The best books about the healing power of nature

I loved this book because it’s hugely informative and completely inspiring.

It charts the way in which nature restores the author after he has slid into a period of severe depression, one where the entire foundation of his existence—a unique bond with the natural environment, established in childhood—suddenly seems pointless and irrelevant. He moves to East Anglia and, with the support of friends, slowly recovers a sense of meaning as he starts to write again about the changing seasons. 

There is a wonderful eloquence to the way that he describes his regeneration. Nature is never a question of dry facts, it is a living, sensual experience that elevates the human soul. You also feel you’re in the presence of a very special observer, one who really understands the ancient rhythms of the universe in a way that few do.

The book is an educational experience that also manages to be emotionally uplifting and invigorating—a rare combination.

I loved this one because it’s a richly poetic book that manages to be at the same time a memoir, a novel, and a wonderfully instructive guide to nature in the Northwest of the USA. 

Overwhelmed by a series of bereavements, including her best friend and chief collaborator, the author looks outward for comfort and solace. 

It’s one of the best books I’ve ever read about the idea of ‘letting go,’ which I know from personal experience, is such an integral part of surviving grief and one of the hardest to achieve. It’s also one of the best stories of finding meaning, as the author eloquently puts it, “in the natural rhythms of dying and living, winter, and spring, bones and leaves."

I adore this book because it is so unique—I’ve never read anything quite this specific or niche which seems so all-encompassing.

It is the story of a life lost, and a life found. Of a father that dies and how the recovery of his daughter is tied up with the start of a new relationship—with a goshawk.

At the outset, the author is so wonderfully eloquent on all aspects of loss; the sudden jarring sense of confusion when a person dies and you have their possessions still in your hands; the struggle to keep in touch with reality (“for weeks I felt like I was made of dully burning metal”); the desperation to see the back of grief when new relationships are desperately grasped at, and fail of course, because of that desperation. 

The goshawk saves her (and us) from the darkness, as she becomes gripped with the idea of training it and thereby forging a strong, new, positive relationship. She takes the reader on an amazing journey as she attempts to tame this incredibly wild and obstinate bird, and on this quest finds a new purpose and identity. It is a story that is fascinating and invigorating, at times comic and heart-rending too. 

I love stories of obsession, and this is one of the best.

I love the grittiness of this—an account of a walk along the South West Coast path, when terminal illness and poverty haunt the walkers and everything is in a state of flux.

It doesn’t glamorize the walk; it’s often uncomfortable with lots of biting wind and pouring rain. At times, there are even threats from others they come across who are sleeping rough. Overall, it’s a description of nature at its most raw and authentic.

Although we glimpse moments of inspiration and beauty, I like the fact, as well, that it doesn’t have a big, blowsy Hollywood ending—at the close, the future appears uncertain, although there is a definite sense that a new energy has been discovered.

It ends on a simple, perfect moment as the author describes her and her husband as “lightly salted blackberries hanging in the summer sun” and adds significantly that’s “all that is needed.”

A slightly more left-field choice in some ways since this book, as the title suggests, is a history, rather than a memoir, but it gave me such an uplifting sense of the permanence and longevity of nature, that I felt I had to include it.

It reinforced the sense that the natural world has existed way before we have and will go on long after we’ve disappeared. Just reading about the passion, dedication, and enthusiasm of gardeners down the ages too, provided an instant tonic.

If, like me, you’re a history buff, it’s also full of fascinating insights on how natural spaces down the centuries have acted as the social, romantic, and economic bedrocks of communities; how they’ve supported, reinvigorated, and given sustenance to so many different people over time.

Comforting, entertaining, and informative all at once.