Category: Indigenous Culture

Ten Essential Books About California’s Nature, Science, and Sense of Place

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You can scroll endlessly through TikTok and Instagram for quick bursts of California’s beauty, but to truly sink into a subject, and to savor the craft of a great writer, you need a book. I’m an avid reader, and over the past decade I’ve dedicated a large section of my bookshelf to books about California: its wild side, its nature, and its scientific wonders.

There are surely many other books that could be included in this top ten list, but these are the finest I’ve come across in the years since returning to live in the state.They capture the extraordinary diversity of California’s landscapes and wildlife, found nowhere else on Earth, and many also explore issues and themes that hold deep importance for the state and its people. Although I’ve read some of these titles digitally, I love having many of them in print, because there are few things more satisfying than settling into a beach, a forest campsite, or a favorite chair at home with a beautifully made book in hand.

California Against the Sea: Visions for Our Vanishing Coastline by Rosanna Xia

I first discovered Rosanna Xia’s work through her stunning exposé on the thousands of DDT barrels found dumped on the seafloor near Catalina Island. It remains one of the most shocking, and yet not technically illegal, environmental scandals in California’s history.

Her recent book, California Against the Sea: Visions for Our Vanishing Coastline, is a beautifully written and deeply reported look at how California’s coastal communities are confronting the realities of climate change and rising seas. Xia travels the length of the state, from Imperial Beach to Pacifica, weaving together science, policy, and personal stories to show how erosion, flooding, and climate change are already reshaping lives. What makes the book stand out is its relative balance; it’s not a screed, nor naïvely hopeful. It nicely captures the tension between human settlement — our love and need to be near the ocean — and the coast’s natural (and unnatural, depending on how you look at it) cycles of change.

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Xia is at her best when exploring adaptation and equity. She reminds us that even if emissions stopped today, the ocean will keep rising, and that not all communities have equal means to respond. The stories of engineers, Indigenous leaders, and ordinary residents highlight how resilience and adaptation must be rooted in local realities. I was especially drawn to Xia’s account of the California Coastal Commission, a wildly controversial agency that wields immense power over the future of the shoreline. Yet it was the commission and its early champions, such as Peter Douglas, who ensured that California’s coast remained open and accessible to all, a decision I consider one of the greatest legislative achievements in modern conservation history.

Thoughtful, accessible, and rooted in the coast we all care about, California Against the Sea challenges us to ask a pressing question: how can we live wisely, and with perspective, at the edge of a changing world?

The High Sierra: A Love Story by Kim Stanley Robinson

Kim Stanley Robinson’s The High Sierra: A Love Story is an expansive, heartfelt tribute to California’s most iconic mountain range. Because of the Sierra’s vast internal basins, which are missing from many of the world’s other great mountain ranges, Robinson argues they are among the best mountains on Earth. His point is hard to refute. He makes a convincing case that the Sierra Nevada may be the greatest range in the world, formed from the planet’s largest single block of exposed granite and lifted over millions of years into its dramatic present shape.

Blending memoir, geology (my favorite part of the book), and adventure writing, Robinson chronicles his own decades of exploration in the Sierra Nevada while tracing the forces — glacial, tectonic, and emotional, that shaped both the landscape and his own life.

Considered one of our greatest living science fiction writers (I’ve read Red Mars — long, but superb — and am currently reading The Ministry for the Future — the opening chapter is gripping and terrifying), Robinson might seem an unlikely guide to the granite heights of California. Yet reading The High Sierra: A Love Story reveals how naturally his fascination with imagined worlds extends into this very real one. The drama of the range, with its light, vastness, and sculpted peaks and basins, feels like raw material for his other universes.

The Dreamt Land by Mark Arax

The Dreamt Land is a portrait of California’s Central Valley, where the control of water has defined everything from landscape to power (power in the form of hydroelectric energy and human control over who gets to shape and profit from the valley’s vast resources). Blending investigative journalism, history, and memoir, Arax explores how the state’s rivers, dams, and aqueducts turned desert into farmland and how that transformation came at immense ecological and social cost.

