Why You Should Touch — or Embrace — a Tree Today

“You did not come into this world.
You came out of it, like a wave from the ocean.
You are not a stranger here.”

As I become more aware of the actions, behaviours, habits and practices that bring life and vitality into my own existence, I find myself increasingly drawn toward nature.

In the morning, I love breathing deeply the clean, renewed air of the night as I leave my home. When travelling, I open the window and allow the air to enter. I slow down enough to enjoy a moment of sunlight before entering a building.

The more time I spend in the natural world, the richer my interactions with it become.

A sunset can fill me with the warmth it seems to radiate. The soft morning mist resting upon the grass awakens my senses in a quiet and beautiful way. Walking barefoot through the grass, feeling it move between my toes, creates a strange and deeply satisfying sense of connection.

But I have always had a particularly personal relationship with trees.

I like to run my fingers across their bark, close my eyes and place my hands upon their intricate branches without thinking about anything at all.

The feeling is difficult to describe.

It is as though, for a brief moment, I become grounded in something much greater than myself.

Perhaps this feeling comes from knowing that trees, so seemingly still and silent, have given life to human beings since the beginning of time.

They are alive, just as we are.

They stand in direct contact with the living world around them, connected to the soil beneath them, the air above them, the sunlight, the rain and countless forms of life that we rarely notice.

And yet we, absorbed by the speed of our technological intelligence, seem to have less and less time to recognise the deeper intelligence of nature.

My love and inner connection with trees began with a Lemon tree.

 

In the garden of my childhood home, an old Lemon tree stood quietly and faithfully through the years. It was already there when my parents were young, when I was surrounded by the carefree happiness of childhood.

My parents have since passed away.

And somehow, the Lemon tree remained.

It became more than a tree.

It became a faithful and unshakable friend — a living companion with whom I could share memories of another time.

Whenever I walked past it, I felt an inexplicable desire to thank it.

To thank it for continuing, even today, to offer its fruit and nourishment to me and to my children, just as it had so generously done for my parents.

There is something profoundly moving about this continuity.

The same tree.

The same earth.

Different generations.

One afternoon, as I placed the palms of my hands upon its smooth branches and carefully traced the ancient lines and cracks in its bark, I suddenly heard my daughter calling to me:

“Daddy cool…”

And in that moment, I turned towards her — still holding the Lemon tree.

Perhaps she had noticed something I had forgotten:

that sometimes, we do not need words to communicate with nature.

We only need to stop.

To touch.

To listen.

And to remember that we are not separate from the living world.

We are part of it.

 

“What are you saying to that tree, Daddy Cool?” my daughter asked, calling me by the nickname she had invented for me.

“I’m telling the tree that it is beautiful, and that I am grateful for the wonderful lemons it has given us,” I said after a moment’s thought.

“And I’m also thanking it for keeping the memories of my parents — the people it once nourished with its precious fruit.”

Sometimes, when I embrace that tree, I find myself thinking that perhaps it is a living link between those who belonged to the past and those of us who are here today.

My daughter came immediately to where I was sitting and began gently stroking the bark of the same tree.

This is the daughter who tells me that I am beautiful, smiling at me every day — even through the terrible stress and headache she experienced while writing her final school examinations.

Before long, we found ourselves embracing the lemon tree together.

It was a simple moment.

Yet something about it stayed with me.

That first experience became a reference point in the story of my own connection with nature — and of the healing I began to discover through it.

As I searched for a deeper meaning behind what I had experienced, I encountered a Japanese practice known as Shinrin-yoku, or “forest bathing”.

It is a simple practice: walking slowly and consciously through a forest, allowing the senses to become immersed in the natural world.

In the United States, the practice became known as forest bathing.

But for me, it began much closer to home.

It began with one lemon tree.

A tree that had stood there before me, had known my parents, had nourished them, and was still standing there to nourish another generation.

Perhaps that is what trees quietly teach us:

we are not separate from nature.

We belong to the same story.

Touch a Tree — And Listen

Research suggests that spending mindful, quiet time in nature may offer a wide range of benefits for human well-being, from supporting healthy blood pressure and immune function to reducing stress and improving mood.

There is also a growing body of research exploring how time spent outdoors can influence our mental and emotional state. The University of Minnesota, for example, describes natural environments as an important connection to a more stable world — helping transform chaotic thoughts and emotions into something more harmonious.

I could fill pages with research describing the fascinating and sometimes surprising effects of spending quiet, reflective time in nature.

But I will tell you only this:

Trust me.

Find some time today to go outside.

Touch a tree.

Close your eyes for a moment and think about what is alive within that tree — the roots beneath your feet, the branches reaching toward the sky, the leaves breathing with the air around you.

Think about how trees have served humanity since the beginning of our existence: providing food, shelter, shade, wood, fruit, beauty and countless other gifts.

And then ask yourself a simple question:

Why were we given such an extraordinary gift?

Embrace a tree in your garden.

Walk to the nearest park.

Or, even better, climb one of the magnificent mountains nears you and find a tree that speaks to you.

Stand beside it.

Touch its bark.

Listen.

Perhaps, before long, you will discover that you have made a new and very old friend.

The tree.

And perhaps you will begin to see nature — and yourself — a little differently.