My favorite books where imagination and nature run free

I love Richard Brautigan, and In Watermelon Sugar was my first Brautigan book.

I was in the ninth grade and ready to be transported to a land that was hippie without trying to be so. A living room with trees and a stream. A sun that shines a different color every day, especially on Thursday when the sun shines black and there is no sound.

Written three years before the summer of love, the seeds of the hippie dream-turned-nightmare are already sown. Too much whiskey. And yet, this book lit the way for a life of creativity. Still does.

I love Tom Robbins. I love his preposterous plots. I love his audacious metaphors. I love the never-ending details of one world crashing into another.

Like an 8th C King as well as a 20th C “genius waitress,” an aging “Queen of Good Smells,” and the skyscraper-housed “LeFever Parfumarie.” Spanning 13 centuries, bouncing from Bohemia to India to Paris to Seattle to New Orleans, Jitterbug Perfume wonders if Christianity will kill Pan and whether immortality is all it’s cracked up to be.

But, you ask, what about the beets? Yes, through all this Tomfoolery, Mr. Robbins loves him some natural world, and it is through the humble yet enigmatic beet that we learn to “hold onto your divine blush, your innate rosy magic, or end brown.” I, for one, want to stay rosy, and you, for one, should read Jitterbug Perfume.

I’ve heard Gary Snyder speak three times. He can be tersely observational, deadly serious, puckishly whimsical, or well-deep mythic, sometimes all at once. All of this is true of Mountains and Rivers Without End, a volume of poems where Snyder does in poetry what Japanese artists did in their landscapes.

Here you will find a series of varied Zen-inspired meditations and Native-American-inspired folktales that draw from his Beat friends, his “Dharma teachers,” and “hosts of poets and writers, scientists, scholars, craftspersons, river-and-mountains people, fields-and-orchards people, and streets-and-buildings people.”

If you care about imagination and nature and freedom, then this book is a must read, one I return to periodically.

If you want to get in touch with nature and are looking for a how-to book, not so much a prescription, but an experiential meditation, then look no further because Nan Shepherd is your gal, and her book, The Living Mountain, is your book.

Shepherd went about writing The Living Mountain in the 1940s by analyzing her fifty years of walkabouts and then synthesizing her experience into twelve chapters that move from hardscapes into the biosphere. The last few chapters are meditations on perception, the last entitled “Being.”

Ultimately, this book is a meditation on what Shepherd calls “bodily thinking,” or, in my words, a subconscious mainline to nature, and, in her words, “a life of the senses so pure, so untouched by any mode of apprehension but their own.”

If you are like me, you’ve always wanted to know if ravens are moral creatures, and lucky for hard-headed us, Bernd Heinrich is no bleeding-heart tree hugger.

He instead is a scientist who, in his book Mind of the Raven, recounts the time he adopted four young ravens and became their “surrogate parent” on the supposition that “the first prerequisite to studying any animal is to get close and to stay close.”

This book, then, is a drama where both Heinrich and his ravens endeavor to cross the barrier between species. Because they learn much, we learn much, and on the question of whether ravens are moral creatures, I will leave that to you to find out.