I grew up in the south and considered anywhere outside my real home, but especially in the bough of large pecan and live oak trees. There was nowhere I felt safer or loved being more than there. A beautiful, heartfelt essay I enjoyed reading — thank you. .
Thank you so much, Susan! I'm not familiar with pecan trees, but live oak trees are so incredible. There's something even deeper and more sacred about them—I'm not at all surprised that you felt held by them. I'm so glad you liked the essay. Thank you.
Our Grandmothers the trees thank you, Rebecca, for understanding their role in this world. Thank you for your love and outrage and steadfast belief in the value of their arboreal lives. For loving and speaking up for all of life on this incredible planet, the only home our species has ever known. I thank you too, and am honored to be included in your list. Blessings and a hug from me!
Ah, this was lovely to read. A relief. I feel the exact same way you do about trees! I'm still mad that my mom had the weeping willow in the yard of the house I grew up in removed. I don't care that some guy--who made a lot of money by removing it-- said it was dying. It was fine! I will mourn that tree the rest of my life. Thank you, Rebecca! <3
Hello Diana! I know, right?! The loss of a weeping willow is an especially hard one. They cut the branches of a gorgeous one in my town to make way for power lines, and it has never recovered. It still hurts me every time I walk by it. I hear you! It's so nice to see you here.
From this "tree hugger" to you, thank you for writing precisely how I (and many of us) feel about these magnificent beings. They speak to us in myriad ways, like all of Mother Earth. I will thank her again, too.
Picking strawberries - the best job. Ever. Late June, early morning, scootching along the rows, picking berries, the breeze, birdsong, and the sun on the nape of your neck, until it burns red. I was there in the moment with you and then surprised to see my name pop up. Thanks for the shout-out. I'm humbled to be in such good company!
Wonderful! Feel the earth, touch the tree, wonder at the bark's texture; so many miracles if we just see and relate. And thanks for sharing the book review excerpt -- I hope it helps build some sales!
Thank you, Jeanine! You already do do it, in a way, with the way you appreciate the beauty around you and share it with us. But more never hurts! Thank you for reading and commenting, it's so nice to see you here!
Oh thanks Rebecca! So true, more never hurts. But trees/plants are so aware, they probably already know who loves them, right? But I will make sure to tell some of my fave trees how special they are ): Good reminder.
"I come from a long line of untamed minds, and crazy is often less harmful than mainstream group thought." Phewwwww.
Your poplar. How it just lay down. I will never, ever forget that.
We recently had to cut down 3 trees in our back garden that were blocking all the afternoon light from our home. They were like blackout curtains. It was heart-wrending and yet there was a very strange (yet clear) understanding that we needed that light. We have a tree-loving arborist who understood the bittersweet nature of it all, and also pointed out that they were planted decades ago in a very wrong place. They - the trees - said it was OK. And still. I feel their forgeiveness and continue to pour my love into the earth. Pour my whole self into my own little pollinator garden that can now grow and thrive in the sunlight.
The other day I brought some out of town visitors to Muir Woods, a sacred redwood forest here in the bay area. In recent years it has gone full tourist, like, you need reservations to go in, and busloads of global visitors get burped out onto its doorstep every day. I was feeling some despair and resentment and rage over this and the trees clearly said, "Oh hon. Please don't worry. We can handle them. We can handle this. You have no idea how OK we are."
We are slowly chipping away, I know, but I think in the end (after us, or maybe somehow during us) they'll make it.
My goodness, Rebecca, the babbling you always draw from me. Sorry? Thank you? Deep bows as always for your wisdom.
I love your passion for trees. I feel that way too. It's so important to me to have trees outside my window.
Thank you! And right??! Me too. They give me so much solace. I'm so glad to know you're with me on this. Thank you for reading and commenting!
I want to shout your wisdom from the treetops! Thank you Rebecca for your love of this wondrous Earth. #TeamTrees
YEAH! Team trees! Thank you for YOUR love, too!
Thank you for pointing people to the Wisdom Underground! 🥰
My pleasure, Didi!! You’re a rock star!⭐️
I grew up in the south and considered anywhere outside my real home, but especially in the bough of large pecan and live oak trees. There was nowhere I felt safer or loved being more than there. A beautiful, heartfelt essay I enjoyed reading — thank you. .
