collage, prints, or ephemera such as pressed leaves or flowers, maps, tickets, fabric, and much more.

 Your own deep connection matters

It is the deep connection to place that matters, and the bits and pieces that echo place besides the flora, fauna, and geology: the colors, smells, tastes, textures, and emotions.  These have created how we view and interact with nature today.  It is a good thing to recognize the role they’ve played – and it is a good thing to expand our views when we experience another’s memories. 

 

Click to view larger.

If you aren’t sure where to start, I offer you an exercise developed just for nature.  The 2-page PDF can be downloaded HERE.  One side has suggestions and prompts, the other has my nature poem plus links to the I Am From project website and Facebook page, plus YouTube videos. 

Here is my “I Am From” poem.

I am from
knee-deep snowdrifts, frozen lashes, the searing breath of winter.
Summertime poison ivy rash and itchy mosquito bumps
chasing butterflies and garter snakes
magical fireflies and a whippoorwill lullaby.

I am from
the indigo blue comfort after a midwestern sunset
the musty taste of black walnuts and joyful sweetness of tiny wild blackberries
the bright flash of cardinal and a hummingbird’s glittering eye.
Fluttering spring beauties with tiaras of columbines
and the thrum of bees in the clover.

I am from
The mighty Mississippi,
a languid longing below
the stink of fish and duckweed
and the thrill of snapping turtles.
River bottom land, and banks and bluffs of stacked limestone.

I am from
sturdy oaks and maples,
deer trails and owl pellets
under improbably green new leaves, so delicate, glowing.
Standing in prairie grasses filled with tiny treasures
and the wind in my hair.

 

Media
Aquabee Super Deluxe 6x9” mixed media sketchbook (double spread)
Daniel Smith watercolors
Micron Pigma 01 black artist pen
Sakura Gelly Roll white gel pen 10

On the web:

I Am From Project website:  https://iamfromproject.com/

I Am From  Facebook page:  https://www.facebook.com/iamfromproject/

 Additional YouTube videos:

I Am From | Celebrating Hispanic Heritage Month by Juan Delgado, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XFtXf1bAC-E

I Am From...A Poem by Aaric Pelc, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TVryvxLTIyU

And a collective project by participants of the 2020 Whole Child, Whole Day Social Emotional Learning Symposium:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PRM0-fdEJX4

 

A connection to place

I think we’ve all known special places that have deep meaning for us personally.

 Maybe we don’t always recognize it at the time.  There are several natural places that are special to me, but those with the deepest roots are woven from my childhood memories.  Colors and shapes, smells and sounds, and textures like the tactile velvet of new buds or flaking limestone. 

 The memories stay vivid and strong – some more so, some less.  Most of them comforting, but some, not so much.   They speak of my relationships with nature.  They are both known and unknown, some barely lurking within my subconscious.  What I remember most are not the events, but the feelings those connections gave me.

 

Maple leaves, owl feather, hickory nuts, and wild grape.

This is a small nature sketch done years ago, somewhere in the mid-1980s, of things collected on a walk through Iowa woods.  It was mid-autumn, and the season gave me treasures and a near infinity of browns and buff, with splashes of red and yellow.  Along the trail: leaves on limb and ground, sticks and branches and trunks and bark, seeds and frost-bitten fruits, empty acorn caps and sometimes a glimpse of gritty green. 

 The woods I rambled in are located in upper northeast Iowa, along a limestone ridge and bluff above a river.   It is a place of meditation, of quietness threaded with birdsong.   This is also a connection to a point in time.  Fall is a favorite season of mine; it feels like an important transition somehow, and I sometimes catch my breath waiting for the next thing to come.

It feels like a time to let life unwind, and a place to rest and heal. 

A sacred place.

 

Media:
Paper - unknown mass-produced watercolor paper pad, about 8x10"
Watercolor paint, probably Grumbacher and/or Winsor & Newton
     (the colors still surprisingly bright after almost 40 years)
Craft brushes
# 2 Pencil

Mistflower

 

“The smallest flower is a thought,
a life answering to
some feature of the Great Whole...”
~ Honore de Balzac

There is a wildflower I’m especially fond of that comes up along the edges and unlikely places in my yard, and starts blooming in late summer.  It always makes me happy to see the tiny toothed leaves emerge from the ground, because I know that they’ve reseeded and will do just fine with absolutely no help from me.  It’s still blooming in late November but going to seed.  The common name is Mistflower; these have blooms of lavender and soft violet, and from a distance the many stamens and coloring sometimes gives the appearance of distant mist drifting over the ground.  

