the forest has always been kind to me

a personal reflection on my love for nature and how its developed over the years

Sep 07, 2025

It is not so much for its beauty that the forest makes a claim upon men's hearts, as for that subtle something, that quality of air that emanation from old trees, that so wonderfully changes and renews a weary spirit. — Robert Louis Stevenson

There is a part of me that I stray away from discussing because I’ve always thought myself an outlier growing up. Very few shared my love for nature, but on a platform like this one that brings all groups of people together, I wanted to write something different—an experience so personal and rooted in who I am as a person. I trust that those who can relate will find this piece, and it will touch their hearts just as I’ve intended.

I grew up in a neighbourhood of cracked cement roads, set ablaze by the hot sun above our tiny homes. My city has a reputation for chopping down trees and shrubbery in the poorest of areas, and its effects were felt when street fights and verbal altercations doubled on the hotter days. Even as young as seven, I would venture out on my own. I always tested the boundaries of how far I could get from home without being caught, and the verdict always left me with a deep melancholy. I knew I could get away with far more than I tried, but all my soul craved was to be out there, under the shade of the trees, far, far away. I’d draw maps for my grand escape, circling hidden bushes and fences where I could sleep during the night. I remember coming back from school, standing in front of my home, and pulling out the map. I was ready to run. In my little mind, whatever was out there, no matter how scary or unfamiliar, couldn’t have been worse than a weekend spent at home. But I was caught just then when my stepfather called me in, and I slipped the paper back into my pocket.

I had to walk quite a distance from my home to melt into the soft grass and lie under the swaying trees, but I did it. And it felt like home. The irony of a strange and unfamiliar land feeling like my own isn’t lost on me. When my elementary school offered guided walks in the forest as a pastime during recess, I jumped at the opportunity. It was even better than my secret excursions. I watched our tour guide in awe as she pointed out the different plants, the seasons they bloom, and whether they were edible. I wanted to do this every recess, every day, for the rest of my life. But then I changed schools, and life no longer had colour.

Where we moved next was even worse than my last home. It was dangerous, unwelcoming for children, and had a four-lane intersection just a block away. A true concrete jungle, with speeding cars disregarding stop signs right below my window. It took me a few years to gain enough courage to explore, but I did, and just a mile from my home was a quaint library shrouded in pine trees. All I needed was silence paired with greenery for my heart to feel alive, and there it was. Right by that library was where I’d seek refuge from home, often crying and speaking with Allah, hidden away by the branches.

The towering trees stood strong yet perfectly still, creating an air of stability and safety that I had never known. Perhaps that’s why I love trees so much. They’re old, wise, and dependable. They hide smaller, weaker things from bigger, scarier things. Maybe that’s why, whenever I felt distress, my body rhythmically inched towards a tree.

Allah ﷻ says:
“The seven heavens and the earth and all that is in them glorify Him. There is not a thing but that it glorifies His praise, but you do not understand their glorification.”
— Qur’an 17:44

This shared love for Allah only added to the already brimming admiration within me. The trees, just like me, revered the same Lord. We were created by the same Lord. Deep down, I feel like I always knew we held these parallels, making me prefer the company of trees more than anything else.

When I finally left the place that broke me, I decided that I’d heal as if my life depended on it. Trees were still my sanctuary. I’d walk past oak trees and collect their acorns to decorate my windowsill. I’d slide my feet through the fluff of cottonwood trees or the discarded needle-drop of evergreens. I’d recenter with a canopy of green above me each time.

I think it’s this love for trees that made room for my love of mushrooms to flourish. I’m now hitting my third year of identifying and (when I’m brave) foraging for the edible mushrooms that grow locally. Just this spring I gathered oyster mushrooms and sautéed them in butter, more amazed at the fact I foraged them myself than at how they tasted. Either way, I’ve grown a collection of books on foraging edible plants and mushrooms, and it has connected me to an even deeper part of my soul. I never knew that picking, gathering, and eating what grows from the ground could feel so natural, so right. But alas, through the will of Allah, the forest is always giving.

What amazes me about mycology—the study of mushrooms—is that once you find one mushroom, you’ve now awakened the ability to find another. I often wonder how many specimens I’ve brushed past in my life unknowingly. Searching for them has become a part of every hike I take. The simple fact that mushrooms are more closely related to animals than plants will always amaze me. Mushroom season is approaching, so if it’s of any interest to you, go out and try to find some on your own! Do not eat them unless you’ve done a fair amount of research on local toxic look-alikes.

I’m not sure why it has taken me so long to write about nature and how much it means to me. I think children can be cruel to one another, and perhaps the bullying I received growing up for being weird and strange has, in turn, pushed me away from speaking about it. Regardless, I’m so happy to have written this piece, and if you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for sitting with me. I’d love to read your reflections or comments below.

Love,
Sumaya ♡

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