Connection to the Land: Building a Deeper Relationship with Place

We can live in a region for years without really knowing it.

We know the route to work, the nearest grocery store, a few trails, and the places we like to visit in summer.

But do we know which waterway crosses our territory? Which trees dominated the landscape before today's development? Which peoples have maintained relationships with these places for generations? When do certain birds return? Where does the water rise in spring?

Living in a place and knowing it are not exactly the same thing.

A more conscious relationship with the land begins there.

What does connection to the land mean?

In simple terms, connecting to the land means developing a more attentive relationship with the place we inhabit.

It involves noticing changes, learning what existed before us, recognizing local species, understanding the seasons, and acknowledging that our surroundings have a history that did not begin with our arrival.

That relationship can become emotional.

A trail stops feeling interchangeable. A tree becomes recognizable. A riverbank brings certain seasons to mind. A wind announces something we have experienced before.

Gradually, the land becomes a place with which we share a story.

Connecting with nature versus connecting to the land: what is the difference?

The two approaches overlap, but they do not have exactly the same purpose.

Reconnecting with nature may mean spending more time outdoors, walking in the forest, watching the sky, listening to birds, or rediscovering outdoor activities.

Connection to the land adds another dimension: which natural world are we talking about, exactly?

Which lake is this?

Which river?

Which people name this territory?

How has this place changed?

Which plants naturally grow here?

If you first want concrete ways to bring more nature into everyday life, start with our guide, Reconnect with Nature: 15 Simple Ways to Return to What Matters .

1. Learn the real names of the places you pass through

A very simple first practice is to stop referring only to “the river,” “the lake,” “the mountain,” or “the woods behind our house.”

Learn their names.

Then ask whether these places have, or once had, other names.

Indigenous place names sometimes describe a feature of the landscape, an activity, a characteristic of the water, or a historical relationship with a place.

Around Lac-Saint-Jean, for example, the name Piekuakami remains deeply connected to the language and territory of the Pekuakamiulnuatsh.

Knowing a name obviously does not mean understanding the whole culture behind it.

But it is already a way to acknowledge that the place had a history before us.

2. Return to the same place instead of constantly seeking somewhere new

We easily fall into the habit of collecting landscapes.

A new trail. A new view. A new photograph. Another place to discover.

Yet a deeper knowledge of the land often grows through returning.

Choose an accessible place near home and visit it regularly for a year.

You will notice things that a single visit could never reveal.

When the ice disappears. When insects arrive. The water level. A plant that emerges before others. The changing leaves. The different silence of winter.

Repetition turns a landscape into a relationship.

3. Learn to recognize five species that actually live near you

You do not have to become a botanist.

Begin with five things.

• a tree;
• a plant;
• a bird;
• a mammal;
• a species associated with water or wetlands.

Learn to recognize them without an app when you can.

Then observe when and where they appear.

Little by little, “the forest” becomes a place full of distinct living presences.

Birch is no longer just a tree.

Spruce is no longer just greenery.

And a riverbank is no longer just somewhere pretty.

4. Understand that a territory is not an empty map

Speaking about land requires care.

From an Indigenous perspective, territory cannot always be reduced to a piece of nature meant for recreation, contemplation, or wellness.

It can be connected to food, travel, families, languages, stories, gathering places, cultural practices, and memory.

For the Pekuakamiulnuatsh, Nitassinan refers to their ancestral territory and the deep historical and cultural relationship associated with it.

This means a non-Indigenous person can learn to better understand and respect the place where they live without claiming the same cultural relationship as peoples whose roots there go back generations.

The land can leave its mark even on objects

A material can tell a richer story when we know where it came from.

A piece of driftwood gathered on a riverbank is not just “rustic wood.”

Its form has been shaped by water, movement, seasons, and time.

In our workshop, some rattle handles begin in exactly this way: with driftwood collected along the shores of Piekuakami or the Ashapmushuan River.

The material comes before the object.

It comes from a real place.

A material shaped by the land

Coyote Guardian – Large Indigenous Spiritual Rattle

The handle of Coyote Guardian begins on the shores of Piekuakami, where driftwood is gathered by hand before being transformed in the workshop. Deer hide, moose hide, coyote fur, natural feathers, and wood from the land come together in a creation handcrafted by Dave Verreault-Thisselmagan, an Ilnu artisan from Mashteuiatsh. A piece that shows what it means for a creation to be rooted in a real place.

