The Case for a Nature Journal

I’ve kept a journal, in one form or another, since I was a little girl. It started with a very small spiral-bound notebook and the pride of sketching a half-decent, recognisable skylark I’d copied from a bird book. That tiny drawing encouraged me to do more, and ever since, my journal has been the most valuable companion through every season of my life.

Your notebook or nature journal is not a diary. It’s not homework. Think of it more like a catch-all for the things that make you stop and go “wow” (or even just “huh?”). A place for sketches, leaf rubbings, odd thoughts, questions, poems, weather notes, feelings, fungi sightings, or whatever else your wandering self wants to record.

No one is going to mark it, but the marks you make will be magic.

Choosing Your Companion

You don’t need a special notebook, but having one you like definitely helps. Something that can survive the odd splash or muddy rucksack. Something that feels good in your hands. Maybe with paper thick enough for the occasional watercolour blob, or slim enough to tuck in your coat pocket. Imitation leather? Recycled spiral pad? Doesn’t matter. If it makes you want to write or draw, it’s the right one.

There Are No Rules

Don’t get precious or try to impress anyone. You’re not submitting it for review. It’s just you and the outside world having a bit of a chat. You might include:

• Observations – the robin that stared you down, the way frost edges the leaves, your neighbour’s hedge exploding into blossom overnight.
• Reflections – what that felt like, what it reminded you of, why it mattered that day.
• Sketches or Paintings – even quick scribbles have power. You’re not aiming for gallery-ready. You’re aiming for captured.
• Found Things – pressed petals, rubbings of bark, a fallen feather. (Nature provides these gifts, but if it’s alive or housing something, leave it be.)

Why Bother?

Because it slows you down, in a good way. It gets you to look, not just glance. And in doing that, it brings you back to the present. Here’s why you might find yourself reaching for your journal again and again:

• You notice more, profoundly. There’s a lime tree on my local walk that I often stop at to check a woodpecker nest hole. One day, as I was looking up, a pair of joined leaves fell directly onto my hand. As I studied them, I saw they looked like lungs, and noticed the veins went all the way to the edges. Suddenly, the message was clear: I should breathe deeply, all the way to the edges of my lungs. That’s the kind of unexpected connection that only happens when you slow down and truly look, ready to capture it.
• It helps you feel and learn without trying. Sometimes, when I’m out walking in the woods, I “receive” a word – or maybe the word is already swirling in my head, I’m never quite sure. It might be something like Pride or Hope, a word I sense I need to get to know better. I then look around for signs of that word in nature: a tree standing proud, or a tiny sapling hopefully battling high winds. My journal becomes a space to explore that word further, perhaps researching it in different languages, its origins or root words, then maybe doodling it using different styles and fonts. I find doodling a form of meditation, one word invariably leads on to another and another. Before I know it, an hour of “meditation” has passed and I feel calm and ready to tackle my to-do list.
• It anchors you, no matter what. Some days are busy or bleak. The world feels too much, too loud. At those times, I simply flip back to the beginning of my journal and peruse each page. By the time I have reviewed the whole thing, I am usually smiling or feeling much better. The reminders throughout are like a trip down memory lane, and I relive those walks, those moments of quiet connection. It’s proof I was present. Proof I noticed something real.

Getting Started

You don’t need a plan. Just take your journal and a pencil next time you head out. Sit on a bench. Linger by a tree. Stand in your garden with your morning cuppa. Write something down. That’s it.

Some people make a daily habit of it. Others only open the thing once a season. Doesn’t matter. What matters is that it’s yours, and that it reminds you, when the world gets loud again, how to listen.