I’ve read several Arax books, but this one is my favorite. He’s one of the finest writers California has produced. He writes with passion and clarity, grounding his ideas in decades of firsthand experience with California’s land and water. His focus on the fertile Central Valley, where he grew up as a reporter and farmer’s son, gives the book both intimacy and authority, revealing how decisions about water shape not just the landscape but the people who depend on it. There are heroes and villains, plenty of the latter, and all of them unmistakably real. Yet Arax’s prose is so fluid and eloquent that you’ll keep reading not only for the story, but for the sheer pleasure of his writing.

Assembling California by John McPhee (1993)

If you’re at all fascinated by California’s wild geology — and it truly is wild, just ask any geologist — this classic from one of the finest nonfiction writers alive is a must-read. McPhee takes readers on a geological road-trip through California, from the uplifted peaks of the Sierra Nevada to the fault-riven terrain of the San Andreas zone. He teams up with UC Davis geologist Eldridge Moores to explain how oceanic plates, island arcs, and continental blocks collided over millions of years to “assemble” the landmass we now call California. His prose is classic McPhee: clean, vivid, perhaps sometimes overly technical, as he turns terms like “ophiolite” and “batholith” into aspects of a landscape you can picture and feel.

What makes the book especially rewarding, especially for someone interested in earth systems, mapping, and the deep time, is how McPhee seamlessly links everyday places with deep-time events. You’ll read about gold-rush mining camps and vineyard soils, but all of it is rooted in tectonics, uplift, erosion, and transformation. I’ve gotten some of my favorite stories here on California Curated from the pages of this book. It can be ponderous at times, but you’ll not regret giving it a try.

The California Lands Trilogy by Obi Kaufman

The Forests of California (2020)

The Coasts of California (2022)

The Deserts of California (2023)

Obi Kaufman’s California Lands Trilogy is one of the most visually stunning and ambitious projects in California natural history publishing. Beginning with The Forests of California, the first of three volumes that reimagine the state not through its highways or cities but through its living systems, Kaufman invites readers to see California as a vast and interconnected organism, a place defined by its natural rhythms rather than human boundaries. Each book is filled with delicate watercolor maps and diagrams by the author himself. The result is part art book and part ecological manifesto, a celebration of the interconnectedness of California’s natural world. Kaufman’s talents as an artist are breathtaking. If he ever offered his original watercolors for sale, I’d be among the first in line to buy them. Taken together, the series forms a panoramic vision of the state’s natural environments.

That said, Kaufman’s books can be dense, filled with data, maps, and cross-references that reward slow reading more than quick browsing. If I’m honest, I tend to dip in and out of them, picking them up when I’m bored or need a break from the latest political bombshell. Every page offers something to linger over, whether it’s a river system painted like a circulatory map or a meditation on the idea of rewilding. For anyone fascinated by California’s natural systems, all Kaufman’s Field Atlases are invaluable companions endlessly worth revisiting.

The Enduring Wild: A Journey Into California’s Public Lands by Josh Jackson

My first job out of college was with the Department of the Interior in Washington, D.C., by far by the nation’s largest land management agency. A big part of that work involved traveling to sites managed by Interior across the country. I came to understand just how vast America’s public lands are and how much of that expanse, measured in millions of acres, is under the care of the Bureau of Land Management (BLM).

Josh Jackson takes readers on a road trip across California’s often overlooked public wilderness, focusing on the lands managed by the BLM, an agency once jokingly referred to as the Bureau of Livestock and Mining. He shows how these so-called “leftover lands” hold stories of geology, Indigenous presence, extraction, and conservation.

His prose and photography (he has a wonderful eye for landscapes) together invite the reader to slow down, look closely at the subtleties of desert mesas, sagebrush plains, and coastal bluffs, and reckon with what it means to protect places many people have never heard of. His use of the environmental psychology concept of “place attachment” struck a chord with me. The theory suggests that people form deep emotional and psychological bonds with natural places, connections that shape identity, memory, and a sense of belonging. As a frequent visitor to the Eastern Sierra, especially around Mammoth Lakes and Mono Lake, I was particularly drawn to Jackson’s chapter on that region. His account of the lingering impacts of the Mining Act of 1872, and how its provisions still allow for questionable practices today, driven by high gold prices, was eye-opening. I came away with new insights, which is always something I value in a book.

