Michigan Forest Life - May 17, 2026

Greetings Nature Enthusiasts!

I was mowing a forest trail nearly two miles from the farming neighbor's shed, where I park my tractor, when the rain started. My tractor got a good washing, and so did I. As I approached the farm, I could smell the rich, freshly tilled soil mixed with this spring rain. I love this smell. You need to be in the right place, at the right time, to catch it. 

When the tractor was neatly tucked into the corner of the shed and dried with a towel the sun again popped out, but I had already surrendered. I headed for the Treehouse and a set of dry clothes.

I have been away for a month promoting my book, FOREST LEGEND: THE TALE OF OL' SPLIT TOE. Caught in the complexities and conveniences of the modern civilized world. The rat race. I honestly wondered whether I could let go this time: put all of the book responsibilities, and life responsibilities, into the shadows and let the natural world take me.

I need not have worried.

This is a good time to resurrect an old Michigan Forest Life email. August 12, 2021. It was also one of the Michigan Forest Life emails published in TREEHOUSE LETTERS: THE UNABRIDGED MICHIGAN FOREST LIFE JOURNAL (Page 668.)

Why Do I Come to the Forest?

An excerpt from “Treehouse Letters – The Unabridged Michigan Forest Life Journal”

By Dan Ellens

What is the force that draws me back to the forest? Is it a drive to complete work needed to sustain this pleasant nature sanctuary? Or is it a desire to, once again, become just another creature of the forest, governed only by the primal laws and innocence of nature? Trading in the luxuries and complexities of the modern civilized world for another forest sunrise? Another symphony of birds, insects, and frogs at daybreak? Finding satisfaction in unplugging from an automated lifestyle? Living a few notches lower on the technology chain, and a little lower on the environmental impact scale? Is it feeling a self-imposed independence from the modern resources that enticingly anchor most of the world? Why do I long to return to the wilds?

Today I am a part of the forest. I am among my old friends, the trees. I ask them how they have been.  They are grateful for this week's rain. They have a job to do. Their calling. To restore oxygen to the atmosphere – and many other things. They have been working hard. I stand at the base of one old grandfather tree. A white pine so large that it takes three adults to hug it completely. Perhaps 300 or 350 years old. There are several of these old fellows in this sanctuary. A kind of social club. They tower over the forest. They have branches equal in size to the trunks of many of their full-grown offspring. They spread their arms over their children...their grandchildren…their great-grandchildren. Their family extends for more generations than we can imagine. 

What does my friend, the grandfather pine, have to tell me today? ... "Sit, my friend. Relax. Take the load off. The weather is good. Take a break. I invite you to imagine a world of peace, decency, tranquility. Close your eyes and listen to the world around you. You are here in the forest. The natural world. Accept the kindness I offer. Absorb it. Feel it. Be gentle, my friend. Like a tree. You can be one of us for a while." 

The river, only a few feet away, is carrying extra water from this week’s rain. The water hums as it flows swiftly over a shallow rock-covered stretch where deer frequently cross.  A large maple, just beyond the reach of the grandfather pine, is shimmering in the breeze. Its leaves rustle against each other, adding to the gentle background sounds. I feel the breeze and hear the sound. They become a singular sense, a singular sensation. It is the music of the wilds.

Why do I come to the forest? It is not an important question. I am here.

Copyright @2022 Daniel S. Ellens

Before today's mowing, I visited the Grandfather tree - a fraction less than 39" diameter. Its top was lying beside it on the forest floor - 20 feet of tip - but it is still mighty tall (Photo 1).  A ring of other large branches surround the tree, like a nest from this year’s late winter ice storm (Photo 2). Many White Pines were aggressively pruned. I still feel the tree's energy. Its peace. Its voice.

It's raining again. But I am inside. Listening.

I wish you a shelter with a metal roof where waves of raindrops drum the roof and play for you another of Mother Nature's cadences.

Until next time,

Dan