“entering the woods
a hiking stick selects me
to carry it”
― Cor van den Heuvel, Modern Haiku 44:1, Winter–Spring 2013
There was a time when I was incredibly active: soccer, track, gymnastics, martial arts, weight training, and swimming were all part of my life simultaneously and as easy to conduct as breathing. However, being an athlete (not necessarily healthy) for most of my life has caught up to my personal health in a way I was not prepared for: early physical and chronic pain.
I am still young-ish, however, I am clearly in the midst of transitioning from “growing up” to “growing old.” It is a unique journey that is personal for everyone fortunate to reach this point in their lives. However, there is still the reality that bones and muscles will not always do what they used to do, even at the younger end of the spectrum.
I had to make a decision about which favorite activities to continue, and which ones to let go of, especially as life became more complicated, entrenched in responsibilities, and family dynamics shifted. I found an unlikely physical activity that is not only kind to my body, but is also kind to my mind: Forest Bathing.
Forest Bathing, a translation of the Japanese phrase shinrin-yoku, is the practice of walking within woods along with consciously engaging with the environment. Immersion with the delicate sounds of the rustling trees, chirps of the birds, and rustling of woodland creatures helps to calm the mind and body in a way that wild cities and post-modern life does not.
I made the decision to go on walks as often as I can, especially since I live in a wooded area with several historic trails. No music. No audio books. No distractions. The point is to walk, use our human senses (gifts we take for granted), and occasionally stop to admire anything within the woods. Sometimes it is a caterpillar I have never seen before. Sometimes it is a bright and textured mushroom. Sometimes it is the natural placement of shed bark resting on a bed of dried oak leaves. Sometimes, it is to put myself in the shoes of the individuals of the past who had traversed the scene centuries before me.
I take pictures when the sights are things I want to remember clearly. Some of my favorite finds have been the mushrooms of late summer, the brilliant colors of mid fall, the young animals of early spring, and the bright flowers of early summer. The local colors inspire me to live in the moment and put energy into my steps. There is power in life and in living outside of the cinderblock buildings, vehicle exhaust, and noise pollution.
For the first time, my walks were not just gamified competitions to see how many steps I could take. The walks were about understanding the living and breathing beauty beyond human boundaries. I learned the names Fly Amanita, False Chanterelle, Red Maple, Eastern Red Cedar, and Cedar Waxwing, just to name a new of the five hundred native species of fawn and flora within my trails. It is a different type of exercise; an exercise that reawakens our connection to Earth.
We should all learn our local colors.
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