This weekend, my family and I visited Umstead Park in Raleigh, NC for a hike off the beaten path. A Carolina blue sky domed the colorful fall trees as the sunlight poked through the small spaces creating dancing streams of light and dust. The air was crisp, like the fallen leaves beneath our feet. Acorns and pine cones littered the ground, inviting Anna, Josh and Sadie to play games only children and dogs can invent with inanimate objects. And the forest enveloped Mom and Dad in a much needed Mother Nature hug. We were disconnected. We were unplugged. We were unbelievably happy.
As we traipsed along the curved path with the tree roots trying to catch our shoes, we felt our neck and shoulder muscles loosen. We felt our breathing become slower and deeper. Our eyes were taking snapshots of beautiful landscapes designed by trees, water and rocks. And we shared our descriptive imagery in whispers instead of shouts and urgent gasps of speech. With each step further into the forest, we were shedding our busy world skin and slipping into the comfortable wardrobe only nature can provide.
Halfway through our hike, nestled at the bottom of a steep incline, we found a flowing stream slipping over rocks and dodging around fallen limbs. The splash and babble found it's way to our children's ears, asking them to visit for a while. So they did. Anna and Josh perched on the flat rocks, knees bent under their arms, bodies staying still, mouths staying quiet and their rhythms syncing to the cadence of the water. Sadie, however, was desperately trying to figure out how to cross the stream and meet a new friend on the other side. Perhaps, this was a good time to return to the path less traveled.
An hour later, we decided to perch on a fallen tree that showed the first signs of decay. We sipped water, nibbled on snacks and giggled about the unshirted runner who careened out of control past us a while back. We were grateful he did not end up literally hugging a tree or rocks or us. And we were grateful for the unexpected belly laugh that brought tears and a shortness of breath. We talked about the pleasantries of our hike, our time together and why we don't do this more often. We laughed at Sadie grabbing our walking sticks and proudly trotting off with her new natural toy. Then our youngest decided we should play a game of A-Z food. After our breather, we headed back the way we came, listing movies A-Z and revisiting our spot by the water. This time we tempted Sadie with sticks, but she still whimpered and paced, longing to be on the other side. Anna and Josh found a jungle gym of rocks, each time going a bit higher and the smile becoming a bit wider. At the very top, a declaration was made, "We should do this every weekend!". We, indeed, had been in a wonderland all afternoon.
We crossed the stream by way of a green iron bridge perched high among the trees. For a moment, I was jealous of the birds and the squirrels that live in this constant playground every day. The view was spectacular and I noticed my feet were slowing down with each step. Not because I was tired, but because I was not ready to return to our busy life that waited for us at the top of the hill. I was not eager to leave the arms of Mother Nature just yet.
And evidently, neither was the rest of my pack. Anna and Josh begged to make one more stop by the hill of rocks and Sadie pulled me toward a path that would finally lead her to the "other side". And David, well, he was letting nature call the shots instead of modern time. For the first time in quite a while, we were deliberately living in the moment - not before, not after, but this very instant of time that would slip by us way too quickly. We were listening to the ticks and tocks of the tree branches in the fall wind, the buzzing of insects and the chirps and twerps of the birds above us. Nature had totally trumped electronics and once again, reminded us the best "things" in life are never created by our hands but to be enjoyed by every sense of our being. Nature is an amazing teacher and an amazing healer and a place that yes, we should visit often. As I reflect on yesterday's outing, I remembered a quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson: "Adopt the pace of nature. Her secret is patience.". But somehow, I am not too sure we will be all that patient to be among nature once again. Will you?
