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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Throughout the year, including on warmer days in the deepest winter months, you will find me out on the land: scattering seeds; planting and harvesting; communing with the plants, trees, and mushrooms; and working nature magic. With baskets overflowing with abundant herbs, nuts, seeds, and mushrooms, I take only what I need, leaning into the abundant plants, and harvest with permission and gratitude. I leave offerings, scatter seeds, and weave magic and flute songs. I often have other people with me–friends, herbal apprentices, visitors, cats, geese. We honor the land while we harvest the plants that heal, soothe, and help us connect with the sacred.
A growing number of people are taking an interest in herbal medicine. Why learn herbalism now? For many, it is a way to deeply learn and lean into the nature right outside their door. Further, learning how to identify, prepare, preserve, and use medicinal plants helps you take health into your own hands. A lot of people who live in the US (especially in rural areas) recognize that healthcare is more costly and more difficult to access: it is harder than ever to keep a family doctor or get specialist care, and it is so costly that a lot of people can’t afford visits, tests, or medicines.
Paths I Walk 
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