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?
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.
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.
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.
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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