I should mention that I got my copy of the book directly from Josh, who lives not far from me in Southern California. We spent a few hours at a cafe in Highland Park talking about the value and beauty of public lands, and as I sat there flipping through the book, I couldn’t help but acknowledge how striking it is. Part of that comes from Heyday Books’ exceptional attention to design and production. Heyday also publishes Obi Kaufman’s work and they remain one of California’s great independent publishers. But much my appreciation for the book also comes from from Jackson himself, whose photographs are simply outstanding.

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What makes this book especially compelling is its blend of adventure and stewardship. Jackson doesn’t simply celebrate wildness; he also lays out the human and institutional connections that shape (and threaten) these public lands, from grazing rights to mining to climate-change impacts. Some readers may find the breadth of landscapes and stories a little ambitious for a first book, yet the richness of the journey and the accessibility of the writing make it a strong addition for anyone interested in California’s endless conflict over land use: what should be used for extraction and what should be preserved? While I don’t fully agree with Jackson on the extent to which certain lands should be preserved, I still found the book a wonderful exploration of that question.

The Backyard Bird Chronicles by Amy Tan

Amy Tan’s The Backyard Bird Chronicles is a charming and unexpectedly personal journal of bird-watching, set in the yard of Tan’s Bay Area home. Tan is an excellent writer, as one would expect from a wildly successful novelist (The Joy Luck Club, among others). But she also brings a curiosity and wonder to the simple act of looking across one’s backyard. I loved it. Who among us in California doesn’t marvel at the sheer diversity of birds we see every day? And who hasn’t wondered about the secret lives they lead? A skilled illustrator as well as a writer, she studies the birds she observes by sketching them, using art as a way to closely connect with the natural world around her.

What begins as a peaceful retreat during the Covid catastrophe becomes an immersive odyssey of observation and drawing. Tan captures the comings and goings of more than sixty bird species, sketches their lively antics, as she reflects on how these small winged neighbors helped calm her inner world when the larger world felt unsteady.

My only quibble is that I was hoping for more scientific depth; the book is more of a meditation than a field study. Still, for anyone who loves birds, sketching, or the quiet beauty of everyday nature, it feels like a gentle invitation to slow down and truly look.

“Trees in Paradise” by Jared Farmer

California is the most botanically diverse state in the U.S. (by a long shot), home to more than 6,500 native plant species, about a third of which exist nowhere else on Earth. Jared Farmer’s Trees in Paradise: A California History follows four key tree species in California: the redwood, eucalyptus, orange, and palm. Through these examples, Farmer reveals how Californians have reshaped the state’s landscape and its identity. It’s rich in scientific and historical detail. I have discovered several story ideas in the book for California Curated and learned a great deal about the four trees that we still see everywhere in the California landscape.

In telling the story of these four trees (remember, both the eucalyptus and the palm were largely brought here from other places), Farmer avoids easy sentimentality or harsh judgment, instead exploring how the creation of a “paradise” in California came with ecological costs and profoundly shaped the state’s identity. While the book concentrates on those four tree categories, its detailed research and insight make it a compelling read for anyone interested in the state’s environment, history, and the ways people shape and are shaped by land.

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Manzanitas are California’s Sculptured Survivors

At Inspiration Point, Yosemite, sticky whiteleaf manzanita tends to occupy south slopes, greenleaf manzanita tends to occupy north slopes. (Photo: NPS)
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As an avid hiker in Southern California, I’ve become a deep admirer of the chaparral that carpets so many of the hills and mountains in the region. When I was younger, I didn’t think much of these plants. They seemed dry, brittle, and uninviting, and they’d often leave nasty red scrapes on your legs if you ever ventured off-trail.

But I’ve come to respect them, not only because they’ve proven to be remarkably hardy, but because when you look closer, they reveal a kind of beauty I failed to appreciate when I was younger. I’ve written here and elsewhere about a few of them: the fascinating history of the toyon (Heteromeles arbutifolia), also known as California holly, which likely inspired the name Hollywood and is now officially recognized as Los Angeles’ native city plant; the incredible durability of creosote bush, featured in a recent Green Planet episode with David Attenborough; and the laurel sumac, whose taco-shaped leaves help it survive the region’s brutal summer heat.

