Born of Soil, Named by Wind.

An Earth Day Reflection on Devotion, Memory, and Aliveness

At the Museum of Man and Nature, there was one exhibit I could never walk away from. A tiny diorama—life before buildings. A world held in miniature: fish drying on racks, children playing in the river, elders weaving baskets beside their teepees. A still moment of Indigenous life, frozen in time, and I was utterly transfixed. My parents would have to pry me away. I would crouch low to the glass, eyes wide, obsessing over every detail.

I remember feeling a strange kind of homesickness, deep and ancient, as if I belonged there more than here. I didn’t want to look away. I wanted to shrink into the scene and live out the rest of my life in the arms of that tiny wilderness. My lungs and memory ached for it. I never wanted to leave.

I can still feel the cold, wet, slippery stones under my feet from our time camping near a lake. The rush of excitement in my body as I veered off the well trodden trails and probed deeper into the unkept forest to where the brush was thick and free. To feel safe and protected at home in the city, I would circle the houseplants around my body. The memories I have of my childhood aren't the strongest, but there are a few that stand out. Each one is a moment of me being held by nature.

At a death and dying workshop, we were led through a meditation meant to help us face our own ending. One by one, we were asked to let go of all we loved most. It surprised me that I couldn't let go of the huge cedars I can see from my bedroom window. More than a friend, more than family, it was nature I couldn't part with. Being unable to feel her anymore was unbearable to me. And in that moment, I realized: she isn’t separate from me. She also is me. I am the earth.

This truth—that I am not beside nature but made of her—guides everything in my life.

I structure my daily routines and rituals around spending time in nature. The places I plan to travel to are not cities, but wild and untouched spaces. Stunning landscapes. The flora and fronds. Greenery and blooms. Bud and leaf. Colour and canopy. Nature’s adornments.

I want to know how the air smells near the Mediterranean in late August. The way her light travels through dense jungles. To see her cherry blossoms explode in Kyoto. To pick her oranges grown on volcanic soil. Watch how she raises water from underground in the desert. Walking through arid valleys only to discover an oasis. The land of the dates palms.

She is the one I wish to know in this lifetime. My lover, my friend, the earth.

I wake up, I write, and I walk. I lose my way. I fall down. No matter what happens, she reminds me where home is, that I am safe, and that I am always surrounded. She slows down my short, shallow breaths. She teaches me the joys of wellbeing and never, ever abandons me when I'm struggling.

Everyone of us depends on her, and yet so many have forgotten what it is like to feel her.

I have at times considered stopping writing, putting an end to feeling so deeply, and turning my back on life, but nature has saved me from entropy.

For the earth, for her beauty, for her benevolence, for her grandeur, for her ceaseless care, I still show up. My service is dedicated to her.

The air in my lungs and the joy in my heart are filled with her.

To know me is to know her, and what love I know because of her.

Wishing you all a very happy Earth Day.

I love you,

Sarah

I’ll leave you with a message from the trees:

“We sing the song of well-being and wholeness, my love.

Let us remind your limbs and worried mind where they can find comfort.

By taking what is stale, we make fresh, bright air.

Those who come to us will be soothed. Anyone who is brave enough to look into the mirror and see their true reflection. The verdant thing that you are. Such vital life.

You have been grown with sunlight, water, love, and birdsong.

There is goodness in this world.

We will sprinkle seeds and golden pollen on you. We will send bumblebees and whisper your name in the grass. We will support your back and strengthen your spine.

Even if you cannot hear, we will speak to all parts of you. Like a slow but insistent spark, we will remind you of your ancient belonging.

Even if you resist, even if you forget, we’ll hold you in the truth of who you are.

We will never lose sight of your true face—and when you feel lost, we will hold it in our gaze until you feel it again too.