Thinking back, now in the comfort of my own home, I realize how complicated a relationship I had built with 'eucalyptus.' It's one of the first childhood scent memories that I associated with peace and calm, with some vague notion of elevated beauty. A small vial of eucalyptus essence sits beside the diffuser in my living room. As a scientist, I am also aware of its more than complicated economics and problematic harvesting practices—practices taken in the warm southern Chinese provinces. Yet, as I write, I'm smiling on the pictures I took of these wondrous forests in a land my ancestors called home. Though these trees weren't even here when my grandfather last walked these grounds, they now stand guard where his parents, his aunts and uncles, his brothers and sisters, and his cousins close and distant are buried. These canopies set against the hazy sky are, for me, the image of safe harbour and of rest for family I have never known and never will. On this thought, my mind is tranquil, but not at peace. There is a tenuous sanctity under their canopies that I fear disturbing.