Have you ever sat in silence in a forest?

If so, you may have noticed how full of change it is.

The moment to come is different from the moment just passed. Wind stirs the air and shakes the leaves, creating sounds that shift and change. Light comes and goes, flickering or shafting past tall trunks, branches and twigs.

The temperature alters, from warm to chill. A leaf falls, and the bush is changed by its fall. A gecko slips under a stone. A mosquito alights on your hand.

 A certain tree

Some years ago I sat on the earth at the base of a 50-year-old kauri tree, which was surrounded by many tree companions. The trunk of the kauri was slender enough to be encompassed by my hand, yet tall enough to pierce the canopy above, where it reached up into full sun.

Sitting there, holding the trunk, I felt a surprising strength of movement as the wind tossed the spiky crown of the tree. The trunk felt almost wiry, or perhaps rubbery. There was no danger of it snapping even though recent storms had been fierce.

I talked to the tree about the gift it received seven years earlier. It was there that we buried the placenta of my granddaughter. When Mira visited the land, the first thing she did was to run up the bush path to visit ‘her’ tree.

‘Look after her when I’m gone,’ I told the tree, knowing it would outlive me. ‘Watch over her.’

First meeting

The tree and I first met when I was in my early twenties and the tree was just a delicate seedling in a nursery. It was one of several that my husband and I perched on the running board of our Lambretta motor scooter as we bumped along the unsealed road to the coast, to our bach.

We were young then, and not long married; young enough to plant six inch-high seedlings in springtime, and to know that we had a lifetime ahead in order to watch them grow.

Many springs have come and gone since then, and for decades I watched the trees stengthen and flourish, sheltered by the ‘nurse crop’ of manuka.

Kauri dieback disease later took hold in the Waitakeres, threatening the lives of many mature kauri. But this slender kauri, young and solitary, was healthy and strong.

Tree clasping traditions

As I sat on the earth, I thought of the sacred connection that indigenous people have with trees; how my Celtic ancestors worshipped ash, hawthorn and oaks; and how Druids would meet outside in sacred groves.

I thought of how intimately Maori have known the bush —ngahere—and the reverence they hold for certain trees, many of which have been given names. Tane Mahuta, the largest kauri of all, grows in Northland and is thought to be two thousand years old.

Although kauri are best known for having names, they are not the only ones. The Tuhoi iwi named a significant hinau tree, which grew high on a bush ridge on the east coast. Maori women would go to Te Iho-o-Kataka, as it was called, and clasp it, in order to help conceive a child.

This is not magical thinking. Scientists now know how immersion in forest energy is good for our health. They have actually measured the vibrational patterns of trees and can demonstrate how these vibrations affect the biology of our bodies.

Holding a tree allows a transfer of energy to take place. It is regenerative, restoring health and vitality, all of which is helpful for a woman wishing to conceive and for anyone needing a recharge.

Your connection to the natural world is a precious lifeline, and trees will help you make this connection.

A tree for you?

In late spring, trees are in full growth, spreading their canopies and putting down new growth rings.

Do you have a favourite tree: one that you can hold, or sit by?

If so, you might like to see how this tree can help you through the busy period between now and summer solstice. Go to your tree and discover how it can rebalance your energy, calm and replenish you through December.

Why are there trees I never walk under but large and 
melodious thoughts descend upon me?
 —Walt Whitman

PS If you love trees you will enjoy my new book, The Pōhutukawa Journal