I’m often fascinated by the self-similarity of its leaves.  Each tiny leaf a miniature of the largest.  You could argue that many plants are like this (and some are), but it’s the way these branch and divide and arrange its heart-shaped leaves that captivates me.  I’m not good at fractal geometry, but I enjoy how Mistflower shows up in the world.  If you don’t know fractals, here is a partial definition from the FractalFoundation,org:  “Fractals are infinitely complex patterns that are self-similar across different scales.” 

The tiny leaves are miniatures of the largest leaves.

Patterns appear everywhere in nature – some seem random, and some quite precise.  Some patterns depend on the macro or the micro view.  When I think of self-similar things, I’m reminded of mineral structures.  I know, an unlikely sideways jaunt from botany to geology – but this is one of the things I love about nature journaling.  I never know where it might take me.

Those who know me well, know that I also love rocks.  Geology is a huge part of the why of things, but that’s a subject for another time.  One of the more interesting things I’ve learned is that the atomic structure of a mineral is reflected in the external crystal structure.  In other words, we can look at pure salt crystals in our hand and predict that we’ll see similar crystal shapes under the microscope.  This is because they fracture along specific structural lines.  Other minerals and impurities can change this, but generally the microscopic pattern determines the real-world pattern. 

I don’t know enough to say that this is what happens in the plant world, just saying that the natural world is an amazing place and full of unexpected patterns and connections.  We just have to change our viewpoint.   Do you find yourself fascinated by patterns as well?  What connections do you make? 

My nature journal page.

Media: 

• Micron Pigma 01 pen
• Kimberly watercolor pencils
• Aquabee Super Deluxe drawing paper 93 lb.

For more about Mistflower
From Florida Wildflower: https://flawildflowers.org/flower-friday-conoclinium-coelestinum/

Dip into fractals
Fractals in nature from Dave’s Garden:  https://davesgarden.com/guides/articles/view/1966

Fractals in everything: https://news.globallandscapesforum.org/43195/fractals-nature-almost-all-things/

A long but fascinating article on why fractals resonate with us:
https://www.theatlantic.com/science/archive/2017/01/why-fractals-are-so-soothing/514520/

Dig into mineral structures

Cleavage and fracture properties explained in easy-to-understand language on page 4:

https://www.baschools.org/vimages/shared/vnews/stories/5034e6f71f062/Chapter%2014%20Section%20Two.pdf

An open textbook, in-depth on crystal morphology: https://opengeology.org/Mineralogy/10-crystal-morphology-and-symmetry/

 

 

An experiment in nature writing – changing a two-letter word

I recently attended a one-hour online writing workshop with Rebecca Rolnick, where she led us in an exploration of “the grammar of animacy."  This phrase shows up in a book called Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer, which I’ve been reading off and on for the past few months.  It’s taking me a while to read because every page requires a day of reflection!  The full title is Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge, and the Teachings of Plants, so that gives you an idea of the scope.

Nature journal sketch and poem.
Click to view larger.

What is animacy?

Animacy refers to a feature of language that expresses the “aliveness” or sentience of something.   For me, the word sentience represents awareness and a capacity for feelings and conscious action.   We tend to think of a thing as either animate or inanimate, but there are gray areas involved when it comes to personal meaning.  Reflect for a moment on how you think about the natural world, and how you relate to the essence of something within it.  Do birds have feelings?  How aware are bees?  Can trees communicate? 

The old two-letter word

There is a degree of scale involved here, and a built-in order of importance when it comes to pronouns.  The idea of “it” vs “he” or “she” is an expression of the degree of animacy.  Things in nature are typically an “it”.  We typically use the pronoun “it” to refer to rocks, trees, birds, panthers and porcupines.  People are seldom referred to this way, and when they are it has a negative meaning. 

It seems that animacy used in everyday language in my culture is based not so much on how sentient a thing is, but on its relevance to the speaker.  For example, someone may refer to a cat as “it” but a dearly loved pet is nearly always a she or he.  They are important to us, they are relevant – they are family.

I too speak and write like this, in spite of a feeling of kinship with living things (which include a deep-seated feeling that rocks have awareness).  “It” is what I’ve been taught – the good grammar of communication.  Not to mention that the word “it” is a useful, multi-meaning and functional term. 

The new two-letter word

After a conversation on the idea of animacy, the words we use, and the meanings we give them, Rebecca spoke of a new pronoun for nature proposed by Robin Wall Kimmerer to replace the “it” pronoun when referring to things of nature.  We needed a word that signifies animacy. 

In a 2015 essay for Yes! Magazine, Robin relates how Stewart King suggested to her that the proper Anishinaabe word for “beings of the living Earth” would be Bemaadiziiaaki.  Stewart was a Potawatomi elder and spiritual teacher who mentored Robin’s return to her Native American roots and ancestral language.  Robin shortens Bemaadiziiaaki to two new pronouns “ki” and “kin”.   Ki takes the place of it, he, or she.  Kin replaces the plural pronoun they.  

