Ramblings in the Woods

Every day, sometimes several times a day, I go out with my dog into the forest just beyond the boundary of our yard. Home to all kinds of wildlife–turkeys, foxes, coyotes, deer, bears, and even fishers and moose–the woods have become an extension of my home. Although sometimes I begrudge the chore of early morning exercise, once I step into the shelter of the trees, I feel as though I belong, comforted, at peace, and happy to be alone with my thoughts beneath the backdrop of birdsong.

After darkness turns to dawn, we head into the woods and walk along the loop that converges where the enormous beech tree crashed down one stormy night several years ago and where it still lies across the trail. We ramble past the rock pile filled in with dirt and growing with trees, a virtual playground for critters and a scent haven for Cash. We climb up and over the fallen beech before continuing on the trail, up toward the crest where a stone is wedged in the Y of a tree, to the “vista” where in the winter we can look out to the valley and see the lingering pastels of sunrise over the mountains, too crowded with foliage in the summer and early fall to see beyond the dense leaves.

Sometimes we wend along the slender trail through the thick growth of saplings to the highest point atop a granite knob where I stop for a moment to appreciate my surroundings before turning back toward home. Occasionally, we continue on for a while beyond the peak to see what else there is to see.

Later, we might venture down behind our house to the mossy stream bed or along the less trampled path that cuts across the sloping hill over muddy trickles and undergrowth. I often let Cash’s nose lead the way along whichever trail of animal scents he catches; although sometimes I have to urge him on because he’d rather walk down the road to smell the smells of people. There are rarely any people in the woods.

The trail has become a familiar stomping ground. But no matter how many times I walk there, I still marvel at the wonder of it all because every day, every time, it’s different. I often ponder what Holden Caulfield said about the museum in The Catcher in the Rye, how he liked going there because even though everything was the same, in some way, he’d be different. It’s like that in the forest too. The same trail, the same rock pile, the same fallen tree, yet every time I venture out there, I am different from the last. Maybe it’s because I woke up too early in the morning and I’m still thinking about going back to bed. Maybe it’s because I’m feeling sad about something terrible that happened in the world. Or maybe I’m looking forward to having some time to write or meeting a friend for lunch or playing games with my family. Whatever it is, I am different in some way than I might have been only an hour or two before.

But unlike the museum, something about the woods is inevitably different too. Maybe a tree fell in last night’s rainstorm. Maybe leaves are starting to turn to autumn yellows and reds. Maybe there’s snow in the air, flawless flakes settling on my dog’s fur. Maybe I hear an owl, a chickadee, or the chatter of crows. Or maybe the light hits just right where a clump of moss grows on a twisted root, and for the first time, I notice a tree I’d never noticed before.

And that makes me different too.

The forest changes me. Immersed in the solitude and beauty of nature, I become another version of myself. A version that notices the muted texture of the underside of a leaf, the way a staircase of fungi climbs in spirals up the side of a tree, the unfurling of birch bark like ancient scrolls. A version who looks for poetry–and finds it–in every turn, and a version that is learning how to heal and how to be a better me.

The woods are where I do my best thinking, where sparks of inspiration strike like beams of light, where my rambling thoughts become stories and poems and my stress and sorrows turn to gladness and gratitude. It starts, perhaps, with the light, the way it colors everything pink at dawn or streams through the trees in columns of yellow or turns to blue at dusk. It’s the animals too, of course. The turkey and bunny tracks in the snow, the tawny hide of a deer bounding out of view, the occasional fox or bear up ahead on the trail. And it’s the trees. The broken limbs and fallen trunks, the varied texture of their bark, the changing colors of the leaves, the roots ripped up or clinging fast to the earth, the steady sentries that weather every storm.

Every day, I’m shaped by what I encounter in the forest, and every day, I discover a little something new. Today it was moose droppings and footprints in the mud. I have no idea what it’ll be tomorrow, but I know that when I step into the woods, I’ll find another piece of me.

Thank you for reading my ramblings. If you enjoyed my writing, please click the like button and let me know in the comments. Please consider subscribing to receive occasional blog posts in your email.

Thank you for being here and taking the time to join me on my walks in the woods. I hope you find your home among the trees or wherever you may ramble.