A few months ago, I filmed a video on a special plant: American ginseng.
Since then, a lot of people have reached out with some variation of the same question:
Why is wild ginseng so hard to find?
“I know what it looks like,” they say. “I know what its look-alikes look like. I think I’m in the right kind of woods, but I can’t find it anywhere.”
Well, to tell you the truth, I left out some important information in that first video. I didn’t really explain why this plant remains so elusive, despite its broad range and lengthy lifespan.
To answer that properly, I decided to go back into the woods (during the height of a larval tick explosion) to film a follow-up.
In this brand-new video, I share the missing pieces of a fascinating story rarely discussed in ecological circles.
And I’m curious: Have you seen any wild ginseng lately?
First: A big thank you to everyone who organized and attended the wonderful Field & Fork event in western Pennsylvania.
It was a lovely evening of delicious food, great conversation, and beautiful scenery. I enjoyed discussing a few ideas that don’t usually make their way into my videos, including some of the more powerful effects that nature has on human beings.
Moving forward: I recently took a last-minute trip to the southeastern United States.
In addition to surprising my uncle for his 65th birthday, I admired all the trees I don’t usually see back home in Pennsylvania: water tupelo, willow oak, southern red oak, loblolly pine, shortleaf pine, sugarberry, and dozens of others.
I eventually lost count of all the trees I saw. As it turns out, there was a good reason for that: more native tree species grow in the Southeast than in any other region of the contiguous United States.
But why?
Why is the Southeast so special? And why don’t other regions of the U.S. — like the Northeast, the Midwest, or the Pacific Northwest — support such an incredible variety of native trees?
In my newest video, I dive into the fascinating story behind the Southeast’s remarkable tree diversity.
I have two updates: a special live event next month, and a brand-new video on an iconic forest plant.
First up: On Tuesday, July 21, I’ll be speaking at a unique, immersive event called Field & Fork.
This is a multi-sensory farm-to-table dinner and ecology experience hosted by Plant it Further at the scenic 80-acre Lodge at Water’s Edge in Portersville, Pennsylvania.
I’ll be speaking alongside Cornell Master Beekeeper Christina Joy Neumann, and we’ll all be sharing a beautifully crafted seasonal dinner.
If you want to slow down, talk forest ecology, eat incredible local food, and connect in person, I would love to see you there.
Recently, I thought about a forest I visited 8 years ago, and I wondered if two American ginseng plants were still growing there.
To get an answer, I decided to visit the forest and see for myself.
The only problem was that I never dropped a pin on a map, and I wasn’t sure exactly where I found the plants 8 years ago. But after an hour of intense searching under a canopy of tulip tree and red maple, I finally found them.
“What luck!” I thought to myself.
Interestingly, I was also surprised to see quite a few other plants that looked like ginseng. Some of these lookalikes were even growing right next to the real thing.
This made me wonder: If I’m getting confused out here, I’ll bet other people are too.
So, I decided to film a video breaking down how to spot a few ginseng lookalikes, as well as how to identify true American ginseng in the wild.
In my neck of the woods, some places are absolute tick hot spots. If I need to photograph ticks or study their habits, I know exactly where to go.
But until last week, I didn’t know that a particular shrub was strongly associated with tick abundance. A new study found this to be true, and we can now add this species to the growing list of plants that sustain ticks.
What is this shrub? And why do ticks love spending so much time near it?
In a brand-new video, I answer these questions and discuss why we shouldn’t be too surprised to see things moving in this direction.
Before I share a brand-new video with you, I have some great news:
My newest online course, Elders: The Ecology of Old-Growth Forests, will be open for enrollment in two weeks!
I’ve spent the past 16 months filming, researching, and structuring this course to be a comprehensive guide to these incredible ecosystems. I’ve gone deeper into the science and soul of the forest than ever before, and I’m excited to finally bring this vision to life.
If you’ve been following the updates over the last few months, thank you for your patience.
Keep an eye on your inbox over the next two weeks. The official launch date is Monday, May 11.
In the meantime, I have some new information to share with you about a well-known member of the forest:
The black-legged tick.
So far this year, I’ve had more than two dozen ticks crawling on my body. [Fun fact: Not all these ticks surprised me. To capture video footage of ticks, I often have to intentionally walk through shrubs and tall grasses to find them.]
No matter how they end up on my body, I’m always left with the same question: Where are all these ticks coming from?
For a long time, we’ve been told that ticks are simply moving north as the climate changes. But interestingly, a recent preprint study challenges this assumption.
It turns out that the history of the tick on our landscape is far more complex and ancient than we realized.
In a brand-new video, I discuss the latest research and what it actually means for those of us living in tick territory.
I’ve spent a lot of time in wild places over the years. Something I’ve noticed is this:
Humans are place-based creatures. We thrive when we feel connected to certain landscapes.
I’ve also noticed that one of the best ways to develop this connection is to learn what makes each place unique.
Lately, I’ve been exploring mature and old-growth forests, and I’ve wondered:
What trees live here? How old are they? What do they do all day? Do they care that I’m filming them?
More recently, I’ve been wondering something else: How tall can these trees grow?
It’s a question that leads to an interesting realization: Forests in eastern North America are known for their exceptional biodiversity, but none of the trees that grow in these forests attain the heights that the tallest trees out west reach.
Why is this the case? Is it a lack of rain? Is it the soil? Or are there other factors involved?
P.S. My newest online course, Elders: The Ecology of Old-Growth Forests, launches in May 2026. This course explores the life and legacy of ancient forests, offering a deeper understanding of these extraordinary ecosystems. Stay tuned for more information.
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.
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.
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