Nature on the Nightstand: Three Books for Those Who Notice
- Jul 16
- 3 min read
By Erika Hopkins
Twin Falls, Idaho
I notice things — upside-down reflections of trees in raindrops on my window, swallowtails drawing nectar from purple thistle, pill bugs curling into tight balls on the sidewalk, still and self-contained, waiting until it's safe to move again. I'm just as drawn to books that notice things the same way, that slow down long enough to really look. Here are three from my life right now: one I'm currently reading, one that stuck with me long after I finished, and one I hope to read soon. Perhaps one of these will find its way onto your nightstand, too.
1. Currently Reading: The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating by Elizabeth Tova Bailey
About the book:
While confined to bed by a debilitating illness, Bailey begins observing a wild woodland snail that's taken up residence on her nightstand — and finds in its quiet, patient existence an unexpected source of wonder and perspective on her own life. It's a close, tender study of what we can learn by paying attention to something small.
Why I'm reading it:
I was drawn to this book by the title that captures a stillness I often experience when I am noticing nature. It's the presence to pause long and inhale slowly the fragrance of a hand picked bouquet, to acknowledge each flower and admire the glistening eyes of a baby jumping spider tucked inside. There's something grounding about the way Bailey weaves that same quiet attentiveness throughout her entire book about a single snail.
2. A Past Favorite: Rooted by Lyanda Lynn Haupt
About the book:
Haupt makes the case — backed by both science and centuries of human tradition — that life on Earth is deeply interconnected, and that our own well-being is tied to the whole of the natural world. The book offers practical, grounded ways to reconnect, rethinking our relationships with animals and trees, and even reconsidering the language we use to talk about nature.
Why it stuck with me:
This book revived my instincts to bathe in dappled shade and feel the soil change beneath my bare feet on a familiar trail. It inspired me to visit the beloved cottonwood tree of my childhood and see her, to grip the handholds of weathered bark I used to climb and thank her for the support and safety she provided. Haupt left me with a renewed sense of wonder at my place among all living things.
3. Up Next: How to Love a Forest by Ethan Tapper
About the book:
Written by a working forester, this book challenges tidy narratives about conservation — arguing that loving a forest sometimes means cutting a tree, and that real ecological care is often uncomfortable and counterintuitive. Tapper introduces readers to wolf trees, the rhizosphere, and a land ethic built for the complicated reality we actually live in.
Why it calls to me:
I love the forest — maybe too possessively. I grow impatient with other campers crowding my favorite spot, as if the trees were mine to guard rather than share. I recently watched a neighbor remove her mature trees after a boundary dispute. The loss stung, even knowing the reasons. I'm eager to explore Tapper's main argument — that truly caring for nature means rejecting both extremes: exploiting it, or leaving it completely untouched. Real care asks for something harder and more honest than either one. I'm curious whether his idea — that good stewardship means sitting with discomfort instead of resolving it — might reveal a similar tension in environmental education
Each of these books, in its own way, asks us to slow down and look closer — at a snail, at a stand of trees, at our own competing impulses to take too much or guard too closely the things entrusted to our care — the kind of noticing I hope to carry into my classroom and my own backyard alike, tension and all.
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