Discover Coyote Guardian

5. Observe what the seasons actually change

The seasons are not simply four different pictures of the same landscape.

They change movement, wildlife, water, plants, light, travel, and the activities that are possible.

Try choosing a few specific markers.

This kind of observation gradually changes our sense of time.

A year becomes more than a succession of months on a calendar.

It also becomes a series of changes experienced in one place.

6. Learn the history of the place where you live

A connection to the land is incomplete if it ignores history altogether.

Find out what existed before your neighbourhood.

Which peoples travelled through or inhabited these places?

Where were the old routes, portages, trails, and waterways?

Which industries transformed the landscape?

Where was the forest cut down?

Where did water levels change?

A territory also carries the consequences of human decisions.

Knowing it therefore means learning to see the traces of what happened there.

7. Listen to stories connected to the land

A map tells us where a river lies.

A story may tell us why it matters.

Stories, family memories, legends, and oral traditions give places a depth no GPS coordinate can replace.

We explore this dimension in our article, Boreal Forest and Indigenous Wisdom: The Spirit of the Land .

It considers a central idea: the forest can be experienced as far more than scenery we pass through.

8. Build your own memories of a place without inventing its history

Respecting a territory's history does not mean we cannot develop our own relationship with it.

We can make memories there.

A walk with a parent.

A place where we made an important decision.

A riverbank visited with our children.

The first place where we recognized a bird without help.

These memories become our personal story with that place.

The important distinction is not to turn them into a false tradition.

Our own experience can be meaningful without needing to be ancestral.

9. Understand what it means to gather something

Picking up a stone, harvesting a plant, cutting a branch, or collecting a material is not the same as observing it.

As soon as we take something, another question arises:

do we really need to take it?

Before harvesting a plant, learn to identify it with certainty, check the rules that apply to the location, and understand the appropriate way to gather it.

Sometimes the most respectful relationship with something we encounter is simply to leave it where it is.

Knowledge about plants can be far more complex than their modern uses suggest.

Our section, Nature and Traditional Medicine, explores a range of boreal plants and materials in their context.

A 10-minute practice for truly getting to know your surroundings

Once a week, visit the same nearby area without trying to cover a great distance.

After several months, these notes become a small record of the place.

Not a list of achievements.

A lived timeline.

The old aspen: when a tree stops being just a tree

A relationship with the land sometimes grows from one very particular encounter.

That is what happened with an old aspen encountered on the territory, whose presence and history later inspired reflection on memory, materials, and craftsmanship.

The story is told in The Wisdom of the Old Aspen: Guardian of the Land .

It illustrates something important: knowing a place can sometimes mean staying long enough for something to stop feeling anonymous.

Objects can remind us of the land, but they cannot replace it

A piece of wood, a drum, a rattle, a photograph, or a creation inspired by a place can help extend a relationship.

But no object can replace actually knowing the land it represents.

That distinction matters in a world where we can easily buy an aesthetic inspired by nature without ever knowing the place it evokes.

When an Indigenous creation speaks to you, understanding who made it, where its materials come from, and the story behind it is part of the experience.

Our guide, How to Recognize Authentic Indigenous Craftsmanship, explores that question further.

Can you connect to the land if you live in a city?

Yes.

The land does not vanish when a street, building, or parking lot is built on top of it.

Start with water.

Where does the rain that falls on your street go?

Which waterway is closest?

Which trees grow in your neighbourhood?

Which birds return every year?

How was the land used before it was developed?

Even a city has geography, seasons, and ecological history.

Connection to the land begins with attention, not with distance from a city.

Living with greater attention

Building a connection to the land does not require adopting an identity that is not ours.

Above all, it asks us to become less anonymous in our own surroundings.

Learn a few names.

Recognize a few trees.

Return to the same place.

Learn its history.

Respect what existed before us.

Understand more before gathering.

And accept that some places have a cultural history that is not ours to claim, but that we can learn to respect.

With time and attention, the landscape changes.

Not because it has become different.

But because we finally begin to recognize what was already there.