In August, we bring a set of new full-time writers to the blog. Today, please welcome Nathan Hilbrands (’21), who will be writing for us on the 16th of each month. Nathan graduated with degrees in geography and environmental health and conservation. He is currently working for the Allegan Conservation District as a watershed technician. He enjoys collecting National Geographic issues that he rarely looks at again, playing disc golf a lot without improving, and trying new board games.

Earlier this year, I hosted an environmental book club meeting for my work where we discussed Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer. This will not be a full review of the book, but I cannot recommend it enough. Simply put, it is a life-changing read. This recent reading of Braiding Sweetgrass—there have been many readings—an idea Kimmerer puts forth in her third chapter, “The Gift of Strawberries,” stuck out to me.

Kimmerer describes herself as being raised by strawberries, saying, “It was the wild strawberries, beneath dewy leaves on an almost-summer morning, who gave me my sense of the world, my place in it.” She goes on to discuss the feeling of gratitude that finding a patch of strawberries gave her, and how that feeling has shaped her life and the reciprocal gifts she gives in turn.

What plants raised me? Am I a product of all of the sticks, stones, and leaves I have encountered throughout my life? Should I list my favorite flowers as emergency contacts? As a Michigander, an easy choice for co-parent could be Petoskey stones. They taught me perseverance and patience on the Lake Michigan shoreline as I’d bend over staring at the ground. They likely helped spark my early desire to be a paleontologist. Petoskey stones have been important, and I have too many of them, but I think there is a better answer.

I was raised by Christmas trees.

My grandparents built a log cabin in the northern Michigan woods near Cadillac thirty years ago. More than any other place, that cabin in the woods shaped my childhood. Adjacent to that parcel, my grandpa leased land to his cousin for a Christmas tree farm.

Perhaps it’s the influence of a December birthday, but the Christmas season has always been one of my favorite parts of the year. Sledding down the narrow rows between the Christmas trees with my brothers and cousins and getting a face full of snow and needles when someone bumped me was my one of my favorite things growing up. Some days it felt like we were out there from dawn till dusk, only tromping back to the cabin for meals and hot chocolate breaks. One particularly wet winter, there was so much snow we dug caves into a snowdrift and uncovered the tops of Christmas trees. The smell of those firs and spruces was something no candle I’ve found has been able to replicate.

Trekking up and down the hills, selecting a tree, and cutting it down with no one else around made this part of the holiday season blessedly free from consumerism. When I picture contentment, I have a very specific image in mind: sitting in my parent’s living room with only the lights of our Christmas tree illuminating the room and looking outside to the gentle white glow of fresh snow with Mannheim Steamroller’s Christmas album playing in the background.

Eventually time and taxes caught up with the cabin, and it was sold in 2014. If I had to pinpoint the end of my childhood, that might be it. Since then, selecting a Christmas tree has become a financial affair and days spent sledding and shaking snow out of my clothes have become much less frequent. Those trees helped point me in the direction I’m going today. They’ve been fundamental in my career choices and the way I spend my time. For me, the joy of spending time outside and time with family smells like a Douglas Fir.

Nathan Hilbrands

Nathan Hilbrands (’21) graduated with degrees in geography and environmental health and conservation. He is currently working for the Allegan Conservation District as a watershed technician. He enjoys collecting National Geographic issues that he rarely looks at again, playing disc golf a lot without improving, and trying new board games.