Learning about Forest Bathing

Over the weekend, I read the book Forest Bathing by Dr. Qing Li. I'd seen the book recently at a bookstore and was so intrigued by its premise on the necessity of spending time in nature and among forests, that I set out to save my cash and join the waiting list for it at my local library. The book didn't disappoint! In addition to being a medical doctor, Li is an expert in forest medicine, a medicine that I didn't know existed. The book focuses on how time spent quietly in nature and taking in the forest through all five senses (aka forest bathing) is necessary for humans.

The book was right up my alley as I love forests and trees. What I didn't expect to learn was how beneficial being among trees could be to one's mood and health. 

The author explores how more than half of the world's population live in cities, with the percentage expected to rise by 2050. After reading about his vast personal experience exploring and finding relaxation in forests, it was comforting to read that he now lives in Tokyo. Excellent ways to seek out forest bathing in urban environments were offered, including spending time in parks and green spaces, and to walk slowly to receive the full benefits of peace and tranquility in nature. 

I've often felt the greatest spiritual connection while in forests and nature, and reading about the health benefits and natural connection humans have to trees has encouraged me to continue pursuing outdoor walks near my rural workplace, to supplement some of my time at the gym for walks in nature, and to more frequently visit my favorite redwood groves on the weekends and when time allows. 

Two favorite lines from Forest Bathing:

"We love nature because we learned to love the things that helped us to survive. We feel comfortable in nature because that is where we have lived for most of our life on earth. We are genetically determined to love the natural world. It is in our DNA."

"Nature takes out breath away and breathes new life into us." 

Green Forests

I returned to New Hampshire a couple of weeks ago for a week-long visit. It was rainy at first, and then cold, humid, bright, and sunny. I was happy to hear thunder, watch many sunsets, and feel the humidity. I caught up with friends and family, traditions and memories, and enjoyed a really restful time. 

I've heard of being homesick for two places at once, and I've felt that this year. In California this spring and early summer, I missed the green landscape, humidity, summer warmth and unspoiled emptiness of New Hampshire. While experiencing New Hampshire's summer rain and chill, I missed the predictability and warmth and the mountains and landscape of California. 

After the first couple of days back east, I noticed the news that the poet Donald Hall who lived about 20 miles away, had passed away. I first learned about him while studying in Scotland and recalled that I was excited to learn from so far away that he had been a U.S. poet laureate, wrote with the great poets of the 20th century, and happened to live in New Hampshire.

After reading his long obituary filled with his poetry and how he made a happy home and life in NH, I thought then and in the coming days on the quiet roads and forest paths of how Hall lived and wrote and died in a beautiful place that once again, I was happy to have roots in.

From the essay, Why We Live Here by Donald Hall about his home in Wilmot, New Hampshire

Late spring and early summer, the whip-poor-will wakes us at four-thirty. Gray light starts over the hills; thrushes sing from every branch; clouds snag like lamb's wool on blue Mount Kearsarge. Down by Eagle Pond, just west of us, pickerel leap for blackflies and when they splat on the still water wake frogs and turtles. It is a good hour for waking; we keep the green universe alone. But late September is the most beautiful time, and early at the road. Sugar maples flare a Chinese red; they combine with tweed on hills in the middle distance. I grant that winter causes pain -- in cold January sometimes I lie abed until six -- but even winter is gorgeous; when the moon is high, I wake at midnight and wantder through the farmhouse in gray, spooky light that illuminates every corner, the ceilings luminous with reflections from snowy hayfields. 

Thinking of New Hampshire

I watched On Golden Pond last weekend with a friend. The views of central New Hampshire paired with the music brought back such extreme nostalgia for that region that I found myself struggling not to cry as the film began! 

I’ve been happy in coastal California and love the natural beauty of the nearby rocky coast, ocean cliffs, eucalyptus, and redwood trees, but watching On Golden Pond and being reminded of the natural beauty of where I’m from brought me back to how much I love New Hampshire and how much I miss the landscape there.

NH in winter and summer

A few days later, I drove past a gas station near my home where I noticed a man putting gas into his Jaguar. Next to him, a homeless man was sitting on the curb. Immediately, I thought “this is California. I see equal amounts of luxury cars and homeless people all the time.” The film reminded me of the natural and understated beauty I miss, and the scene at the gas station reminded me of the unfortunate extremes in wealth and livelihood here. 

I often find myself longing for more affordability, a quieter area in nature, and less people. I love the beauty and community here, but look forward to the thought of potentially being somewhere quieter, among subtle and unspoiled and less-discovered beauty someday.

The Monterey peninsula

Moon & Stars

The moon and stars have been distracting lately. I think of the constellations seen from Monterey, the moon in California, and the stars in New Hampshire on a clear night this week. Seen when walking at night or stepping out of a car, or turning off a light before falling asleep. Admiring them, I think of how fast time moves, how infinite space is, of creating a life that is true and happy.

 

The urge to write has arrived less this year than last year, or the year before that. This saddens me, but I know if I push myself to write, it could (and likely would) return. There feels like less to share as I acclimate to life and work in California. I miss the east coast and New Hampshire at times, thinking of the people and traditions and community I know better than any other. Yet I continue to be awed by California’s mountains, wildlife, coast, trees, nature, and culture.  

Earlier this month. Morning in Cambria, CA.

Late November. Soledad, CA.

As I clean and categorize old photos during these days off, I’ve found myself seeing the many images captured during the two years I spent in New Hampshire before moving to California. They show each distinct season in the small towns I lived in and moved through. The memories remind me of how predictable and comforting that time could be. I’m not sure what the distant future holds. For now, I see opportunity and a life in California, but am grateful for visits to the east, to home. Seeing the snow fall outside today brings me back to the winters I remember, even if the evening clouds mask moon and stars.

Thanksgiving Day. Pacific Grove, CA.