
In the summertime my family would travel to a little campground two hours away from our house. We called this place “The Hill”. The mountainous landscape of Pennsylvania, hid this tiny patch of land just for us. There I learned to love the woods. The drive was magical. Along the sides of the car were cliff faces, and the elegantly flowing Susquehanna River. The campground was on a dirt road directly passing through a farm - the only structure for a couple miles at least - and over a rickety covered bridge that my great grandfather and his friends built by hand a lifetime ago. There were cows just hanging out across the creek we always played in, and there were many creatures you could see if you walked into the dense forest behind this mini gravel haven where we relaxed and made memories together.
It is the greenest place I’ve ever seen. I felt at peace in that place. I could really hear my thoughts. At times it felt like the trees themselves were whispering to me and trusting me with the noise of their voices between the subtle rustling of their leaves in the wind.
Most of the kids at the campground spent the day riding dirt bikes until it became too dark, and then transition to extreme games of cops and robbers. Like any twelve year old boy, a game of cops and robbers was the highlight of the week and I would heartily join in. I was unlike all the other kids, however, in that I hated moving fast and would avoid dirt-bikes like the plague. I rode dirt-bike once during a camping trip and crashed into a bush within a measly five minutes. My lack of interest was nowhere near any “wisdom beyond my years” and more related to my general desire to move slow and avoid any sort of overstimulation or unnecessary pain.
That said, I would spend the day wandering the woods of “The Hill” with either with my mom or myself or occasionally a friend who happened to not be riding dirt-bike that day.
When I wandered with my mom, we’d get lost in wonderful and memorable conversations that were only made possible by the clarity of consciousness only the forest could provide. Especially when you don’t have a watch or a phone, time becomes infinitely irrelevant as you suddenly become aware of the life taking place all around you in every plant, tree, and bug.
When I wandered with a friend, we’d climb up strange, rocky places, feeling the earth between our fingertips and scraping our knees on her jagged edges. We’d run around thin trails beaten down by older relatives we’ve never met and count the rings of tree stumps to see how old that tree was before it died. We’d learn the feeling of wonder together as we experienced this vast feeling in the empty forest where you could hear no cars or other people. We were painfully drawn into the moment.
When I would go off alone, however, is when I really fell in love with the forest and how it helped me to feel. One year, I brought my guitar in a backpack case so I could hike into the woods, and strum for a little while amidst the gift of the forest’s vibrant privacy. I took a hike up the trail I normally took and decided to veer off to reach the quietest place possible.
Time stopped and I could feel my body relax into the present moment. When walking in the woods I could feel my shoulders drop along with my blood pressure and a soft, equanimous smile stretch would across my face.
On that particular walk with the guitar, I remember stumbling upon a clearing where I suddenly stepped inside of a supernatural quiet. Suddenly the ever-present emotional claustrophobia dispersed as I was all alone in a wide-open space within a wide-open space. I sat down and played my guitar while leaning on a tree that seemed kind enough. It felt so right to be sitting in the woods alone and making beautiful noise. The forest taught me the purpose of music that cloudless afternoon. I put my guitar down and the forest wrapped me in a silent embrace as I stared up at the stretching sky behind the intricately woven canopy. Every creature was still and reverent including me.
Suddenly everything outside the forest felt so small and far away, and there was nothing to worry about. I understood for the first time what true peace can feel like. The forest holds a certain wisdom for us. The wild of the world is what gave birth to the human race and it is as much a part of us as our languages, cultures, religions, and even our own bodies. In the effervescent green, in the indiscriminate wall of gentle noise, in the rustling branches, and the scurrying creatures, the freedom from what ails each of us awaits.
Only if we have eyes to see it, and ears to hear it.
About the Creator
Joshua Leininger
"we're all just walking each other home" / writing from an attic in Robbinsdale, Minnesota



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