Every fall the 9th biology grade class of my local high school was given the same start-of-the-school-year assignment: collect 50 distinct leaves, mount them under sheets of clear tape, and label them by genus and species.
Alongside four friends, I ran the streets of our neighborhood clipping from Walnuts and Birches, Sycamores and Maples. Clip. Clip. Clip.
We’d then lay each leaf flat on an 8-1/2 x 11 sheet of card stock. Mount them under tape. Then label:
The common name of the leaf
The scientific name of the leaf - Genus (capitalized) and species (lowercase)
The leaf type - broadleaf, needles, scales
For my scrupulous clipping, organizing, and naming I received an A! It would take me years to appreciate that it is quite possible to ace biology and fail at the actual study of life.
—
Earlier this summer, I spent a couple of weeks regularly walking under the tall, wondrous trees of western North Carolina. This time there was no clipping or collecting. No pinning or naming.
Simply walking.
Observing.
Forest Bathing.1
(Fellow forest-bathers)
Upon returning home to Texas, my mind immediately began racing with renewed creativity.2
What if we…?!
We could try….?!
I wonder if…?!
New possibilities, angles, and threads rushed through my mind.
Areas where my mind had felt blocked - now opened.
Places where my body had felt tired - now vitalized.
Spaces where my heart had felt constricted - now expanded.
I can’t quite say what the magic of trees is all about.
Maybe it’s the quiet, nurturing sense we receive under the thick foliage.
Maybe it’s the way the abundant shades of green seem to share their own vitality with us.
Maybe it’s the way we find ourselves newly grounded as we take note of the deep root systems that anchor such stunning height.
Maybe it’s the humbling of our soul as we look upon so many living towers that pre-date us and will outlive us.
Maybe it’s the quiet knowledge that these trees will eventually shed leaves, grow brittle, and then by some inexplicable miracle burst with fresh life again (and again) - and something about that seems to tell the most essential story about the journeys of life.
Maybe it’s all the life we see and hear living on the generous branches - and at some point our soul takes notes and realizes that, we too, are made to receive the hospitable arms extending in so many ways we rarely notice.
Maybe it’s as studies have shown: “Looking at trees and leaves — instead of our electronic devices — reduces our anxiety, lowers our heart rates, soothes us, and allows our brains to make connections more easily.”
Maybe it’s all of that and more. Most fundamentally, trees engender something we don’t talk a lot about but urgently need: namely, awe.
Awe is not something you can manufacture, force, or coerce.
Awe is a gift. A lightness. A grounding. A freedom. It shakes the soul loose.
Awe is something like nostalgia in the way that it escapes every time we grasp for it. It’s unlike nostalgia in that it does not whisper sweet impossibles from the past but draws forth the promise of the present.
In the Bible, the old-school phrase for awe is “fear of the Lord.” It’s commended time and again not because the biblical writers are trying exhort people into cowering terror. Quite the opposite - they’re looking to draw the soul into the singular space where life and creativity flourish.3
—
In these oft-anxious times, it is tempting to try and take more control of our lives. We organize our calendars and data, we furiously google (or tiktok) our questions, we define our side (and their side) - anything that gives us a sense that all is not chaos.
But the true student of life eventually recognizes that neither trees nor life itself were meant to be clipped, pinned, and managed just so.
Trees and life alike are best received. In fact, a lot of life itself can be received, renewed, and even resurrected in presence of trees.
And what a thing! A whole bunch of them are right outside.
Anybody else need a bath?
Forest Bath - “The term emerged in Japan in the 1980s as a physiological and psychological exercise called shinrin-yoku (“forest bathing” or “taking in the forest atmosphere”). The purpose was twofold: to offer an eco-antidote to tech-boom burnout and to inspire residents to reconnect with and protect the country’s forests.” - National Geographic
Because, of course. Study after study reveals that spending time in nature makes us more creative.
“Fear-of-the-Lord keeps us on our toes with our eyes open. Something is going on around here, and we don’t want to miss it. Fear-of-the-Lord prevents us from thinking that we know it all. And it therefore prevents us from closing off our minds or our perceptions from what is new. Fear-of-the-Lord prevents us from acting presumptuously and therefore destroying or violating some aspect of beauty, truth, or goodness that we don’t recognize or don’t understand. Fear-of-the-Lord is fear with the scary element deleted.” - Eugene Peterson
“It would take me years to appreciate that it is quite possible to ace biology and fail at the actual study of life.”
Man that is a good one!
I even took several plant classes in college. Two of my favorite parks are Sequoia National Park and the Giant Redwood National Park in California. Just seeing those big trees several 100 years old lets you know there is a GOD.