When I was growing up, I went to summer camp. It was my most-anticipated event of the year. The small, Christian camp I attended was set below stately pines, hickories, maples and oaks. We slept in canvas-covered hogans and the nearest bathrooms were a midnight stumble away, down sandy paths that wound through the trees and glowed in the moonlight.
Those years were critical, not only to the maturing of my heart and faith, but they also planted a deep desire in me to spend time under towering trunks where wind sighs in whispers and sunlight slants and dances. Now, I live on a farm, and acres of woodland define the open spaces around me. I don’t garden in the forests. They don’t need my help that way. But, I have started making new paths so I can access more of them.
The idea first came to me on a trip with a friend to the Edith Carrier Arboretum at James Madison University in Harrisonburg, Virginia. One of the most charming features, to me, was the series of meandering paths through the tangled woods. One curve revealed a set of columnar trees, another a small patch of bluebells, a third looked out over a small stream.
When I returned home, I realized that I had all the raw material I needed to create my own set of paths. Whenever I went to the woods, I started carrying pruners with me and, sometimes, a shovel. The pruners were for cleaning out the clutter, so I could walk upright. The shovel was for digging up plants so I could move them to a more visible location.
My woods-walking, as I’ve begun to call it, is peaceful. As I try to determine where the path should go next, I slow down and consider all the features carefully. Here’s a gnarly trunk. There’s an arched tunnel. Oh look, that log over the stream makes a perfect bridge.
I’ve been reading a lot, recently, about forest-bathing. It seems that the world is beginning to re-discover the pleasures of a shady path. Originating in Japan, where it’s called Shinrin-yoku, forest bathing is gaining popularity in the United States. Studies show it’s therapeutic for a stressed- out world, lowering blood pressure and raising endorphins.
Basically, forest bathing is the act of wandering mindlessly in the woods, stopping to marvel, breathing deeply in the tree-transpired air, and letting natural light and texture have their way with you. If you wish, you can pay a certified Forest Therapy Guide to go along.
I was unaware of this new trend, until my sister called one day. She and my father had been to visit a woodlot my family owns, and the biologist took them forest-bathing. Meg was breathless with excitement as she described this new practice and how peaceful she felt as she stood quietly beneath solemn pines bedazzled with sunlight.
When I hung up, I laughed. It turns out I’m ahead of my time.
As I tramp my new trails, I am grateful for the gifts of the trees. Not only for the joy they give me, but also because I have learned that they are good for my health. Scientists conjecture that forest-bathing might help boost immunity. If only I can convince my doctor to write me a prescription to leave work early. Walking in the woods is a cure I’d be happy to take every day.
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The article above appears in our May/June 2019 issue.
