Art and nature are siblings, branches of the one tree; and nowhere more than in the continuing inexplicability of many of their processes, and above all those of creation and of effect on their respective audiences. Our approach to art, as to nature, has become increasingly scientized (and dreadfully serious) during this last century. It sometimes seem now as if it is principally there not for itself but to provide material for labeling, classifying, analysing—specimens for 'setting', as I used to set moths and butterflies.

A 30th anniversary edition of John Fowles' The Tree—with a new intro by the inimitable Barry Lopez—was just released as a pretty little $14 (!) paperback. It's a book-length essay about art and nature and perception, and if you think about those things you're going to want to read it. The book opens with Fowles recalling the apple trees his father cultivated when Fowles was young, so: Best comment about a childhood nature memory wins it. (We told you guys about "Hippie Friday," right? It's our new thing.)