In Defense Of Age

When I was younger, I played piano. Rather than learning popular songs of the day, I studied the classics: Bach, Haydn, Chopin, Beethoven.

When I was in my 20s, I developed an interest in spirituality. Rather than looking to modern influencers for answers, I turned to older texts like the Bible and the Tao Te Ching.

By my 30s, I noticed a pattern. Whenever I wanted to learn something, I sought out older teachers. This approach also shaped how I procured food and medicine: older people taught me how to hunt, fish, and forage.

Over time, however, I noticed a discrepancy. For years, I had been documenting forests and spending time in them. Most of these forests were, ecologically speaking, young. They had regrown after land was farmed, logged, or mined.

Of course, I wasn’t quick to dismiss these ecosystems. But if I wanted to deepen my understanding of ecology, I knew I had to connect with older forests.

So I made a decision.

I immersed myself in old-growth forests — along the Congaree River, on the Niagara Escarpment, at the foot of Mount Rainier, and elsewhere — not as a passive visitor or as someone in search of personal gain, but as an active learner, committed to sharing what I learned with others.

After countless hours in these forests, I’m excited to report that I’m almost ready to share what I’ve learned with you.

Elders: The Ecology of Old-Growth Forests is my newest online course examining the life and legacy of ancient forests. Launching in May 2026, this course is designed to deepen your ecological literacy, help you recognize patterns embedded in older ecosystems, and change the way you experience forests.

In a time when youth is disproportionately exalted, Elders: The Ecology of Old-Growth Forests celebrates maturity and restores age to its rightful place — as a steward of continuity and wisdom.

I hope you’ll consider enrolling.

Stay tuned for more details, and thank you for your continued support.

—Adam Haritan

The Forest We Lost — And The One That Came Back

Years ago, I started reading books on Taoism. One Taoist concept I learned early on was the inevitability of change. Nothing stays the same, Taoists tell us. Things move, shift, grow, and fade, whether we’re paying attention or not.

Years later, I became interested in ecology, and I began to wonder: how do forests change? Specifically, I began to wonder how forests in the northeastern United States have changed over the past 400 years.

Turns out, I wasn’t the only one wondering about this. Ecologists have been trying to figure this out for a long time. What they’ve found is somewhat surprising and even a bit paradoxical:

After 400 years of intense land use, the northeastern forest is both largely unchanged and completely transformed.

How can that be? In a brand-new video, I explore this remarkable paradox.

One last thing: I have a surprise to share with you next Monday, so be sure to check your inbox!

— Adam Haritan

The Ultimate Guide to Chestnut Harvesting, Roasting, and Chestnut Flour

Here on Turtle Island, from the dawn of time until about a hundred years ago, Chestnuts were a staple food crop for all life, including human life. A nutritious and carbohydrate-rich nut, Chestnut trees produce a bumper crop of nuts every 1-3 years (mast years), are very easy to harvest, can be eaten fresh off the tree, and are easy to process into a wide range of versatile dishes. You can eat them fresh, roast or boil them, add them to soups or stews, dry them and grind them up to make flour which can be turned into bread, crepes, cookies, and more. In fact, as far as foods go, I would argue they are one of the very best for long-term sustainability, ecological support, and filling hungry bellies. As a perennial treecrop, Chestnuts can be a staple part of a regenerative and ecologically-focused food forest (for an example of them being used as part of a larger regenerative agriculture system, you can read Mark Sheppard’s Restoration Agriculture). They have such great promise for transitioning away from fossil-fuel-based agriculture and embracing regenerative approaches to life.

Dana O’Driscoll

The Ultimate Guide to Chestnut Harvesting, Roasting, and Chestnut Flour

Mace—December’s Herb of the Month

By Maryann Readal

Mace and nutmeg inside of the fresh fruit

Mace: The Elegant Twin of Nutmeg

Mace is a wonderfully unique spice. It derives from the Myristica fragrans tree and is native to Indonesia’s Banda Islands—the legendary “Spice Islands”—though it is now also cultivated in Grenada and other tropical regions. You can’t talk about mace without mentioning its twin, nutmeg, because, even though they are different spices, they grow together hidden inside the fruit of the Myristica tree. When the fruit is ripe, it splits open to reveal the seed (nutmeg), which is covered in a delicate, lacy, red membrane, called the aril, otherwise known as mace.

