Sacred Groves

I feel lucky to live in a forest. I love that I can walk out the front door, or back door, and be surrounded by trees even though we are in the middle of a city. When Matt and I married, over 25 years ago, we talked about our future. I knew I needed deep roots, and a place to settle. I didn’t want to be a nomad. Thankfully, he agreed. Our forest is young by many standards, but the growing season is long in our subtropical climate. When they have ample water, the trees here grow quickly.

The trees feel sacred to me. Some of them have names, beyond that of their species. They each are distinct individuals with a shape and a *presence* of their own. I climb into some of them, meditate under others, and forage from many. Matt knows the identity of the birds who nest and sing in them, for which I am grateful.

Being in nature is good for us. Much has been written about the topic of ecotherapy. If you are interested in learning more, The Nature Fix: Why Nature Makes us Happier, Healthier, and More Creative, by Florence Williams, is a great place to start. Here is a piece I wrote in Bringing Home the Wild: A Riparian Garden in a Southwestern City, inspired by a mature pecan grove not too far from our place. Maybe it will inspire you to plant a sacred grove of your own.

FRACTALICIOUS

PECAN TREES: BECKONING LIMBS

Ninety-year-old pecan trees. A whole grove. Let me into those beckoning limbs!

 

The Farm at South Mountain, several miles to the east, is a restful place to eat locally grown, pesticide-free food. The picnic tables under the grove of pecans are a sanctuary for meeting with friends during pandemics. I am grateful to those who have nurtured this green space and protected it from the tidal wave of urban development.

 

While my lunch companion was fetching our food (hmm, what am I in the mood for . . . pecan salad or egg sandwich?), I was men­tally calculating the route I would take up the tree if allowed. Then I found myself enthusing about forest bathing to a stranger who had come over to chat, perhaps having noticed an odd gleam in my eye. The practice, I explained, which is called shinrin-yoku in Japan, has gained traction in parts of the world.

 

Trees do so much for us! They provide the oxygen we breathe and the food we eat (thank you). They bolster our immune system and lengthen our lives. Their fractal-filled canopies and odor-filled flowers and bark cause our brain waves to slow, our blood pressure to drop, and our body to relax.11 Which ultimately makes us more productive. This is not magical thinking, I assured her: it is sup­ported by respected researchers at revered institutions.

 

And it is not just the trees who help us. The composition and diver­sity of all the plants makes a difference. Blue flowers make us calmer than red ones. Complex landscapes make us more creative. Women are particularly affected: when we are deprived of access to nature, we become more stressed than the men. If you want to learn more, I gushed, check out the book The Nature Fix by Florence Williams!

 

“Ah, you are back! Let’s tuck in. Yum, these pecans are delicious.” The food at the Farm fills our bodies. The wooded setting feeds our souls. Okay, that may be magical thinking. And the isolation of the pandemic makes some of us atypically chatty.  “Oh, be sure to look up fractals and become amazed by the simi­larity between the patterns the tree branches make and the patterns our retinas use when scanning the landscape, I didn’t have time to explain,” I prattled to the baffled stranger on the way out, after my companion and I had finished our meal.

 

Hmm. Perhaps I should have gone up that tree after all. Not everyone is in the mood for a lecture.

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