As part of our writing exploration last week, Rebecca challenged us to try using these pronouns.

I tried using ki as a nature pronoun instead of “it”.  Not to humanize nature, or to drape my subject with an anthropomorphic cloak, but to see if there was a difference.  I had been thinking about a poem to go with a recent nature sketch, but the pronoun for my imagined birdling showed up only once.  I went ahead anyway and substituted ki for it.

Was there a difference in how I felt?  Yes.

What happened? 

No trumpets sounded, but somewhere in the sub-basement of my consciousness, I felt a tremor.  Something shifted (in a positive way).  Because it’s still dark down there, I’m not sure what happened.  As I’ve gotten older, I realize that I tend to process profound emotional changes through my physical body, and this was a core body feeling. 

So… something did change, felt in heart and body.  I feel a new closeness, a deeper link that’s hard to describe.  I’m already reevaluating my relationship to nature and the responsibilities that emerge when kinship ties deepen.  Every rock I’ve collected, every plant transplanted and seeds sown where kin have no business living.  

I have to stop thinking at some point because I am overwhelmed. 

Will changing my nature pronouns change how I think and speak and write and live?  I hope so.  Using ki and kin signifies something – connections strengthened, a sense of family instilled.  We treat friends differently than strangers.  But habits are persistent, and the old ways tend to creep back in.  Perhaps with this bit of awareness, I’m making a place for ki and kin until they become old friends.

Want to explore more?  Here are some links for you:

The workshop

The title of the online workshop is Nature Journal Writing Workshop Wednesdays, led by Rebecca Rolnick, a biologist, writer, and environmental educator.  The workshop is open to anyone and free, with a donation option.  During the one I attended last week, an idea was discussed, then we explored the concept with a short writing time, and ended the hour by sharing our words. 

https://www.rebeccarolnick.com/nature-journal-writing-workshop?fbclid=IwAR3QF6y-X4glB0JcL-mbmd1NOQaLUz0EPaJ8-8dmP3CejQUoWLwTJJBGi60

The book

Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge, and the Teachings of Plants by Robin Wall Kimmerer.  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Braiding_Sweetgrass

 Essays by Robin Wall Kimmerer

“Nature Needs a New Pronoun: To Stop the Age of Extinction, Let’s Start by Ditching ‘It”’

Yes! Magazine, March 30, 2015.  https://www.yesmagazine.org/issue/together-earth/2015/03/30/alternative-grammar-a-new-language-of-kinship

 “Speaking of Nature.”  Orion Magazine, June 12, 2017.  https://orionmagazine.org/article/speaking-of-nature/

 I’d love to know your thoughts on animacy.  What do you feel or think or have experienced?  

International Nature Journal Week starts June 1st!

 Isn't this exciting?!  A whole week of nature journal inspiration as journalers celebrate International Nature Journal Week June 1 through 7!

Common violet, click to view larger.

Each day has a theme, with live workshops and how-tos.  Visit the International Nature Journal Week website to find out schedules, read blog posts, or learn how to participate yourself.  You do not have to be an artist or a naturalist to keep a nature journal!

The process of keeping a visual nature journal is a path.  It’s not about creating a finished product or a pretty picture.  My journals are a reflection of curiosity and discovery.  

 Every time I sketch something, I deepen my relationship with my subject by experiencing it differently.  I find myself asking questions and thinking more deeply.  I get to know my subject on a personal level.

My journals might be filled with quick sketches, detailed studies, photos, maps, poetry, or notes on observations.  We can record the progress of our garden, explorations of nearby habitats, or emotional responses to the beauty and diversity of the natural world.

Coral honeysuckle - loved by butterflies and hummingbirds!

Here’s what I’ve discovered that makes these journals valuable to me:  my drawing and painting skills have sharpened, especially when I draw on a weekly basis.  My observation has improved – I find myself specifically seeking out details in order to capture them on the fly or to write them down later.  My knowledge base is more dimensional; not only have I learned more, my emotional connection to nature has become more specific and I have a deeper sense of how individual parts fit into the whole.

Keep in mind the process, and don’t get over-involved with the outcome of each page.  As you practice, you’ll find your skills improving in every area!  Don’t be discouraged if you start and then stop.  When you’re ready, you’ll pick up your journal again and the words and pictures will flow onto the page.  Remember that it all “begins at the beginning” with that first step.  This is your exploration of the natural world around you!  This is your story to tell!

Here is some inspiration to get you and your family started!

Getting started PDF - quick ideas

Fun ideas for kids - PDF