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This is Your Brain on AI: Why AI is Bad for People’s Skills, Cognition, and Mental Health

This is Your Brain on AI: Why AI is Bad for People’s Skills, Cognition, and Mental Health

Humans Don’t Consciously Need Nature

There’s a question that runs through my mind almost every single day:

Why do things look the way that they do?

Of course, I’m mostly referring to why things in nature objectively look a certain way — why a particular forest is coniferous, or why calcium-loving plants grow in certain wetlands.

I think a lot of people ask related questions, but what I’ve noticed over the years is that some of us frame these questions through a negative lens.

We might wonder, for example, why bad things are happening to certain ecosystems, why some landscapes look rough, and ultimately why humans are so disconnected from nature.

I don’t claim to know with absolute certainty why these things are happening, but I think the answer has something to do with this:

Humans don’t consciously need nature.

In a brand-new video, I explain what I mean.

Thanks for reading and watching, and thanks for your continued support!

— Adam Haritan

Elderberry – November’s Herb of the Month

By Maryann Readal

Elderberry (Sambucus canadensis) is an herb of many faces. In spring, its white, lacy blossoms brighten woodlands and hedgerows, attracting bees and butterflies with their sweet fragrance. By autumn, those delicate blooms transform into heavy clusters of deep purple berries — a feast for birds, wildlife, and humans alike. Every part of the elder — flowers, berries, leaves, and even wood — has long been treasured for food, craft, and healing.

A Storied Past

The story of elderberry stretches back to the Ice Age, between 12,000 and 9,000 BCE, when glaciers carried its seeds across North America, Europe, and Asia. By 2000 BCE, early peoples were already cultivating the plant for its medicinal and culinary gifts.

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Old-Growth Forest Myths Vs Reality

I really enjoy spending time in old-growth forests.

I admire the sights, I love the sounds, and I like that old-growth forests can make a human feel small, yet still important.

Old-growth forests once covered large areas of land in North America, but these forests are far less common today.

As a result, we might find ourselves imagining things that aren’t entirely true.

We might believe, for instance, that North America was an endless expanse of old-growth forest at the time of European settlement. We might also believe that North America’s old-growth forests were — and still are — untouched and free from disturbance.

But how much of what we believe is true?

In a brand new video, I explore a few old-growth forest myths and discuss why our modern perceptions often miss the full story.

You can watch the video here.

Thanks for reading and watching, and thanks for your continued support!

— Adam Haritan

Before Halloween, There Was Samhain: Honoring the Herbs, Flavors, and Fires of the Season

By Beth Schreibman Gehring

“The scent of rosemary, the smoke of sage, the whisper of bay — the old language of the earth still speaks if we pause long enough to listen.”

— Beth Schreibman Gehring, from Forage & Gather

Before Halloween, there was Samhain, the ancient Celtic turning of the year when the harvest ended and winter began to breathe at the edges of the fields. It was the time when fires were lit high on the hills to call the sun back, when families gathered to share what they’d grown, and to honor what they’d lost. They believed that on this night, the veil between worlds grew thin so that those who came before might wander close for just a moment, drawn by the scent of wood smoke and the warmth of the hearth.

The herbs of this season are the same ones that have long carried us through the threshold times, the in-between spaces when the light fades and the earth exhales. I think of them as old friends who know how to steady us when the days grow short.

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Why Are Tick Populations Exploding?

Lyme disease. Anaplasmosis. Babesiosis. Alpha-gal syndrome.

These are only a few of the many illnesses associated with tick bites.

Interestingly, these illnesses are much more common today than they were even just a few decades ago. Why is that?

One way to get some answers is to figure out why tick populations are increasing. According to the CDC, the number of U.S. counties with an established population of blacklegged ticks has more than doubled since 1998.

How did this happen? What factors contributed to the explosion in tick populations? Did the U.S. government have something to do with this? Or did this all happen by chance?

In a brand-new video, I share my thoughts on this important topic.