Manzanita branches in the high Sierra. The deep red colored bark enhanced by water. (Photo: Erik Olsen)

But there’s another plant I’ve come to admire, one that stands out not just for its resilience but for its deep red bark and often gnarled, sculptural form. It’s manzanita, sometimes called the Jewel of the Chaparral, and it might be one of the most quietly extraordinary plants in California.

If you’ve ever hiked a sun-baked ridge or wandered a chaparral trail, chances are you’ve brushed past a manzanita. With twisting, muscular limbs the color of stained terra cotta and bark so smooth it looks hand-polished, manzanita doesn’t just grow. It sculpts itself into the landscape, twisting and bending with the contours of hillsides, rocks, and other plants.

There are more than 60 species and subspecies of manzanita (Arctostaphylos), and most are found only in California. Some stand tall like small trees as much as 30 feet high; others crawl low along rocky slopes. But all of them are masters of survival. Their small, leathery leaves are coated with a waxy film to lock in moisture during the long dry seasons. They bloom in late winter with tiny pink or white bell-shaped flowers, feeding early pollinators when little else is flowering. By springtime, those flowers ripen into red fruits: the “little apples” that give the plant its name.

Manzanita flowers (Santa Barbara Botanical Garden)

One of manzanita’s more fascinating traits is how it deals with dead wood. Instead of dropping old branches, it often retains them, letting new growth seal off or grow around the dead tissue. You’ll see branches striped with gray and red, or dead limbs still anchored to the plant. It’s a survival strategy, conserving water, limiting exposure, and creating the twisted, sculptural forms that make manzanita distinctive.

And fire is key to understanding manzanita’s world. Like many California plants, many manzanita species are fire-adapted: some die in flames but leave behind seeds that only germinate after exposure to heat or smoke. Others resprout from underground burls after burning. Either way, manzanita is often one of the first plants to return to the land after a wildfire, along with laurel sumac, stabilizing the soil, feeding animals (and people), and shading the way for the next wave of regrowth.

Manzanita’s astonishing red bark The reddish color of manzanita bark is primarily due to tannins, naturally occurring compounds that also contribute to the bark’s bitter taste and deter insects and other organisms from feeding on it. (Photo: NPS)

Botanically, manzanitas are a bit of a mystery. They readily hybridize and evolve in isolation, which means there are tiny populations of hyper-local species, some found only on a single hill or canyon slope. That makes them incredibly interesting to scientists and especially vulnerable to development and climate change.

Their red bark is the result of high concentrations of tannins, bitter compounds that serve as a natural defense. Tannins are present in many plants like oaks, walnuts and grapes, and in manzanitas, they make the bark unpalatable to insects and animals and help resist bacteria, fungi, and decay. The bark often peels away in thin sheets, shedding microbes and exposing fresh layers underneath. It’s a protective skin, both chemical and physical, built for survival in the dry, fire-prone landscapes of California.

Whiteleaf manzanita leaves and berries (Photo: NPS)

The plants still have mysteries that are being uncovered. For example, a new species of manzanita was only just discovered in early 2024, growing in a rugged canyon in San Diego County. Named Arctostaphylos nipumu to honor the Nipomo Mesa where it was discovered and its indigenous heritage, it had gone unnoticed despite being located just 35 miles from the coast and not far from populated areas. The discovery, announced by botanists at UC Riverside, highlights that unique species localization, as the plants are found sometimes growing only on a single ridge or in a specific type of soil. Unfortunately, this newly identified species is already at risk due to development pressures and habitat loss. According to researchers, only about 50 individuals are known to exist in the wild, making A. nipumu one of California’s rarest native plants, and a reminder that the story of manzanita is still unfolding, even in places we think we know well.

A new species of manzanita – A. nipumu – was discovered in San Diego County last year (2024), surprising reserachers. (Photo: UCR)

For hikers, photographers, and anyone with an eye for the unusual, manzanita is a cool plant to stumble upon. I will often stop and admire a particularly striking plant. I love when its smooth bark peels back in delicate curls, looking like sunburned skin or shavings of polished cinnamon. It’s hard to walk past a manzanita without reaching out to touch that smooth, cool bark. That irresistible texture may not serve any evolutionary purpose for the plant, but it’s one more reason to wander into California’s fragrant chaparral, where more species of manzanita grow than anywhere else on Earth.

