Shinrin-yoku
The scent of evergreen danced on the breeze as I walked to the shoreline with my aunt, my lavender latte in tow. We paused for a moment, drinking in our surroundings, before resuming our stroll along the path, opting for the longer way home. Chatting in between sips, I found myself remarking on the stillness and beauty of nature; I found myself falling in love with this little Adirondack town.
When I was at the coffee shop, I noticed a Balsam Fir scented candle, which was named “shinrin-yoku” - a Japanese therapy that we translate as “forest bathing” or simply spending time in the forest, ambling, using every sense to notice and soak in nature. There’s been a great deal of research done on shinrin-yoku, but I’ll sum it up for you here: it works. Though this walk with my latte wasn’t a true forest bath, I could already feel the benefits of a life that takes intermissions to notice and wander through creation. We were designed to live close to the earth, but modern life has us spending most of our days indoors or staring at screens, so it’s no wonder that time in the forest leaves me with peaceful energy I can’t seem to find in my little apartment.
Yesterday, my last morning in that sweet little town, I woke up with shinrin-yoku on my mind, and I inhaled the candle and reread its label as I waited for my coffee. I couldn’t shake the desire to be out there, so on the way home, I stopped at a trailhead to do a bit more forest bathing in the Adirondacks.
Sometimes, you just have to do things, you know?
As I climbed, I marveled at the way the light filtered through the trees, and I felt the land change beneath my feet with each step, from dirt to leaves to rocks to roots and back again. I heard the wind beneath a bird’s wings and the pitter-patter of a chipmunk in the brush. Deeply, I breathed in the earth, and yes, I snapped a few pictures and sent them to my family to encourage them to stop by the trail that day if they could.
I wanted them to bathe in the forest, too.
When I reached the peak, I was overwhelmed with gratitude, and I found myself thanking God as the wind whipped around me. I thanked Him for the view, trees surrounding and peppering the small islands within the lake. I thanked him for the opportunity to be there, for the legs that carried me to the summit, for the people who went before me and fought to preserve the Adirondack forests for generations to come. Much of the literature about the conservation efforts refers to a “forever wild” clause, and though the writers were speaking of a way to protect the trees and land, keeping it eternally wild, I thought of it as a posture of my soul, too. Always dreaming and exploring and fighting to be connected with nature. Taking God’s hand forever, allowing Him to take me on adventures and challenge the way I’ve defined life. Saying yes to things that seem a little unusual or unpopular or inconvenient.
Forever wild.
As I climbed down the trail, I began to hear familiar voices and thought I was imagining sounds in the forest. Moments later, I saw my family coming around the bend. Beaming, I turned to hike the rest of the way with them, so we could take it all in together. I guess the longing for shinrin-yoku is contagious.
In the midst of Job’s turmoil, he says this: “But ask the animals, and they will teach you, or the birds in the sky, and they will tell you; or speak to the earth, and it will teach you, or let the fish in the sea inform you. Which of all these does not know that the hand of the Lord has done this? In his hand is the life of every creature and the breath of all mankind” (Job 12:7-10).
Even if it’s cold. Even if it’s raining. Even if it’s hot. Even if it’s humid. Even if you’re tired. Even if it’s a long drive. Go into the forest. Ask the animals and speak to the earth, and I pray you see, hear, feel, smell, and taste His glory as you do.
Be forever wild with me.
