Being a child of the 1970s is probably one of the greatest gifts I’ve received: I didn’t have to worry about the embarrassing moments of my youth being captured and shared with the world in the blink of an eye; neither did I have ready access to images and information that filled me with feelings of inadequacy and concern. The most impressionable years of my life escaped exposure to the potential dangers of a global information network, but my timing was perfect to benefit from medical advances, Door Dash, and retinol cream. It was also a blessing in disguise to live in a home that boasted three television channels (four if the aluminum foil-covered rabbit ear antenna was held at just the right angle) because knowing that the television stations were airing sports, news, or soap operas was all the encouragement I needed to spend most of my days outside, regardless of season.
Never a late sleeper, I’d be up and out the door by 6:30 at the latest each morning on the weekends and during school breaks. Hoisted on my back was a pack filled with books, a thermos of chocolate milk, and carrots for the horses. My generation, I’m certain, was the last to have the luxury of a mostly worry-free, free-range childhood in which parents didn’t fret if their kids wandered out of sight. My family home was surrounded by 30 acres of woods deep in the country, and to my knowledge my parents never wondered about my location or safety when I slipped out the door before daylight and had to be called in for mealtimes. My routine mostly looked the same each day: I’d get the horses’ breakfast served, and while they ate, I would make sure the water trough was clean and full before mucking the stalls. They had access to over 20 acres of fenced pasture and woods, and once breakfast was finished, I’d hop onto the back of my most patient mare (sans saddle or bridle) and hunker down with my arms wrapped around her neck and play the part of stowaway as she ambled through the quiet thicket.
This elevated vantage point opened up experiences for me that I’d never have known if I’d made the treks on foot; indeed, the times I used my own legs to carry me to the outer edges of the property were vastly different from when I used my equine Uber. Raccoons didn’t stir from their foraging, deer glanced up at our approach but never stopped chewing the leaves in their mouths or budging from their spot under trees, and foxes barely picked up their paces to cross the path ahead of us. They either could not distinguish me as separate from my horse or they developed a sense of confidence that my presence posed no threat.
The freedom from responsibility that my youth allowed me came to an end far sooner than I’d have liked, and as my school coursework became more challenging and extracurriculars ate into my outdoor ambling time, I regret to say that its magic slipped from my mind not unlike Narnia eventually vanished for Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy.
It wasn’t until three years ago when I moved West and had access to a space just out the front door of a thousand undeveloped acres that my love of aimless wandering (with my dog now) returned with renewed intensity. Each day my dog and I spend an hour on dirt paths and in woods, eyes and ears wide open for what we may encounter. Sometimes it is a herd of elk. Occasionally coyotes will skulk on the periphery. Once there was even a freshly shed, seven-feet-long snake skin perfectly stretched across the trail. And while Best can’t resist the urge to bark at the Magpies when they scold him from their treetop perches, we are quiet observers who are guests in this place.
Not everyone is so fortunate to have a place such as this to explore, but time spent doing nothing more than walking in silence in nature (even if it’s visiting a designated green space at a city’s center), allowing one’s mind to similarly veer off the beaten path, leads to a clarity, peace, and connection to oneself and the world like nothing else can. I’d never presume to compare my experiences to those of John Muir, but his observation that “the clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness” fills me with the same reverence and belief in magic that C.S. Lewis did decades ago.
PartWolf 