No matter where I am, whether it’s a strip mall or a mountain trail, one of the first things I notice during the spring is the presence (or lack) of butterflies. Before reading Richard Louv’s book, Noticing: Intimate Encounters With the Natural World (Algonquin, June 2026), I thought of myself as well-versed in nature. I research nature in my career and I spend a significant amount of time outdoors for fun. However, Louv’s personal essays prompt the reader to reflect deeply on our views around nature, and see ourselves as not the “pinnacle” of nature, but as appreciators and caretakers of nature.
Richard Louv is a journalist, speaker, and author who advocates for the importance of nature exposure for health and the need for environmental preservation. He has received numerous accolades for his work, including the Audubon Medal in 2008 and an Honorary Doctorate from the New School of Architecture & Design in 2018. In his previous 2005 book, Last Child in the Woods, Louv coined the term “nature-deficit disorder” to describe the disconnect between children and nature. In the 2026 book, Noticing, Louv focuses on how individuals of all ages can notice nature and be good stewards of nature.
In Noticing, Louv provides a series of personal anecdotes and perspectives around the theme of “deep noticing,” which is how we connect with nature, including plants and animals. The book is structured in six sections starting with what’s missing in the way we currently notice nature to ending with what we can do to ensure that future generations have the opportunity to notice nature. Each section (i.e. what are we missing?; the neuroscience of noticing; the art and music of nature; bioenchanted; can we make peace with nature?; our human-nature spirit) starts with a quote or two related to the section’s theme. Noticing is written in the first person and is easily accessible to readers who do not already engage with nature in their day to day lives. However, an avid nature lover will also find insightful lessons in the book. Much of the book is set in the San Diego metropolitan area, where he currently lives; although he also has some anecdotes from Missouri and Kansas, where he grew up.
Despite the abundance of themes related to the human-nature relationship, Louv manages to flow from topic to topic in an organized and connected manner. I would liken the structure of the book to a semester-long college nature seminar series, where each chapter or so is a class session with a different guest speaker enlightening the reader on their area of expertise. He includes examples and quotes from individuals who interact with nature in different ways, such as Indigenous leaders, conservationists, and even search and rescue team leaders. The diversity of thought in this book seems to align with the biodiversity of nature. Due to how Louv relays teachings from these individuals rather than explicitly telling us what to believe, his tone never becomes preachy. For example, when discussing approaches to noticing, he quotes Janice, a forest bathing guide trainee, “Janice picks up a piece of bark, rolls it in her fingers, and smiles. ‘It does help to remember what you noticed as a child.’” (Louv 45). The lesson here on how to notice is simple, but it lingers and sparks reflection in the reader’s mind.
Louv brings up other ways to notice in nature, including nature journaling, walking meditations, art, photography, and virtual reality. Whether or not he agrees with the modality, he still discusses it for the sake of the reader to decide what path they will choose to connect with nature. He makes his disdain for using virtual reality and grounding mats as a proxy for nature connection very apparent, but he does acknowledge that there is some scientific research supporting the benefits of digital nature experiences. Although I’m initially inclined to agree that nature connections with “no wires” feels like the better option, this is a topic that I will read about in more depth to determine the merits of digital nature experiences for myself. His writing certainly encourages some healthy skepticism and critical thinking around what the role of technology in nature connection should be.
While I was reading Noticing, my friend gifted me a set of watercolors and suggested we paint together in a garden. She said the best part of watercolor painting is that it doesn’t need to be perfect to look good. Shortly after, I read Louv’s chapter featuring his colleague’s, Marley Peifer, insights on how nature journaling can be an inexpensive tool for noticing. Nature journaling makes us notice our surroundings and commit our observations to paper. This activity has become my favorite pastime on hikes, and I find enjoyment in slowing down. I am not able to paint all of my noticing, like the way the sun’s warmth feels while I’m sitting on a rock, but I am no longer on auto-pilot as I walk through nature nor am I simply focused on reaching the end of the trail. Maybe I’m also becoming less perfectionistic too. After all, even nature is not always perfect or beautiful, as Louv is quick to point out in his book.Noticing does not express a romanticized or sanitized view of nature. Some of Louv’s stories of nature can actually be brutal to read and visualize. One particular instance is Louv’s description of how he helped a deer that was being attacked by his neighbor’s dog:
Seeing or hearing me now, the dog twisted and ran. The deer, all spinning legs, flung itself at the fence. Once. Twice. It was still wailing. I looked. No spurting blood. Several red puncture wounds. A relief. But then I realized that the panicked deer felt trapped by me. So I ran back up the hill… I presumed the deer had made it over the fence and into the woods.
This anecdote, among others, show the resilience and cyclicity of nature. The dog went from being a predator towards the deer to prey when Louv appeared. Louv evolved from being a bystander to a savior of the deer to a predator in the deer’s eyes. Whether or not Louv’s actions were appropriate is up to the reader to decide. The interconnectedness and transience of nature come up many times throughout the book, and it makes me wonder if I’ve ever unintentionally been a predator.
In a country and time where certain topics are emotionally charged or deemed controversial, Louv is adept at bringing light to the various issues affecting our connection with nature today (e.g. natural disasters, climate change, loss of Indigenous knowledge, increased pervasiveness of technology, and politics) in a way that will resonate with readers. Louv discusses the loss of traditional farming as one such challenge we face today:
Concern about the disappearance of small farms and ranches is less about nostalgia than it is about a collapsing bank of knowledge unfamiliar to the rest of the culture, including many conservationists and environmentalists. Independent ranchers and farmers are physically closer to the land; they have dirt under their nails. That means something.
The agricultural industry’s impacts on biodiversity and climate change are well known, and Louv appeals to both our sense of practicality and our emotions when arguing for why we should care. Louv’s consistent humility and respect for the different ways individuals engage with and care for nature shows up here. Rather than burden the individual reader with the big responsibility of figuring out how to stop the loss of traditional farming knowledge, Louv ends the chapter with a question: “Making peace with nature depends on another question: Can we make peace with each other?” (Louv 197). I appreciate his call for unity. It recognizes the fact that the issues facing nature need interdisciplinary working relationships across all sides to tackle, and it leaves us with a tangible goal to reflect upon and take small steps towards.
When I worked at a local health department, I led a Parks Prescription initiative where we sub-contracted with another public health agency to lead 1-mile walks in an urban park for low-income older adults. Participants would keep an eye out for cracks and bumps in the path and point it out to their peers to prevent falling. Looking back, I can recognize the pointing and sharing of fall risks as a small act of noticing that brought this group of strangers together. As a current doctoral student creating her research agenda, I will be thinking about who I can build relationships with to research nature exposure for health. There are enough examples of a variety of nature interactions in the book that readers without a profession adjacent to nature may find an area to take action in.
While one might expect the book to end with despair for the current state of nature, that does not happen. Louv ends with chapters of hope, stories of how his colleague is “planting” a new future by planting trees on Volcan mountain after wildfires, and suggestions for nature engagement. No matter what your current relationship with nature is, by the end of the book, you will feel inspired to reflect on it. For me, besides having taken up nature journaling and reflected on my research values, I will move beyond commenting on the beauty of monarch butterflies to asking myself what I can do to support their presence in the environment.
