The Healing Power of Trees

Standing like a tree, roots sinking down deep into the Earth, source of our food, branches stretching toward the sun that nourishes and revivifies, leaved poised to drink in the rain—I am open to this season of growth.

On the cusp of a powerful change, I turn to the Creator for guidance and courage, and to Nature for comfort, connection, renewal.

At the loneliest times during the pandemic years, hugging a tree has given me a feeling of connection to the community of trees surrounding it, knowing—thanks to Forest Ecologist Dr. Suzanne Simard—that trees communicate with each other underground through mycorrhizal networks, sharing information and resources. In the company of trees, I feel welcomed, included, and supported, which has not always been the case in human company.

My first experience of this connection with trees arose at the 2021 Earth Medicine Gathering, a day of holistic health classes offered at Six Circles Farm in Lodi, New York. There, Professor Valerie Luzadis of the SUNY College of Environmental Science and Forestry guided a group of us to each approach a tree with a request to have a conversation, much as one would approach a person, waiting politely for a reply before proceeding. I felt a connection with the sturdy old oak tree I’d walked up to, and asked if I might say hello. Part of my mind ran the narrative, this is all a creation of my imagination, while another part stayed open and receptive. Perhaps most important was the way my body responded, tension easing, breath slowing and deepening, heart opening with deep gratitude for the stately wise presence of the tree I was privileged to be engaging with—not just admiring its rugged beauty, or its utility as a source of shade and oxygen and building materials, but actually appreciating the spirit of the tree as a creature in its own right.

I’m struck by the fact that Planet Earth, according to scientists, came into being 4.5 billion years ago, and trees have been around less than 10% as long (350 million years), while humans have been making mischief for a mere 2 million years. Since trees and the planet have demonstrated their staying power, I trust them deeply as sources of guidance. They do not poison their own nests.

Dr. Simard’s research has demonstrated that trees thrive not in monocultures, one species of tree planted over acres and acres, but instead in diverse mixes. Her conclusion resonates with my own sense that humans, too, thrive when we are open to learning and growing from people who see from a different point of view. At a moment when we’ve been conditioned to label one another and sort ourselves into opposing camps, I turn my sights to the forest.

Walking the trail at Treman Park through stands of evergreens, oaks, maples and beeches, I feel the harmony among them, a sense of balance and continuity, life proceeding through its cycle from sprout to sapling to mature tree to the fading and falling and decomposing that create soil for new life to take root. Here, too, there is the cycle of growth and rest, a comforting reminder in the midst of human society’s ratcheting up the pace and stripping out periods of repose and recovery.

Spending time in the company of trees recalibrates my nervous system and nourishes my soul with the winsome appearance of snowy trillium in spring, lush foliage in summer, blazing color in fall, and stark simplicity in winter, each its own delight. Ken Burns’ documentary on the National Parks told the story of the park director who suffered severe mental health challenges, and found time in the parks to be his healing elixir. Japanese researchers who have documented the benefits of forest bathing validate this tale.

It seems rather simple—spend time in the company of trees—yet much in our lives pulls us away, toward hours spent on the computer magnetically drawn down social media rabbit holes, entertaining ourselves with an endless supply of videos and games, connecting with distant friends and family through electronic portals—

Ultimately, our bodies remind us of the vital fountain we can drink from by stepping outside—into the yard, into the garden, onto the walking trail, down to the park, off to the beach or forest or desert or mountains—recalibrating to the pulse of life.