I’m Wendy Weiger. My home is an off-the-grid cabin deep in the Maine Woods, where I write about our relationship with the natural world. I focus on the importance of deepening our connection with nature. The goal of enhancing our bond with nature is twofold: to improve our health on multiple levels—physical, emotional, spiritual—and to inspire us to work toward healing the wounds we’ve collectively inflicted on the Earth. Through my grassroots nonprofit, Achor Earth Ways, I put my writing into practice. I offer mindfulness-based programs that guide participants into renewed intimacy with nature—whether they’re in an urban park, their own backyards, or deep in the wild. I don’t see the work I’m doing now as a departure from my career in medicine. I see it as the practice of medicine in a broader sense.

Atop Big Moose Mountain. photo credit: Christopher King

I don’t think anyone who knew me in my early years would have predicted my move to the wilds of northern Maine. Initially, I seemed destined for a mainstream academic career. As an undergraduate at Harvard College, I majored in chemistry. I then went on to Harvard Medical School, where I got an MD and PhD in Neurobiology. After that, I worked at Harvard’s Osher Institute, which was established to evaluate complementary and alternative medical therapies from a Western scientific viewpoint. There, I developed guidelines for conventional physicians so they could offer solid, evidence-based advice to patients who wanted to integrate alternative therapies with conventional treatments.

When I started at Harvard, I was a science nerd. During my undergrad years, I was particularly interested in quantum mechanics. I loved delving into the mysteries of matter and energy. But the problem—at least in terms of my prospects for a conventional scientific career—was that I was more interested in the philosophical and spiritual implications of what I was studying rather than the practical applications. I would look at the equations and ask, “What does this tell us about the nature of reality, about the meaning and purpose of our existence?” My instructors would respond, don’t worry about that, just do the math.

When I was twenty years old, the foundation of my world cracked. As I prepared for finals in the spring of my junior year, I got a call that my mother was on the verge of death. An aneurysm at the base of her brain had ruptured. She underwent a risky surgical procedure. The outcome was far better than her surgeon expected, but she went through a long recovery process. Four months into that process, my father committed suicide. I was an only child, close to both my parents, and I was devastated. I took off the first semester of my senior year to help my mother and to try to regain my bearings. As I grappled with the aftermath of my mother’s surgery and my father’s suicide, I began to understand the healing power of nature. Wandering the woods and streams of a park in suburban Maryland, I found respite from the turmoil in my life and in my mind.

My mother’s health improved, and I went back to complete my senior year. After graduation, I chose to stay on at Harvard to pursue a double degree in medicine and neurobiology and a career in research. I thought I had coped well with the emotional trauma of my father’s death.

Then, seven years after my father’s suicide, I learned that my favorite aunt was dying of ovarian cancer. The prospect of facing another loss opened floodgates of pain I had tried hard to suppress. I plummeted into depression. I questioned whether life was worth living. But I didn’t really want to die. What I wanted was to find a reason to live.

I took the summer off from the lab where I was working. I flew home to Maryland to help care for my aunt, and to seek insight into how I could better care for myself.

A view of First Roach Pond from the summit of White Cap, the highest peak in the Hundred Mile Wilderness, the most remote section of the Appalachian Trail, on September 26, 2014. My land is on the pond in the farthest right corner.

Between psychotherapy sessions, I returned to the park where I’d found solace before, and simply allowed the landscape to absorb me. I savored the warmth of sunlight, the coolness of shade, the gurgling of streams, the glowing colors of wildflowers. I was practicing mindfulness: complete immersion in the present moment, letting go of past and future. My heart opened to the abundant life around me, and I felt my stifling soul begin to breathe.

In the fall, I went back to Harvard, but with a new spirit. I hoped to share the healing I found in nature with other struggling souls. However, as I completed my MD/PhD and moved on to postgraduate medical research, I came to realize that nature itself was in dire need of healing.

Back then, the climate crisis was not the urgent front-page news it is today, and few people seemed aware that humans are driving a mass extinction. I was shocked to learn that our careless use of nature’s resources could doom half of Earth’s species. I realized that our technology supports an illusion that we can live independently of nature, that we can compensate for the loss of natural resources by creating technological substitutes. But the truth is, we still depend on healthy ecosystems for the most basic life-support services: air to breathe, water to drink, food to eat. Our growing environmental crisis is the biggest threat to public health that humanity has ever faced. One of my favorite quotes comes from eco-theologian Thomas Berry, who said, “We cannot have well humans on a sick planet, not even with all our medical technologies.”