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Laurel Sumac, the Resilient Beauty of Southern California’s Chaparral

Laurel sumac in the San Gabriel Mountains (Erik Olsen)
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Here’s another article exploring some of California’s native plants. With a remarkable abundance of flora, California is home to over 6,500 species that play a vital role in shaping its diverse and iconic landscapes.

While hiking through the chaparral-covered hills of Southern California, from the Santa Monica to the San Bernardino and San Gabriel Mountains, you’ll encounter a rich variety of plants, each adapted to thrive in the harsh, dry conditions. Some of them will inevitably be foreign, as California’s mild Mediterranean climate is a perfect incubator for invasive species. But there are many indigenous plants (aka: endemic) that are touchstones of resilience, survivors that thrive here and help make the California chaparral ecosystem incredibly diverse and hearty. Among these is the laurel sumac, a stalwart of the coastal sage scrub, its waxy, aromatic leaves adapted to withstand the sun-baked hillsides and dry seasons that define so much of California’s natural landscape.

Laurel sumac (Malosma laurina) is a large, rounded evergreen shrub or small tree that can grow up to 20 feet tall and wide. When in bloom (late spring through summer), it gives off a strong, aromatic scent that can be very pleasant. The plant is native to southern California and Baja California, and is also found on the southern Channel Islands.

The plant is characterized by lance-shaped leaves with reddish veins and stems, adding a touch of color to the landscape. Laurel sumac has a unique ability to curl its leaves upward when exposed to extreme heat. This reduces the surface area exposed to the sun, minimizing water loss and preventing overheating. This trait has earned the plant the nickname “taco plant,” as its leaves often fold up like a taco shell. The clusters of small white flowers that bloom at the tips of its branches resemble lilac blossoms. After blooming, the small, creamy-white flowers develop into clusters of tiny, reddish-brown, berry-like fruits known as drupes. Each drupe contains a single seed and is covered with a thin, leathery skin.

From a hike in the San Gabriel Mountains. Most of the large clumpy bushes are Laurel sumac (Erik Olsen)

Although named “laurel” for its resemblance to bay laurel, laurel sumac actually belongs to the cashew family (Anacardiaceae). This family includes other well-known plants like poison oak, mango, and pistachio, highlighting the diverse characteristics within this botanical group. Laurel sumac is a vital species in the coastal sage scrub and chaparral ecosystems, offering habitat and food for wildlife. Its berries are particularly enjoyed by songbirds, including warblers. The plant blooms from late spring to early summer, producing clusters of small, white flowers that attract various pollinators, including bees and butterflies.

After flowering, it produces small, reddish-brown fruits that are a food source for birds and other wildlife. Interestingly, the shrub’s ability to thrive in the arid conditions of Southern California, combined with its distinctive red stems and fragrant blooms, make it a key contributor to the region’s natural beauty and biodiversity.

Laurel sumac along a trail in the San Gabriel Mountains (Erik Olsen)

The plant is amazingly drought-tolerant, with deep roots that allow it to access water during dry periods, making it a critical species in fire-prone environments. In fact, its ability to quickly resprout after fire is one reason it’s so prevalent in chaparral communities.

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Laurel sumac is also notable for its role in traditional indigenous practices. Native peoples of the region used various parts of the plant for medicinal purposes, including treating skin conditions and respiratory ailments. Known as “ektii” by the Kumeyaay people, Laurel sumac held a prominent place in their traditional practices. The Kumeyaay are indigenous to the region that spans southern California, including San Diego County, and northern Baja California, Mexico. After childbirth, a tea or wash made from the plant was used for its soothing and medicinal properties, demonstrating its role in maternal care.

Laurel sumac with its fragrant white blossoms.

Beyond its medicinal uses, the sturdy wood of laurel sumac was utilized in construction, reflecting its practical value to the Kumeyaay. In a modern twist, the dried flower clusters of the plant have found a niche in model railroading, where enthusiasts often paint them and use them as miniature trees to create realistic landscapes.

Laurel sumac is just one of the many incredible native plant species that contribute to California’s rich biodiversity. Its abundance in some of the southern mountain ranges makes it a quintessential part of the landscape and an essential topic when exploring native flora. Stay tuned as we continue to highlight more species that make California such a unique and extraordinary place.

