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For most of my life, I didn’t notice trees. Sure, I saw them, but nothing registered. My conscious brain didn’t take note of anything about them. I was so preoccupied with the rest of life that trees were essentially invisible. The same was true of birds. They were all over, yet I don’t recall ever truly seeing birds growing up. As I have started to intentionally look for birds over the last year, I find myself wondering how many times I had seen a California Towhee or Northern Mockingbird as a child. Hundreds? Maybe. But when I started birding last year, I could have sworn that was the first time I had seen either one.  

Once I started noticing trees, I began learning about them. I have a lot of oaks where I live in the Sierra Foothills, so I naturally began some research into how to identify different types of oaks. As I looked at a tree, I would try to decide whether it was Valley, Blue, Black, Live, etc. I began to notice their leaves and bark. I saw the cavities Acorn Woodpeckers would make, and the trees designated for acorn storage.  I witnessed the Oak Titmouse hopping through the branches, never staying in the same place for long, and a White-breasted Nuthatch sticking to the bark like a gecko.   

Many of my work peers can look at a tree and they know the Latin name, life stage, health, and age. They see the same Oak Titmouse and White-breasted Nuthatch but also know their nesting behavior, diet, and incubation period. They can rattle off 100 facts about seemingly any species on the landscape.   

Knowledge is extremely valuable — from being able to identify a California Towhee to knowing that Quercus lobata have some of the largest xylem vessels of any North American oak. And yet, I also wonder: Does knowing more about a tree equate to knowing that tree more? Do facts learned replace time spent? Do academic degrees replace purposeful presence? As I spend more time out in the fields and forests, listening and observing, I've learned that education combined with presence creates a beautiful lens to really know the world.  

So, what does presence look like in nature? Nothing. It looks like nothing. It looks like no expectation, no judgement, no categorization, and no separation. It does not isolate or rank. It does not appraise or record. Presence is full immersion, acceptance, and attunement.  If this sounds hard, that is because it is. Only you can hold yourself accountable. It takes practice and patience as we learn to sit in stillness and emptiness. In rare glimpses, we will experience it all. Then maybe one day we can finally trade the idea of a tree for what it is, right there in front of us — raw, unique, present.    

The beauty is in the relentless acceptance of the moment. Presence doesn’t exclude or judge. It is not bound by title, money, or intellect. Instead, it grounds us all in solidarity with the world around us. How often are you fully present? How many times have you seen a tree?