Thank you so much, Susan! I'm not familiar with pecan trees, but live oak trees are so incredible. There's something even deeper and more sacred about them—I'm not at all surprised that you felt held by them. I'm so glad you liked the essay. Thank you.
Our Grandmothers the trees thank you, Rebecca, for understanding their role in this world. Thank you for your love and outrage and steadfast belief in the value of their arboreal lives. For loving and speaking up for all of life on this incredible planet, the only home our species has ever known. I thank you too, and am honored to be included in your list. Blessings and a hug from me!
Oh, back at you, Susan! Thank you for all the great work you're doing, and for being here.
Thank you for loving Earth! And for letting her know, physically 💖🌏🙏🏽 I sing for water daily, especially the Salish Sea 🌊 Here with young eagles: https://heartsquest.substack.com/p/learning-to-soar-like-eagles
Ah! What a beautiful song! And that SEA! Amazing. Congratulations on your novel!
Thank you, Rebecca! The sea is so nourishing to my soul, she sings a different energetic language than the wise elder trees
Ah, this was lovely to read. A relief. I feel the exact same way you do about trees! I'm still mad that my mom had the weeping willow in the yard of the house I grew up in removed. I don't care that some guy--who made a lot of money by removing it-- said it was dying. It was fine! I will mourn that tree the rest of my life. Thank you, Rebecca! <3
Hello Diana! I know, right?! The loss of a weeping willow is an especially hard one. They cut the branches of a gorgeous one in my town to make way for power lines, and it has never recovered. It still hurts me every time I walk by it. I hear you! It's so nice to see you here.
From this "tree hugger" to you, thank you for writing precisely how I (and many of us) feel about these magnificent beings. They speak to us in myriad ways, like all of Mother Earth. I will thank her again, too.
Beautiful, Laura, thank you! Tree huggers unite!
Picking strawberries - the best job. Ever. Late June, early morning, scootching along the rows, picking berries, the breeze, birdsong, and the sun on the nape of your neck, until it burns red. I was there in the moment with you and then surprised to see my name pop up. Thanks for the shout-out. I'm humbled to be in such good company!
Thank you, Jill! Happy to include you, of course!
Wonderful! Feel the earth, touch the tree, wonder at the bark's texture; so many miracles if we just see and relate. And thanks for sharing the book review excerpt -- I hope it helps build some sales!
I love the book review! Thank you so much for doing it. It's definitely moved some copies.
I love this. I forget to tell her how much I love her, but will begin to!
Thank you, Jeanine! You already do do it, in a way, with the way you appreciate the beauty around you and share it with us. But more never hurts! Thank you for reading and commenting, it's so nice to see you here!
Oh thanks Rebecca! So true, more never hurts. But trees/plants are so aware, they probably already know who loves them, right? But I will make sure to tell some of my fave trees how special they are ): Good reminder.
"I come from a long line of untamed minds, and crazy is often less harmful than mainstream group thought." Phewwwww.
Your poplar. How it just lay down. I will never, ever forget that.
We recently had to cut down 3 trees in our back garden that were blocking all the afternoon light from our home. They were like blackout curtains. It was heart-wrending and yet there was a very strange (yet clear) understanding that we needed that light. We have a tree-loving arborist who understood the bittersweet nature of it all, and also pointed out that they were planted decades ago in a very wrong place. They - the trees - said it was OK. And still. I feel their forgeiveness and continue to pour my love into the earth. Pour my whole self into my own little pollinator garden that can now grow and thrive in the sunlight.
The other day I brought some out of town visitors to Muir Woods, a sacred redwood forest here in the bay area. In recent years it has gone full tourist, like, you need reservations to go in, and busloads of global visitors get burped out onto its doorstep every day. I was feeling some despair and resentment and rage over this and the trees clearly said, "Oh hon. Please don't worry. We can handle them. We can handle this. You have no idea how OK we are."
We are slowly chipping away, I know, but I think in the end (after us, or maybe somehow during us) they'll make it.
My goodness, Rebecca, the babbling you always draw from me. Sorry? Thank you? Deep bows as always for your wisdom.