Eventually, I made a big leap. I left Boston’s halls of academe and moved to Maine’s North Woods. My plan was, and still is, to write about the relationship between humans and nature.

I’ve experienced a lot of adventures along the way. The Maine Woods offer millions of acres of rugged mountains, tumbling rivers, and clear lakes—home to moose and lynx, boreal birds and brook trout. The human population is sparse: the county in which I live averages only four people per square mile. What a gift it is to hike or paddle into the backcountry and have a whole mountain or lake to myself! I’ve journeyed hundreds of miles in hiking boots, by canoe, on snowshoes and skis, exploring my big backyard.

And I’ve become involved in environmental activism to protect my chosen home. When a massive development proposal threatened Moosehead, Maine’s largest lake, I coordinated a grassroots advocacy group through a years-long battle. We couldn’t afford to hire legal representation, so I put in many long days and even longer nights, learning skills usually practiced by attorneys as best I could. In the end, the efforts of our group, working in conjunction with several allied organizations, contributed to significant improvements to the original proposal. Nearly 400,000 acres were placed under easements that will protect the land for generations to come.

I hope that my writing, and the programs I offer through my nonprofit, Achor Earth Ways, will guide people into deeper, more joyful connection with nature. There’s a growing body of scientific evidence supporting the role of nature connection in enhancing our emotional well-being, improving our cognitive function, and even extending our lives. These data make sense. For most of human history, we lived 24/7 in nature, making our living as hunters and foragers in the wild. Our bodies and brains were designed through evolution for interaction with three-dimensional nature using all of our senses, not for sedentary interaction with images on a two-dimensional screen. When we spend time in nature, we’re using our bodies and brains as they’re meant to be used, and we reap health benefits accordingly.

Sunrise viewed from the shore of my home on First Roach Pond on the morning of December 11, 2020. The White Cap range rises above the eastern horizon. The Hundred Mile Wilderness section of the Appalachian Trail runs along its ridgeline. photo credit: Wendy Weiger

I also believe that if we connect more deeply with nature, it will benefit the Earth as well, because it will inspire us to take better care of the natural world. We’ve inflicted serious wounds on the Earth, and in order to heal those wounds, we need to make some fundamental changes in the way we live. What will motivate us make those changes? I believe they will happen only if we develop an authentic connection with nature—a connection we feel in our hearts and in our guts. We like to think our life choices are based on reason, but fundamentally, we remain creatures of emotion. We don’t make decisions based on statistics. When it comes to protecting nature, it’s important to know the scientific facts, the data about the damage we’ve done and what we need to do to fix it. But what will motivate us to act is what we feel in our hearts for the places and creatures we’ve grown to love.

I’m not suggesting that everyone needs to go into the wilderness. Even in cities, you can connect with nature in powerful and life-changing ways. If you go into an urban park, and you simply open your mind and heart and senses, allowing yourself to be fully present in the moment, you can enjoy a profound experience of nature right in the city. I teach the practice of “mindful minutes,” where you briefly pause in your daily routine—something everybody has time to do—and focus on what you feel, smell, hear, and see outdoors, wherever you may be. I want to get people to notice the small wonders all around them—the caress of the breeze on their skin, the songs of birds, the many shades of green in leaves.

I also hope to encourage women, in particular, to feel empowered to get outside. I’m sixty, and a fairly small woman, but I’ve found ways to travel relatively safely, solo and under my own power, into the wild.

If I had forced myself to stay on a conventional path, whatever outward success I might have achieved, I would have felt inwardly that I had missed what I was really meant to do. I believe it’s important for us to listen to that quiet inner voice, to consider what we feel called to do, what we feel our purpose is. This is what gives our lives meaning.

If you feel called to an unconventional path, you need to be aware that stepping out of the mainstream will pose challenges. There have often been times when my next steps seemed uncertain, and I’ve sacrificed the financial security and benefits—such as good health insurance—that many conventional jobs offer. But if you believe you’re following the path that’s right for you, the challenges will be worth it. We each have something unique to offer the world. It may not be what other people expect us to offer, but if we pursue our path wholeheartedly, we will make a valuable contribution.

I would love to collaborate with others who share my interest in the benefits of connection with nature. Please reach out if you’d like to talk. You may contact me through my website at https://www.wendyweiger.com/.

Wendy Weiger

AB 1983 | Chemistry

MD PhD 1997

Interviewed and Compiled by Felicia Ho

Wendy Weiger AB '83, MD PhD '97

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