Giving nature journaling another go

Though I write a lot about nature and gardens, I've never been able to keep a nature journal. There have been some pitiful beginnings. A page or two of indecipherable drawings: a Swiss-cheese-ish shape "detailing" a leaf's stomata and, inexplicably, a cross-section of my shoe. Nearby are insightful notes, "Rabbit climb tree?" "Wind S/E" and "Eggs." Surely Thoreau had more to go on at Walden Pond.

Nature journaling made me feel self-conscious. I never knew what to write. "There's a tree," seems to state the obvious, while a long-winded, flowery account of the dance of the bumblebee seems derivative at best and pulp fiction at worst. Yet Morton Arboretum's recent library exhibit of the drawings and writings of early arboretum naturalist May Watts struck a chord. Watts was the consummate teacher, artist and botanist, and her book, "Reading the American Landscape," is the ultimate nature journal. I resolved to try yet again.

Cindy Crosby, author, artist and former bookstore owner, had just conducted a drop-in nature journaling workshop at the arboretum's Schulenberg Prairie. Crosby, who also teaches nature writing with the National Parks and in other arboretum programs, literally wrote the book on journaling at the arboretum, "By Willoway Brook: Exploring the Landscape of Prayer" (Paraclete Press). This credential, and Crosby's many other creative, talents only increased my trepidation.

Until we spoke.

Crosby's easy-going manner and nonjudgmental view of nature journaling is inspiring.

Then, she said: "Nature journaling is a great way to help people pay attention to what's going on around them. It also helps you pay attention to your interior landscape."

That's the problem. I'm not sure I have an interior landscape, nor could I describe it in terms other than heart, lungs and the occasional digestive issue. But this clinical view of the world is not necessarily the right emphasis for journaling.

"It's much more than just keeping a field journal," Crosby explains.

She wants us to use our five senses in viewing the world around us and notice shapes and colors, the edges of leaves, glossy or matte surfaces, the texture of bark. From looking at the tree, we might begin to wonder what creatures live in it, and use our powers of observation to espy the acrobatic squirrel, hear the chirp of the elusive cardinal, smell the scent of damp leaves.

"It's like the door you walk through," Crosby says of this attention to detail. "The more you see, the more you want to learn."

She explains that her home is filled with books about nature -- all from observing her surroundings and developing an inevitable curiosity about them.

Another stumbling block for me, this sense of obligation to wax poetic in a journal. Crosby assures us that there's no need for poet laureates in nature journaling.

"Poetry is just a way of distilling what you are paying attention to into a few well-chosen words."

She suggests haiku, the Japanese poetry form with just three lines, as a good starting point. Its inherent structure and elegant simplicity work for the tongue-tied and loquacious alike. Crosby recalls very technical-sounding haiku from biologists and one very "tough, scary park ranger who wrote the most heartbreaking haiku."

This was beginning to sound like something that I could not only do but enjoy. The arboretum offers a number of nature journaling classes, and I think I'm ready. Sitting or walking outside with no expectations other than to observe, and maybe jot a haiku or two.

There is a tree and

I can see a whole lot more

Now that I journal.