My daughter Kayli was telling me about a dog she walks. The dog had spent her life as a breeder dog, and for years all she knew was a concrete slab. No grass. No yard. No trees. Just concrete.
Even now, when Kayli takes her for walks, the dog will only stop to pee on the sidewalk.
At first, my reaction was sadness. How heartbreaking, I thought, that grass isn’t normal to her. She doesn’t instinctively seek out the soft ground because she never learned that it was part of her world.
Then I realized something uncomfortable.
I did this for years.
Not with sidewalks, exactly, but with nature.
For years I treated the air-conditioned house as the default and the outdoors as somewhere to go only when it was nice outside. If it was too hot, too humid, or too inconvenient, I stayed inside. Nature became something I looked at through windows rather than something I participated in.
In many ways, we’ve all learned this behavior. We move from our air-conditioned homes to our air-conditioned cars and into air-conditioned buildings. We hide from heat, bugs, rain, cold, and discomfort. Little by little, we become disconnected from the natural world around us.
This week has felt even more pronounced. Forest fires have been filling the air with smoke, and the air quality has been affecting me more than usual. For several days, my lungs felt irritated and breathing was harder. I found myself not being able to get into the house fast enough.
Then something unexpected happened.Last night, while walking Zelda, we passed beneath the tree in my front yard. I stopped there for a few minutes, standing quietly under its canopy.
Suddenly, I could breathe more clearly.
I wasn’t expecting anything. I just noticed that my lungs felt calmer. My breathing felt easier.
The next morning, I tried it again.
Standing beneath that same tree, for the first time in days, my lungs felt clear.
The experience reminded me of research I had read about forest-derived BVOCs (biogenic volatile organic compounds) and phytoncides, natural compounds released by trees. Researchers have been studying how these compounds may contribute to stress reduction, immune system support, and an overall sense of well-being when people spend time in natural environments.
Not all trees release the same amounts. Evergreens such as pines, cedars, and cypresses are often noted for producing higher levels of these compounds. But all trees participate in this invisible exchange with the world around them.
What struck me most wasn’t the science, though.
It was the realization that I had become like that dog on the sidewalk.
I had forgotten that nature was normal.
Just as she learned that concrete was where she belonged, I had unconsciously learned that climate-controlled rooms were where life happened. The outdoors had become somewhere to go in to camp instead of something essential.
Maybe that’s why standing under a tree felt so powerful. It wasn’t just about cleaner air or beneficial compounds. It was a reminder that human beings evolved in relationship with the natural world. Trees aren’t decorations. They’re part of the environment we were designed to live within.
Sometimes the lesson isn’t to go farther.
Sometimes it’s simply to step outside and stand under a tree for five minutes.