Lightening up

Moving, nesting and foraging like an animal

I watch the birds return after their long journeys from Central and South America. They arrive here in Western Massachusetts with only themselves. No suitcases packed with trinkets, outfits, books, or any other entertainment for their journey. They land trusting that food, shelter, warmth, community, and everything else they need will be found.

I am in the process of moving again. After a lifetime of being somewhat of a nomad, I am moving to a place where I intend to root down. A mountain my partner and I have been stewarding since 2022. Where the birds come and go and the trees hold their own long deep-rooted histories. Our intention is to live in harmony with the land. To be deeply connected but not heavy. I want to be more and more like the birds

“Fall Migration” a painting by Tracy Vernon

I think about the fact that for over 95 percent of human existence we have been nomads, carrying and taking only what was essential. Like the wildlife that surrounds me today, our ancestors depended on the availability of forageable fruit, nuts, roots, and greens, the movement of other animals, and changes in weather. Sometimes I wonder if we humans are even meant to stay in one place. Certainly, we’re not meant to accumulate so much unnecessary stuff that exhausts the Earth while keeping us bogged down and tethered.

I’ve collected my belongings from storage and am going through items scattered throughout my current rental. My partner is doing the same. We have so many things, it’s overwhelming. Even though, compared to many humans, I really don’t have much. Living in small New York City apartments for most of my adult life has helped me pare down. I try not to consume more than I need, but I still do. Much is in the form of the countless books I continue to collect and still haven’t read and an overflow of glass jars, tincture bottles (anyone need some?) from years of teaching herbalism and crafting plant medicine, both for myself and others. I am attached to the potential of huge, unfinished paintings, boxes of old journals, and the nostalgic glossy photos from back in the day when they were printed. There are boxes of boxing equipment, most of which I’m keeping since I’m coaching again, and clothes and shoes in bags to donate which are much easier for me to let go of. But then there's the question of how to discard things properly and how to give things away responsibly. Today I am buying a TerraCycle “All-In-One” Zero Waste Box for random items like old pens and plastics that can’t be composted or recycled. I am trying to lighten up.

Gathering reishi mushrooms on the mountain

Planting seeds and foraging for wild food is a natural extension of this transition, remembering that nourishment can be grown while trusting that food and medicine already exist in wild landscapes. Looking for and harvesting wild food and medicine has reconnected me to my animal nature in a palpable way. As I become more aware of my environment and the species within it, I feel a deepening connection, not just to this land but to something ancient, something embedded in my genetic memory. Moving with the rhythm of the seasons, growing and harvesting what my ecosystem offers without taking too much, becomes a way of lightening the physical load while cultivating intimacy with Earth. For me, foraging isn’t just a skill, it’s a way of seeing, a way of understanding that food is not something we simply buy in a store but a gift from the land herself.

So this transition, this move, this act of sorting through belongings is more than just finding a home, it is committing further to a way of life that aligns with my work and my values and with the birds. A way that carries less weight and more trust. The birds have always known the way. I am (re)learning.