I confess I love notebooks. I’ve been keeping journals since I was eight years old—that’s 47 years! When I was in college studying writing and ecology and evolutionary biology, my journals morphed into field notebooks, largely based on the rigorous scientific Grinnell Method. Joseph Grinnell was the the first director of UC Berkeley’s Museum of Vertebrate Zoology, and he was a staunch believer in field notes that included metadata (location, weather, field companions, etc.), a narrative, and species lists.

Today I continue with a hybrid Grinnell-type format that is part science, part daily record, part travelogue (if we’re on a journey). I start with a grid of metadata at the top, followed by narrative prose of the journey, the landscape, the plants and animals and what they are doing, and if I am so inclined I include sketches and watercolor. I’ve used the same leather journal that Jonathan made for me 25 years ago; it holds 9 x 6 watercolor paper, bound by simple leather laces. It’s been my trusted companion on four continents and tens of thousands of miles. When I finish the current pages, I unlace them and archive in inexpensive three-ring binders; I have dozens of them labelled by months and years.

Writer, poet, and explorer Robert MacFarlane recently published Underland: A deep time journey, in which he explores the “worlds beneath our feet. From the ice-blue depths of Greenland's glaciers, to the underground networks by which trees communicate, from Bronze Age burial chambers to the rock art of remote Arctic sea-caves, this is a deep-time voyage into the planet's past and future.”

MacFarlane shared in a blog post his two-dozen or so field notebooks that he used on his research expeditions:

The notebooks are a mix of Moleskine and Field Notes and cheap dime store booklets. He used any kind of pen or pencil at hand, and in the ensuing years beneath the ground the notebooks got wet, dirty, crushed, smashed, smeared, and generally abused. They tell a story on their own, a paper manifestation of Gretel Ehrlich’s words: “The truest art I would strive for in any work would be to give the page the same qualities as earth: weather would land on it harshly; light would elucidate the most difficult truths; wind would sweep away obtuse padding.”

Expeditionary artist Tony Foster concurs . . . he calls his journal a diary:

The essence of a diary [is to] record one’s experiences and observations on the spot when they occur, not filtered either by memory or Nikon lens. [Tony Foster on his process]

In the world of nature journaling we often get too precious about our notebooks with "designed" pages, perfect drawings, and fancy calligraphy, when in fact they should be earthy and personal records of our travels, discoveries, thoughts . . . even if it's "just" exploring the hills around our homes. One needn't be an extreme explorer like Robert MacFarlane or Bruce Chatwin (who also used Moleskine notebooks extensively) to have wonderful discoveries in nature.

In fact, these small discoveries might be more important than epic expeditions, because we can accomplish them nearly every day. And being out in nature—even for 30 minutes a day, in our back yard—is really good for us: According to the University of Minnesota’s “Taking Charge of Your Health and Well-being” website, being in nature “makes you feel better emotionally, it contributes to your physical well-being, reducing blood pressure, heart rate, muscle tension, and the production of stress hormones. It may even reduce mortality.”

Being in nature, paying attention to the world around you, and writing about it is a form of mindfulness. And as simple as it may sound, mindfulness transforms how we relate to events and experiences. It creates a more spacious way of being in the world that is less reactive and generally happier. 

Add to that the fact that writing things by hand—and drawing something, whether it’s stick figures, maps, plants, or landscapes—are also really good for your brain. Our brains love to be challenged, and the more you push yourself by putting pencil or pen to paper, the more glial cells and myelin protein are produced in the brain, which makes you remember and improves your skills. So it’s true:

Drawing makes us smarter!

So grab your Moleskine, your Field Notes, or your Walgreens fifty-cent spiral notebook and a cheap biro and just get outside and observe, reflect, write, and pay attention. You’ll be surprised at what it can do for you.