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The Blythe Intaglios are the California’s Nazca Lines. They are True Mysteries Etched in Earth.

Blythe Intaglio of a human figure in Southern California (Wikipedia)
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In the vast expanses of California’s Colorado Desert, less than four hours from Los Angeles, a series of ancient and enigmatic figures etched into the earth—the Blythe Intaglios—have long puzzled anthropologists and captivated the imagination of those who visit them or view them from the sky. They were brought to modern attention somewhat by chance. In 1932, George Palmer, a pilot flying over the Mojave Desert between Las Vegas, Nevada and Blythe, glimpsed these enigmatic formations, sparking curiosity and awe. 

Named for the nearby town of Blythe, California, these large geoglyphs (human-made designs created on the ground by arranging or moving objects in a landscape), sprawl across the desert floor, and are an extraordinary example of prehistoric art, yet they remain one of the lesser-known archaeological wonders of North America. The Colorado Desert, just south of the Mojave, contains the only known desert intaglios in North America. 

The Blythe Intaglios are best observed from above by drone or by plane, where their full scale and intricacy become apparent. The largest figure – of a human with outstretched arms – spans an immense 171 feet, an impressive endeavor considering the primitive tools likely used in their creation. One has to wonder why they were created at all since the people who made them certainly had no way of viewing them from the air. In addition to humans, the figures depict animals such as a rattlesnake and possibly a horse (yeah, what is that thing?), as well as geometric shapes, each meticulously carved by removing the dark desert varnish to reveal the lighter soil underneath. Intaglios in general are classified by their shapes, such as anthropomorphs (humanlike), zoomorphs (animal-like) and various geometric shapes.

Blythe Intaglio quadruped (Wikipedia)

The intaglios are mostly located along the Colorado River, a fact that some scientists consider significant. Rivers often hold a central place in the spiritual and cultural lives of indigenous peoples. For the tribes associated with the Blythe Intaglios, such as the Mojave and Quechan, the Colorado River was likely a vital part of their spiritual and everyday life. The proximity of these geoglyphs to the river suggests that they could have been part of a broader cultural landscape that included the river as a critical element. The river may have been seen as a source of life and a spiritual boundary, making the nearby land a significant place for creating these monumental figures.

While the Nazca Lines in Peru have gained worldwide fame, the Blythe Intaglios, though similar in form and function, have remained relatively obscure. Most Californians probably have no idea that such unique archaeological artifacts can be found in the state, let alone so close to a major urban center. This obscurity, however, adds to their mystique. 

The geoglyphs are believed to date back at least a thousand years, but their exact age remains uncertain. If the quadruped figures represent horses (reintroduced in North America by the Spanish) then a historical date of sometime after the 1500s would be supported. Archaeologist Jay von Werlhof obtained radiocarbon dates for the figures, ranging from 900 BCE to 1200 CE. The human figures, particularly the largest, are thought to represent Mastamho, the creator of life in Mojave and Quechan mythology. The animal figures, like the mountain lions, are steeped in symbolic meaning, potentially reflecting the tribes’ cosmology and spiritual beliefs.

Nazca Lines in Peru. (UNESCO World Heritage Site)

The precise purpose of the Blythe Intaglios is a matter of ongoing debate. Some scholars propose that they were part of religious rituals or celestial observances. The alignment and positioning of the figures suggest a possible astronomical function, marking significant events in the lunar or solar calendars. Or perhaps making them was just a fun way to pass the time and express creativity.  

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Despite their historical and cultural significance, the Blythe Intaglios have not been immune to threats. Off-road vehicle traffic and natural erosion have damaged some of the figures. Conservation efforts are in place, but the remote location and sheer scale of the site present unique challenges. Fences have been erected around some figures to protect them, but much work remains to ensure their preservation.

California’s Colorado Desert (Wikipedia)

The Blythe Intaglios are more than just ancient art; they are a wonderful example of the rich and diverse cultural heritage of the indigenous peoples of the Southwest. These geoglyphs offer a window into a past that likely predates European influence, a past that is integral to understanding the complex tapestry of American history. Places like the Blythe Intaglios are in constant threat of disappearing forever, but they’re important because they connect us with the human past and remind us of the power of human expression over time and the mysteries beneath our feet.

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