What Grand Army Plaza Taught Me About Unlearning Perfect Trees
Day 6 of noticing what I’ve been taught revealed the violence hiding in “developed land”
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Grand Army Plaza in Manhattan is being refurbished to beautiful results.
New paths. Restored fountain. Carefully planned landscaping. The renovation is stunning. Professional. Exactly what urban design magazines celebrate.
They cut down all the old trees.
Not because the trees were diseased or dangerous. Because they weren’t in the right place. Because they didn’t fit the aesthetic vision. Because perfect parks require perfect trees in perfect locations.
I stood there watching the construction yesterday and felt something shift. A belief I’d been carrying without examining it.
The Belief I’m Questioning
Here’s what I’ve been processing: the idea that trees not growing “perfectly” should be removed.
This belief runs deep. Crooked trees. Misshapen bushes. Plants growing where we didn’t plant them. We call these problems. Mistakes. Things to fix.
But who decided what perfect looks like? Who determined which trees deserve to stay and which must go?
As an ordained Wild Guide with PhD training in educational research, I been trained to question assumptions. To search for evidence. To ask where beliefs come from and how we know it.
This one comes from seeing nature as property to control rather than kin to live alongside. From treating trees as objects that should serve our aesthetic preferences rather than beings with their own lives.
Even our language reveals this. We call completely controlled land “developed,” as if land in its natural form is undeveloped. Incomplete. Waiting for humans to make it proper.
What violence hides in that word.
What Letting Go Opens
When I started questioning this belief, awareness of my own language opened.
I began noticing every time I said “it” about a tree or plant. That pronoun objectifies. Makes living beings into things.
So I changed. Gradually. Him or her instead of it. This tree, not that thing.
The shift feels small. Just pronouns. But language shapes how we see the world.
When a tree becomes “him,” I can’t dismiss his removal as easily. When a plant becomes “her,” I notice when she’s thriving or struggling. Pronouns make kin visible.
This unlearning wasn’t instant. It took time to stop old habits and build new ones. It happens best when I focus on something that really matters to me—like recognizing trees as living kin worthy of personal pronouns.
My PhD training helps here. I search literature about human-nature relationships. I look for evidence of how language shapes perception. This grounds my spiritual practice in research conversation.
But the PhD also taught me objectification. Scientific writing uses “it” for everything. Detachment as methodology. Control as goal.
Unlearning requires questioning even my own training.
What I Notice Walking
When I walk through cities now, I see human systems trying to control nature everywhere.
Perfect lawns. Strict fences. “Keep off the grass” signs. Sidewalk tree boxes with signs warning not to let dogs in—dog urine kills trees and flowers, which is actually a helpful sign, recognizing trees as vulnerable beings needing protection.
But mostly I see the assumption: nature exists for human preference. Trees should be where we want them. Growing how we want them. Looking how we imagine perfect should look.
Grand Army Plaza’s old trees didn’t fit the vision. So they were removed. Decades of oxygen production. Habitat for countless birds and insects. Shade through summer heat. Roots holding soil. All that relationship, ended.
For aesthetic perfection.
Your Practice Today
Here’s what I’m inviting you into: notice one belief about nature you carry.
Sit with it for five minutes. Where did it come from? Does it still feel true?
Maybe you were taught nature is “out there” and separate from you. Maybe you learned humans are above other beings. Maybe you absorbed the idea that land is property to own.
Just notice. Without judgment. One belief you carry.
Then, if you’re ready, question it. What would it feel like to let it go? What opens up in that space?
For me, it started with pronouns. Changing “it” to “him” or “her” for trees and plants. Small shift. Big impact.
What small shift might reveal itself to you?
Tomorrow we go deeper still. But today, just notice. Question. Begin.
I’m developing a 13-Day EcoSpirituality Challenge and sharing what I’m learning here. Tomorrow: looking deeper continues. If you’d like to practice along, consider subscribing for reflections on EcoSpirituality, sacred walking, and unlearning dominion.
What belief are you questioning today? I’d love to hear in the comments below.