Land as Medicine

Land holds the wisdom of our collective history

Beneath our feet, in the roots of the trees, is the whisper of our ancestors. They are not gone. They are held in the soil, in the rhythm of the rivers, in the wind that moves through the trees. I’ve learned from Elders that the land is our first mother. She gives us everything we need to sustain life. She nurtures us, if we nurture her. We are not separate from the land; we are intrinsically connected. We are the land, and she is us.

In many Indigenous Nations, wellness encompasses all our connections. These connections begin on the land, with the land, in deep relation. The land is not just a setting. It is a teacher. A relative. A healer.

Colonization disrupted this sacred connection. Through dispossession, many were severed from the lands that had provided nourishment physically, spiritually, emotionally, and mentally since time immemorial. But the land waits for our return.

Land-based healing is not a trend. It is an ancestral practice rooted in thousands of years of relationship.

Teachings from the trees

Not long ago, I intentionally returned to the land. As I walked softly beneath the shade of old trees near the banks of the Red River, where the water still carries the history and stories of my ancestors, healing and teachings were shared.

This land, these roots, have known the history of our collective context. This place was once a fur trade hub, but more than that, it was a meeting place, a heartland for kin. As I meandered through the trees, I felt that I was part of that circle of kinship again.

The trees have waited long for us to return. As I slowed down and opened my spirit to listen, I felt their invite; not loud, but certain, like the voice of a grandmother saying, “Come, child. Sit for a while.”

Each tree had made a place for me at its base. A soft hollow in the earth, shaped by time and waiting. I sat with them, one by one, and felt their love and warmth like old friends around a fire.

They didn’t speak in words, but their presence whispered, “It’s so nice to see you.” And in that moment, I discovered: “It’s nice to see me, too.”

It was not a walk, but a coming home, a reunion. The kind where silence says more than stories, and time slows to make room for remembering.

The Medicine of Return

Land-based healing is not a trend. It is an ancestral practice rooted in thousands of years of relationship. To sit with the land is to sit with Spirit. To walk the trails of our ancestors is to walk toward wellness.

Land-based wellness isn’t only about healing the individual; it’s about healing the whole. When we step onto the land with intention, we reconnect with who we are, where we come from, and where we are going. We deepen our sense of identity and belonging. We build and rebuild sacred relationships with self, community, and all living things.

The resurgence of Indigenous ways of helping through ceremony, medicines, and relationship gently pushes back against colonial systems of care. It invites us into a space of remembering, where healing is rooted not in pathology but in kinship.

Not all knowledge is ours to share. Some teachings are meant to be held close, passed only through ceremony or under the guidance of Elders.

Showing up authentically

It is important to locate yourself and know your identity before you offer land-based practices. Ask yourself: where do I come from? What have I been taught? What are my responsibilities? It is important to seek guidance from knowledge holders and Elders. Remember that relationships are reciprocal and building relationships requires care, consent, and respect.

Land-based helping work isn’t about performance, it’s about truth, accountability, and connection. There are good ways to walk alongside Indigenous knowledge without misappropriating. But it begins with self-reflection, not extraction. Ask permission. Immerse yourself in holistic, reciprocal and relational learning. Offer tobacco. Listen more than you speak. And when you make space for these practices in your work, be clear: You are not the teacher – the land is.

Not all knowledge is ours to share. Some teachings are meant to be held close, passed only through ceremony or under the guidance of Elders. As helpers, we must always ask: Is this my teaching to carry? Am I walking with permission?

If you are facilitating land-based work, reflect often. Know your limits. Know your responsibilities. Respect is not a checklist – it is a way of being. It lives in how you approach, how you listen, how you leave.

Mindfulness, Grounding, and the Natural World

In ceremony I have often learned that we are not just physical beings, we are spirit. Mindfulness practices align closely with Indigenous ways of being. Being mindful means being aware of your place in the circle and knowing that you are interconnected with all things.

When we are on the land, when we touch the white dusty bark of a birch tree, smell the fragrant cedar trees, taste sweet saskatoon berries, or hear the cry of a loon across the lake, we are grounded. Not just in body, but in spirit. The land holds us steady when the world becomes too loud.

Grounding is especially important in healing work. When a person feels disconnected, anxious, or overwhelmed, returning to the senses – smell, sight, sound, taste, touch – can bring them back into balance. A handful of soft moss. The scent of sweetgrass. The song of a chickadee. These are pathways back to the present.

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Seven Generations Ahead

We are walking in the footsteps of those who came before, and we are leaving footprints for those yet to come. This is the teaching of the Seven Generations: That our choices ripple forward, shaping the world for our children’s children’s children. It is a teaching rooted in responsibility, in love, and in a long memory.

To be in good relation with the land is not a one-time act; it’s a lifelong journey. Learning the names of the plants, understanding the rhythm of the moons, watching how the animals move across the seasons, this is how we reconnect our ties to the land. This is how we come home.