Feeling Earth’s Love As A Witch

I have a hazy memory of early tween-dom, not long before I first start exploring the path of an earth-loving witch. It was in the cemetery that was next to my school. Having a graveyard next to my school wasn’t that odd – it was a parochial xtian school attached to one of the largest congregations in the eastern Detroit area.  I loved that cemetery (hello Scorpio stellium). There were huge 100-foot-tall trees – likely Eastern White Pines, which at the time of this love story, I didn’t know any trees taller than these. I loved to sit under them especially in the warm, sticky months of a Michigan summer. It would be easily fifteen degrees cooler under those tall, soldier-like conifers. I loved that calming smell of pine from the birth of its spring buds to the composting needles I’d crouch on to get respite from the noise and energy of people. I could breathe with the trees, with the grass and the dirt and the song of the birds. Yep, I was the weird girl who sat in the cemetery under a tree, alone. To me, it didn’t feel weird. It felt right.

I was struggling with the new social aspects of moving from elementary to middle school (although we called it ‘junior high’ then), especially because I was one of the youngest in my grade. Also I was discovering that I didn’t get excited about being around a lot of people, and that being under a tree reading a book held more for me than playground games. I was not immune to the budding attraction to boys. I tried flirting – I was not great at it. Yet, who is at this point in our lives? It’s all experimentation with what works and doesn’t work. For me,  I wanted my target to read my facial expressions and know exactly what I meant. That’s an immature Scorpio for you. Instead of practicing more like many of my peers, I was happier squirreling away somewhere in that park-like setting of quiet in the parish’s cemetery. 

The day I remember feeling love from the Earth begins with finishing physical education class and then being dismissed for recess – 20 tortuous minutes before lunch, but it also meant that if I packed my lunch, I could just go straight on from recess in a secluded part of the cemetery through lunch before returning to class, providing the weather was dry. Teachers left you alone if you had your nose in a book. I took full advantage. I was feeling pretty good, knowing I’d have this 45 minutes to listen to the birds while I dived into a story far away from this awkward tweendom. Also, it was a brilliant Spring day. One of the firsts for the season. I was leaving the gym, headed to the locker room when one of the boys I had a crush on called me a slut. I didn’t know at that point in my life what a slut was. I knew it was bad because of how my classmates either recoiled – the girls – or laughed – the boys. I scowled my way to the cemetery, fuming with embarrassment and near hateful revenge fantasies. 

I reached the tallest tree. Now in 2026, I can still remember the grave that was closest to it. It sat at a slight angle in the ground and was listing slightly away from the prevailing winds. ‘Against all odds,’ is the nickname I gave it. When I sat under that tree, that couple had already been dead 100 years. In my sessions in the cemetery, I would concoct the most epic of supportive love stories. I imagined war and storms kept them apart, but they always found each other.

That day, I couldn’t find the joy I normally felt in this favored spot. I just found anger, sadness, grief, and distaste. And resolve, that I wasn’t what that dumb boy said I was. I opened my book, had a hard time seeing the words for my anger, and put it back in my bag. I pulled out my composition book, and my favored multi-colored fat pen to write in red (I was mad after all). But I snapped it closed again and shoved them both in my bag. I just sat there, staring out across the cemetery. I’m not sure if I sighed, took a big breath or what, but I got a snootful of pine that suddenly had me feeling silly for being upset about being called a name I didn’t even know what it meant. I tucked my knees up under my chin and wrapped my arms around my knees. I rested my back firmly against the bark of this towering guardian of the crooked grave. Its sturdiness seemed to seep into me. I leaned my head against it. Looking up at a tall tree from the ground is always an exercise in feeling small. I started to imagine just melting into that giant trunk, when I heard a voice. Was it a voice? It could have been any number of creatures that today I know exist, but at that exact time, I squarely thought it was ‘someone’ whispering. The wind had picked up slightly and I shook my head thinking the wind was making noises. Today I remember clearly how the Land talks to me now. The voice  simply said, “It’ll be okay.” Young me reached out and drew a smiley face in the soil beside me. “Thanks,” I said out loud. Robin tweeted its song back. Then suddenly I felt very self conscious and looked around. All the activity was back at the playground, in the ball fields. It was just me and the trees, birds, and soil. 

I stretched out my legs and continued to play with the soil in my hands. I heard the bell for lunch ring, and just as it did, a Peregrine Falcon – native migrators to Michigan and whose numbers at the time of this story were very few –  came barreling down the main walkway of the cemetery – not quite a road, although the hearses would use it to traverse to graveside ceremonies. The falcon flew deep and low and sped right by me in that telltale bullet shape raptors can achieve before suddenly shooting straight up into the canopy of trees out of my line of sight. I was floored. We had just discussed this bird in my earth science class and its importance in the Great Lakes area. It’s the first sign from the universe I can remember. 

I got out my journal and started writing, recording the moment that later would feel very spiritual. I sketched my best attempt at what I just witnessed. I munched my lunch and listened to the wind through those wonderful trees. Before I knew it the time to return to class was due. I stood up, dusted off my clothes and my hands and headed back in. I saw the offensive boy as I was heading back in and he tried to bully me again, but the science teacher was close by and I called him over and told him about seeing the falcon. He told me that was a really special sighting and maybe we’d have class outside soon to see if the rest of class could see it.

I felt like the trees, the birds, and the soil all comforted me that day. They talked to me in their language. They grounded and centred me away from the emotions that did not serve me. They planted the seed for a relationship that would ebb and flow throughout my life and still does. I love the Land, its energy, the Spirits in and about it. But it loved me first. 

Today, that girl is a woman who often can be found book in hand under a tree – likely Grandmother Willow, the eldest and tallest tree of Villa Westwyk. It’s a relationship that has taught me patience through the rhythm of the seasons. It taught me determination, like the dandelion that grows in cracks and crevices. It taught me a whole lot of discernment – your environment helps you thrive or struggle. It’s solidified my animist worldview and opened up the literal interconnected cosmos at my feet, and above my head. When we are stewards of the Land that contains us, it sustains us. The Land understands you belong, that you are its kin. It’s just waiting for you to fall in love, too.