Talking to Trees

Camping in Central Oregon as a young being, I felt continually drawn to the trunks of Ponderosa Pines that were close to the ground, like I was, and extended infinitely upward, like I did. My little paws touched the bark and I stood in wonder at how all these puzzle pieces around the tree could fit together.

I pried off a few pieces of bark, carried them back to camp, climbed up onto the picnic table bench, and attempted to reassemble the pieces on the flat surface. They never did fit seamlessly together again like the puzzles I knew.

Thirty years later, at the same campsite and what I remember to be the same tree, both of us larger now, I try once more. I walk to the picnic table and lay down the pieces. They still do not fit together. I feel a wave of guilt looking at the bark seemingly disconnected from its source and separate from each other on a piece of weathered grey wood.

This unexpected emotion stemmed from gathering rings in my own growth, connecting root systems into a collective consciousness and learning about science and ways of being in awareness and relation with all nature, as nature, and the astounding structures in the life force of trees.

Like last year at a writing workshop with author and botanist Robin Wall Kimmerer, hosted by the Deschutes County Library, where I wrote in my notes about “species loneliness.” In thinking of ourselves as human exceptionalism on top of a fictional pyramid of nature (it’s actually a circle), we leave ourselves alienated and separate from the wisdom and perspective the natural world can give.

Robin Wall Kimmerer encouraged us to “invite other voices in.” I left feeling with the understanding that we are part of nature and not separate from, or controlling of, life.

In my 20s and 30s I began touching trees, saying good morning to them, and yes, hugging them. I wrapped my arms around a Redwood and looked into its overstory and imaged the perspective from the needles while feeling the smooth bark. I read on the interpretive signs that the Redwood tree roots are shallow (6-12 feet deep) but broad (60-100 feet out) and intertwined underground.

Scientific information shared in books and podcasts continue to reveal fascinating facts about trees, such as the mycorrhizal network that connects plants together in communication and transference of nourishment. The ecosystems and species inform one another and seem to connect in mutual support and growth. Like humans can.

Soon enough, I started asking questions to trees – specifically to potential Christmas trees if they wanted to be a Christmas tree. To do this I cleared my mind of thought, looked at the tree, asked a question, and kept the space open until an answer dropped in without my thinking it.

Answers of all kinds materialized from the short and tall, thin and full trees held by snow. Some wanted to stay because of the surrounding trees, some couldn’t wait to be decorated in lights and ornaments, some said no thank you, and I heard one even say no, but yes, because I needed it.

While admittedly this piece feels a little risky for me to write (yup, that is probably going to be me talking to a tree at Shevlin Park), I do believe this map of connection is filtered through myself as a channel. Perhaps it is co-creating with the subconscious or meaning—making desires or personal understandings at this moment in time, yet there is also something else that is unexplainable in relationship with beings other than humans.

Nature and all of nature’s elements embody ways to communicate their stories beyond words. It could be the interaction of leaves and wind, or light and sap, or why a branch extends in an unplanned direction. Time etches matter into presence.

Thanks to a recent revitalization and expansion of the practice of forest bathing, first beginning in the 1980s in Japan, there are more ways to support such a possible connection. Many events are offered locally in Central Oregon and invite a way for humans to reconnect with the local ecosystems.

Now, I usually ask before I touch a tree on walks or hikes. I remember that the origin of the word “consent” means ” together feel.” So we do. Palm to trunk, skin to bark, we feel together, in interbeing, in life.

How to Talk to Trees:

Move your attention to a tree. The being could be in close proximity – an arm’s reach away – or out the window. Clear your mind of thought. When a thought approaches, offer it space to continue its journey out of presence. Watch the leaves move, recognize the color of the bark, feel how the light touches the tree. Sense the energy of the tree or watch its rhythm. Be in your energy field and notice the tree’s energy field without judgement – about you or the tree or the weather or the squirrel clawing on the bark or the past or future or the shoulds of life. Breathe. Gently notice the space between. Once you are in presence with the tree, say good morning. Say thank you. Ask a question, in your mind or out loud. In that field of not creating thought, see what words or what movement of the tree may return. Ask permission – may I touch you? Ask if the tree needs anything. With your palm on the bark, feel the energy. Feel your energy. Feel how they connect and move one another. Listen. Does the tree have anything to tell you?

Further Reading about Trees:

“Born of Fire and Rain: Journey into a Pacific Coastal Forest ” by M.L. Herring
“The Hidden Life of Trees: What They Feel, How They Communicate—Discoveries from A Secret World ” by Peter Wohlleben
“The Overstory ” by Richard Powers
“Your Guide to Forest Bathing: Experience the Healing Power of Nature ” by M. Amos Clifford

This article appears in Source Weekly July 3, 2025.