Whispers From the Trees: Mixed Messages

By Penny Reed

It was late afternoon on a warm November day. I had spent most of the day visiting with my parents, helping them close down their gardens for winter. I had a couple of hours before I was due to pick up my partner and felt like going for a walk.

I felt called to stop at a trail I’d never walked before, even though I’d driven by it many times.

I looked at the trail map before heading into the forest – it showed two main loops that went in opposite directions. I decided to walk the smaller loop, and as I set out down the main path to find the trailhead, I noticed someone standing in the thick cedar groves that bordered the parking lot. Something felt off about the energy of the day and how they met my eyes, but I told myself it was nothing and continued on.

After a while, I found myself at the edge of a road and realized I must have missed the trail I intended to walk.

Although I knew my way back to the parking lot, I felt a bit disoriented – I’m an experienced hiker and rarely have difficulty following trail maps. Once again, I convinced myself it was just one of those things that happens sometimes and turned around to walk back. As I turned, I noticed what looked like the bones of a large animal in the cedars. Curious, I walked over to examine it and saw that it was a tree, its branches aged and weathered. One large branch turned out to be a slender trunk with wild roots extending in all directions. I moved the other branches back and pulled it out.

It was a beautiful walking staff, sturdy and unusual—a gift from the trees.

When I stood up, the person I had seen from the parking lot was standing right in front of me. A feeling of confusion rushed into my body – I hadn’t seen or heard them approaching. Their presence rattled me, and they said, “Nice day for a walk in the woods.” I felt uneasy about being startled. Intuitively, I pounded the end of my newly acquired staff into the ground beside me and replied, “Indeed it is.” I felt the need to put as much distance between us as I could, so I headed back to the parking lot. I could feel their eyes on me even as the distance between us increased.

When I arrived back at the parking lot, my senses started to calm. Given the feeling of the day so far, I checked in with my body about whether to continue the walk. Very clearly, there remained a pull to continue walking. With my new, beautiful staff in hand, I set out again.

To my surprise, there were no trail signs anywhere.

Usually, there are signs marking the beginning of a trailhead and signs to let you know which way to go when crossroads appear. As I moved further from the parking lot, I noticed a lot of litter. There’s often litter on the public trails, but this was very unusual. I continued cautiously, feeling a sense of hyper-vigilance in my body. Then, I noticed a lack of birds and squirrels. Most public trails are full of these creatures, and they are not shy about asking you for seed. Their absence felt significant, and I missed their presence at that moment. It added to the strange energy of the day.

I came to a large pile of stones covered in moss circled by a grove of old cedars.

I placed my hands upon one of their trunks, and as if in response to my experience so far, I felt the trees, and a stream of cries, pain and despair rushed in. Tears welled in my eyes, and slight trembles reverberated in my body. The trees seemed to be communicating an anguish to me. I sent love to the trees and the land and started singing, wanting to support them desperately. As I spent time with them, I began to feel increasingly uncomfortable, so I left offerings and decided to end the walk and return to my car. Along the way, I noticed the lower jaw bones of a white-tailed deer on the ground right before me. They were clean and arranged on top of the fallen leaves – I wasn’t sure how I hadn’t noticed them before. I stepped over them but was loudly called to bring them with me. I scooped them up and moved to a broader trail with a more open sky, staff and now jaw bones in hand.

I felt safer in this open space. I noticed the moon peeking out, and the whisper of night grew stronger.

I noticed someone on a bicycle drove past me – my senses keen - they seemed to have come from nowhere. They slowed as they passed me, then stopped, turned around, and rode back in my direction, again slowing down clearly taking me in as they passed by. Finally, they stopped not far down the path I needed to take to get to the parking lot. I looked at them, pounded my staff into the ground, and said, “Hello??” They stared for a moment and then rode off down a side path.

I took a deep breath, noticing I desperately wanted not to be in this place anymore. I grabbed my keys and set forth to the parking lot with the deer bones and staff in hand. With each step, I prayed to the trees and the land, letting them know they were not alone or forgotten.

They whispered back the same message.

The parking lot was in my line of sight. I could see my car and started to increase my pace, feeling relief that this sense of dis-ease would soon be over. But it intensified when I noticed someone standing beside my car. I clutched my staff more tightly. As I got to the edge of the parking lot, I noticed the others who had been on the trail, the one who had spoken to me and the cyclist were also within view, close by. The moon was now more visible in the sky. Night was coming quickly. I felt myself nervous, my skin crawling from all the oddness of the walk and the energy of the trees, and I held tightly to my staff and the jawbones as I mustered up all the courage I could find.

I approached my car. The person standing next to it stared directly at me. They were between me and the car door. When they finally spoke, they asked if I’d seen anything unusual on my walk today. I put the staff between them and me, holding tightly to the jawbones, and told them yes, I had noticed some strange things. They continued staring at me and said - many odd things happen in these woods. My nervous system slammed into overdrive. Just then, another vehicle pulled in and grabbed their attention. I took the opportunity to slip into my car. I locked the door and looked out my window to see them staring at me. Relief started seeping in, and I left.

Relief was quickly followed by anger, which flowed through my being. I was angry that these strangers had created a barrier between me and this hallowed ground—this sanctuary that offers solace to so many. I was furious that a stare, a stance, and a few words made me feel unwelcome in this sacred space. I was distraught that the trees had transmitted such grief.

In the following days, I reflected on how essential my relationship with the land has become. What started as an item on my wellness to-do list has transformed into a more profound process and pathway of remembering and reclaiming pieces of myself, parts that had been long forgotten.

This weekly commitment has become a gateway for exploring traditional folk arts and wisdom, a conduit for stepping in sync with nature's cycles, and an ever-changing labyrinth for the soul and psyche.

This experience with these bizarre strangers has upended me and has forced me to re-evaluate how I approach my walks.

But this isn’t just my story—it is all our stories. This led me to think about the many barriers people face when building and maintaining a connection and relationship with the land, such as access, safety, knowledge and community. How might we support each other in recognizing and resolving these barriers?  I invite you to join me and the Ninth Wave Arts community for our online Friends & Folk circle to explore this further.

Walking With You, Penny

Penny hosts Human Design readings and Sacred Herbs workshops. Check out her offerings on our website.