Talking to Trees

Stewardship as Courtship

Mar 29, 2024

In April 2020 I signed the final paperwork to become sole owner of two adjoining pieces of property in the wilds of New Mexico.

The land was so remote it took a entire paragraph to describe its location:

Tract I: Lot 10 B containing 19.98 acres, more or less, lying within Government Lot 10, being a portion of Small Holding Claim No. 6020 Tract 1, within Section 2, Township 15 North, Range 14 East, NMPM, San Miguel County, as shown on plat of survey by Ruidoso Land Surveying, Inc., dated April 25, 2008, job no. 4788, filed in the Office of the San Miguel County Clerk May 20, 2008, in Plat book 59, page 34, document no. 1688, and Tract II: Township 15 North, Range 14 East, NMPM, San Miguel County, New Mexico: Section 2: S/2 of Lot 11, SE/4 of Lot 12, E/2 SW/4, E/2 W/2 SW/4, and Lot 17 .

As the promissory note and deed was being sorted out with the former owner and the new mortgage agreement was being drawn up I was in surprise lockdown in San Antonio, Texas after teaching a series of workshops there that ended on, you guessed it, that fateful day of March 15, 2020.

To set the scene fully: I had recently moved out of my apartment in Harlem which I loved fiercely but let go because I was rarely there due to my travel schedule. With the advance royalties on my latest book I bought an Airstream and was living as a modern nomad traveling between Austin, Santa Fe, and Woodstock NY.

I had never owned property, never lived in any home longer than three years, and never had kids. I was divorced and never remarried.

As an author and teacher I would come home from a workshop or book signing or event in Denver or Vancouver or Mexico or Peru, unpack, then go grocery shopping and calculate how many days until my next trip. I remember one day in the early 2000's when I lived in Berkeley standing in the grocery store and bursting into tears because I was going to be home for five whole days, an amount of time so long that I felt overwhelmed with emotion.

So. Within two months the world locks down, travel comes to a complete halt, and I become the sole steward of 180-acres of pine, pinon, and fir forest and one fallen down adobe building.

One of the first photos I took of the land, May 1 2018

I don't believe I own this land, but rather this land owns me. I dedicated myself to being a steward, and to having a relationship with place.

Like many relationships, it took us a while to find our way into intimacy and trust.

Once I moved from San Antonio back to New Mexico I spent days alone or with friends walking in the woods, listening to the wind through the pines and the chirpy bark of squirrels. I laid awake at night listening to the turkeys and deer move around.

Despite the long wandering walks discovering different parts of the land, sleeping on the ground, tracking the changing arcs of the moon and sun across the sky, talking to the deer, and spending hours sitting with the grandma tree on the far southeast corner of the property, something was not right.

You know that feeling when you meet someone you'd really like to get to know better, but the relationship continues to feel lightly casual despite your yearning for more depth?

That is what I felt in relationship with this land. The land was politely keeping its distance, friendly but cool.

One morning I woke up early, wrapped myself in a blanket, and sat on a rock overlooking the creek. I said out loud to the land: “Okay, we need to have a heart-to-heart. What is off in our relationship? How can we be closer? What am I missing?”

Then I waited.

Communicating with land, just like communicating with animals, is more about stillness than words.

One needs to empty out the human thoughts and emotions, make space within to listen to vibrations and energy. My friend Will Taegel calls this the Mother Tongue, one that we all originally spoke but have mostly forgotten in our busy, intellectually-led lives.

I emptied. I waited. I listened.

The message seemed to come from my bones, echoing through my being:

“Honor the trees.”

I opened my eye, a little puzzled. I loved the trees so much. I talked to them all the time. What more did the trees need?

And then I knew.

This was an invitation to courtship.

Next week: Part 2 of 4 on How I Learned to Talk to the Trees: Stewardship as Courtship

Here is a three and 1/2 minute tour of the current state of the land and the trees that survived the wildfire : )

Blessings!