Pause. Breathe. Restore.

I am very lucky to have a Silver Birch tree in my garden.

Every autumn it lets go of every single one of its leaves, standing bare against the winter sky. Then, almost overnight in spring, tiny bright green leaves begin to appear, reaching eagerly towards the warmth of the sun.

Each year it reminds me that letting go is not the end of the story.

For most of my life, I never paid much attention to trees. There were those I admired and thought, “Oh, that’s a beautiful tree,” but then I’d carry on with my day.

It wasn’t until the beginning of this year, when we found ourselves at the mercy of Storm Goretti and watched so many majestic trees fall, that I really began to notice them.

I started looking up.

I wondered how old they were, what they had witnessed and what role they played in the world around them.

Then I read The Hidden Life of Trees by Peter Wohlleben, and something shifted.

Later, while visiting the beautiful Chalice Well Gardens in Glastonbury, I found myself hugging trees without a second thought. Then, after spending time in Scotland—walking through a quiet valley, beside a flowing river and surrounded by ancient woodland—I felt my fascination deepen even further.

Trees are extraordinary.

Majestic.

Quietly life-giving.

And so much more connected than we once believed.

A forest is a community

One of the things that fascinated me most was learning that trees don’t simply grow beside one another—they live in communities.

Hidden beneath the forest floor, their roots intertwine with an incredible network of fungi known as the “Wood Wide Web.” Through this underground network, trees can share water, nutrients and even chemical messages.

Older “mother trees” have been shown to support younger saplings, sending resources where they are most needed.

When one tree struggles, others often help.

There is something rather beautiful about that.

Nature reminds us that strength isn’t always found in standing alone.

Sometimes it comes from being connected.

Not every seed becomes a tree

Every year, millions upon millions of tree seeds fall to the ground.

Yet only around one in every billion survives long enough to become a mature tree.

Many begin life as hopeful little saplings but are eaten by wildlife, damaged by storms, succumb to disease or simply never receive enough sunlight beneath the forest canopy.

Forests are constantly changing.

Sometimes foresters carefully remove selected trees to allow more light to reach the woodland floor, giving younger trees the opportunity to grow. It can seem counterintuitive, but thoughtful management helps create healthier, more diverse forests for generations to come.

Sometimes making space is an act of care.

Ancient witnesses

Some of Britain’s oldest trees have stood quietly for thousands of years.

The Fortingall Yew in Perthshire, Scotland, is believed to be between 2,000 and 5,000 years old, making it one of the oldest living trees in Europe.

Just imagine everything it has witnessed.

Empires have risen and fallen.

Generations have come and gone.

Yet it remains rooted.

Patient.

Steadfast.

Growing a little each year.

Five wonderful facts about trees

The more I learn about trees, the more remarkable they become.

● Trees communicate with one another through underground fungal networks.

● A mature tree can release hundreds of litres of water into the atmosphere each day through transpiration, helping to cool the air around it.

● Trees improve our wellbeing by filtering pollutants, producing oxygen and creating habitats for thousands of species.

● Spending time in woodland has been shown to lower stress hormones, reduce blood pressure and improve mood.

● Some trees can regenerate after significant damage, reminding us that resilience often looks quieter than we expect.

The mystery of the forest

For thousands of years, forests have captured our imagination.

Almost every culture has stories of enchanted woods, wise old trees, woodland spirits and hidden realms.

Fairies, dryads, Green Men and forest guardians appear throughout folklore, reminding us that forests have long been seen as places where the ordinary meets the magical.

Perhaps that’s because forests naturally encourage us to slow down.

Light filters differently beneath the canopy.

Birdsong replaces traffic.

Time seems to soften.

Whether or not you believe in fairies is almost beside the point.

Most people leave a woodland feeling somehow different from when they entered.

Why do people hug trees?

It might sound a little unusual until you’ve tried it.

Tree hugging encourages us to stop.

To lean.

To breathe.

To become still.

While there is limited scientific evidence that hugging a tree itself has unique health benefits, spending time among trees is strongly associated with lower stress levels, improved mood and a calmer nervous system.

Perhaps it isn’t the hug itself that heals.

Perhaps it’s the pause.

The permission to stand quietly in nature without needing to be anywhere else.

A beautiful old story

One of my favourite pieces of folklore tells of weary souls who, after living a full life, would find rest within the heart of an ancient tree.

There they would sleep peacefully for a hundred years, held safely by the tree until it finally fell. Only then would the soul awaken, restored and ready to begin its next journey.

Whether this story is true isn’t really the point.

Stories often carry truths that facts cannot.

The idea that nature can hold us when we are weary feels deeply comforting.

A quiet thought

Sometimes I wonder what stories my Silver Birch could tell.

How many birds have nested in its branches?

How many storms has it weathered?

How many times has it quietly welcomed spring after letting everything go?

And then I wonder something else.

How magical would it be if every tree held a resting and restoring soul?

Perhaps that’s why forests feel different.

Perhaps that’s why we instinctively lower our voices beneath their branches.

Perhaps that’s why we leave feeling a little lighter than when we arrived.

Whether through science, folklore or simple observation, trees have much to teach us.

They remind us that growth takes time.

That communities matter.

That letting go is part of living.

And that even in the deepest winter, spring is quietly waiting.

So the next time you pass a tree, perhaps pause for just a moment.

Look up.

Take a breath.

You never know what quiet wisdom it might have to share.

Pause. Breathe. Restore.