Nature contains lessons everywhere you look
I grew up in the middle of nowhere—BFE, if you know what that means. Yet this gift of living on the top of a hill in the country allowed me to witness the most magnificent nature had to offer. With a dad who loved being outside, from watching lightning storms roll across valleys to finding constellations and catching glimpses of the northern lights, I saw it all and was in awe.
But there was one thing I didn't understand until I moved to my tiny island home: the wisdom of the trees.
Sure, we had plenty of them on our 10 acres growing up. I'd fly past them on snowmobiles in winter, play beneath them, and make fairy gardens in their shade. But it wasn't until I had conversations with an arborist client and another who became a forest bathing expert that I began to understand how trees speak to us—about life, about healing, about the answers we carry within ourselves.
When Pain Becomes Teacher
Two years ago, I experienced what felt like the worst possible pain shooting through my body. It felt like the end of the world—or at least the most unforgivable gas bubble. Either way, I felt awful. Despite my husband's worried suggestions about seeing a doctor, something told me this wasn't a medical situation.
I called a Reiki master friend who ran through a list of questions, only to give me the simplest yet most profound directive: "Go sit by a tree."
She told me to give my pain to the tree, to ask it for wisdom, and to let the pain drain out through the roots. After three days of suffering, I was willing to try anything.
So I sat in the park next to my house with my back against a tree, talking to it like an old friend. That night, the pain broke and I felt utter relief.
Maybe it was magic. Maybe it was just that I finally waited long enough. Or maybe it was simply that I had found my way back to gratitude for the trees.
The Medicine Returns
Fast forward to last week. I've been deep in practice, walking daily and working on my nervous system. I'm surrounded by magical humans who support me, and I was preparing for two big trips plus a final private client retreat.
At my acupuncturist appointment following a massage, I mentioned my concern about staying grounded through all the travel. I told him about my usual practices—sitting for long periods with plant medicine, working with teachers for support.
He paused and said, "Well, it may sound like a knuckle-dragging Neanderthal thing for me to say, but have you ever considered the wisdom of the trees?"
All of it came rushing back. Of course.
We made a plan: whenever I needed a reset during my travels, I would find the nearest park or grove of trees and sit with them. He suggested I could lean against one if I didn't want to look crazy, but I told him I already look crazy enough to most people. I'd hug the tree, sit with it, talk to it, and ask for what I needed.
The Truth About Tree Wisdom
Here's what I've learned: the wisdom of the trees is really the wisdom in you.
How many times do we wait for someone else or something else to give us the answers when the truth lives inside us all along? All we need to do is use the real earth medicine—the ground beneath our feet, the bark against our backs, the roots that mirror our own need for stability—to help us remember what we already know.
Your Invitation to Reconnect
You don't need to live on 10 acres or move to an island to access this medicine. You don't need special training or expensive retreats. You just need:
A tree. Any tree. The oak in your neighborhood park. The maple on your street corner. The pine behind your office building.
A willingness to look a little crazy. Sit with it. Lean against it. Put your hands on its bark. Talk to it like the wise friend it is.
Trust in your own knowing. The tree won't give you answers you don't already have. It will simply create the space for you to hear them.
The next time you're struggling with a decision, feeling ungrounded, or carrying pain that doesn't seem to have a clear source, consider this: the answer might not be in your phone, your therapist's office, or your medicine cabinet.
It might be waiting for you under the nearest tree, in the conversation between your questions and your own deep knowing.
No one else knows better than you. The trees are just there to remind you of that truth.