Let the waters settle and you will see the moon and stars mirrored in your own being.
-Rumi
There are places that shape us before we’re even old enough to understand what’s happening. Places that imprint themselves on the soles of our feet, in the rhythm of our breath, in the part of our memory that feels more like home than any house ever could.
For me, that place has always been Diefenbaker Lake.
Some places are so deep inside us that we carry their shoreline in our bones.
-John O’Donohue
I’ve been coming here since I was tiny. Even before I had words for belonging, but somehow already knew I belonged here. Grandpa always made sure of that.
My grandparents had a cabin and a sailboat tucked along these windswept shores. Some of my earliest memories are stitched together with the smell of woodsmoke from backyard fires, the sweetness of my grandpa’s violin, and the rowdy chorus of siblings and cousins running wild between the cabin and the water. With the constant reminder to “wash the sand off your feet before you come in!”
And then there were the cozy, indoor moments that stitched themselves into my heart just as tightly as the beach days. Evenings around the table playing Phase 10, some of us a little too competitive for their own good. And we watched Bedknobs and Broomsticks over and over and over again. Never questioning why, just letting the magic and music wash over us like it was brand new every time.
Mornings were their own kind of ritual. Waking up to Grandma making bacon and something (it didn’t matter what, it’s the bacon that mattered) and the smell of fresh coffee drifting through the cabin. To this day, I associate the scent of coffee with pure happiness, because it always meant family, warmth, and the safe little world we built at the lake.
Teenage awkwardness made an appearance here too, because of course it did. Blushing, fumbling romances that felt monumental at the time. Even with his hair plastered to his face. Perhaps this was done by those winds that could have knocked over a small cow 🤔.
Speaking of cows. They are a regular feature of this lake that is surrounded by pasture land. Two rules. Don’t use a cow as a landmark when giving directions. They tend to move eventually. And don’t pick a beach with a cow path into the water. You can guarantee there’s a few cow pies in there.
Swimming lessons were basically an extreme sport back in my day. With waves bigger than me, wind that felt like knives, and instructors yelling cheerful encouragement while I questioned all of my mom’s life decisions that brought me to this point.
Still, I kept going back.
I lived for the days Uncle David would haul out the power boat. Kneeboarding, tubing, laughing so hard my face hurt. Those were the moments that made childhood feel endless. We’d tear down the path to the beach, towels flying behind us, younger siblings and cousins trailing like joyful chaos. We swam, we snacked, we visited, we repeated. Every day was an epic saga of sunshine and soggy towels.
Sailing days were their own kind of magic. My mom loves to retell the story of my sister and me being so little our feet didn’t touch the floor as we sat at the table down below. Meanwhile grandpa and dad were tacking hard and smiling harder. Every time the sailboat leaned, we’d just… slide helplessly under the table like tiny bewildered penguins. Apparently we were adorable. At the time, I remember thinking, Is this normal? Are we sinking? Should I be able to see the lake out that window?
Dad and grandpa were always smiling so I took that to mean we were safe.
As I grew older I loved sitting at the very front of the sailboat, facing forward, wind whipping around me, I felt like I was flying. When the water was calm, the spinnaker would make an appearance billowing out like a living thing. My grandpa worked the ropes and held the tiller with the easy smile that only comes from loving a place so much. Those are memories I hold like treasures.
My youngest son a few years back in his favorite spot on the sailboat, that front seat.
And now seems like the appropriate moment to confess something to my parents…
I did, in fact, steal the keys and “borrow” the cabin for one weekend as a teenager 😬. I had “a few friends” over. I threw exactly one party in my entire life. And I was so sick with worry the entire time that I basically grounded myself for the rest of my adolescent years. Lesson learned. Sorry. Mostly. It’s been a good story over the years.
I spent my honeymoon at the lake- 26 ½ years ago. We fished, built sandcastles, and solved the great riddle of rural Saskatchewan: there are no gas stations open on Sundays. (At least, not back then.)
About five years ago, my parents bought their own place by my lake It took a some time but something inside me reconnected. Something long since silent woke back up.
I listen excitedly to hear about the ice breaking in the spring. The booming, cracking, shifting sound like the earth stretching after a long sleep. Then, in an instant it seems, the ice is gone. Summer brings shimmering waves, familiar laughter, and barefoot days that always feel too short. Fall arrives in gold and red and farewell winds. Winter… winter brings a darker, quieter beauty. A solemn stillness that somehow feels honest. Vulnerable.
The older I get, the more I find that the quiet places are the ones that speak the loudest.
-Unknown
We’ve camped along these beaches. We’ve laid in the sun. And now, when I head out on my power boat with our next generation, I think of Uncle David. I feel him in the hum of the engine, in the ripple of the wake, in the bright splash of joy that comes with speed and water and family.
The pinnacle of our lake experiences has to be when we helped save our friend’s boat from sinking. When the bladder around the leg came off and they started taking on water, they quickly headed to the boat launch. Seeing they wouldn’t make it, they beached the boat. Then with two other power boats and a cacophony of helpers, they managed to get two boat tubes under the leg and the front of the boat. One of the support boats towed. Two people bailed. People sat on the tubes to balance. And in this ridiculous state we slowly made our way through the marina and up the launch. To the laughter and cheers of watchers nearby.
I have found beauty in the whimsically ordinary.
-Elissa Gregoire
These days I walk the trail by my lake often. I slow down. I breathe.
And somewhere along the way, I realized,
This place has become part of my healing.
Chronic pain forces you to live differently. More slowly, more intentionally, more gently. Forest therapy taught me to seek connection with the natural world, to let my nervous system rest in the presence of trees, water, sky. And here, wrapped in the sounds and rhythms of my lake, something in me softens. Pain quiets. My body remembers safety.
When the heart is overwhelmed, the earth invites us to rest.
-Unknown
My parents host endlessly now, filling their summers with family, friends, neighbours. Anyone who needs a taste of peace.
They are the sailboat owners. And they love it just as much as my grandpa did.
The legacy continues, like wind passing from one generation to the next.
My lake is healing. This home of my parents is healing.
And after all these years, I am still finding new ways to belong here.
There are days the lake knows my story better than I do.
-Unknown
Fluctuat nec mergitur (latin phrase):
She is tossed by the waves but does not sink.
An Ode to My Lake
O Lake of my childhood, keeper of my summers,
You who taught me courage in cold waves
and laughter in the spray of speeding boats
I return to you again with a heart that remembers.
You cradle my earliest joys.
Grandpa’s violin threading through evening air,
firelight warming our faces,
cousins tumbling down the path like wild things set free.
You were witness to awkward teenage hopes,
to frozen swimming lessons and winds that stole my breath,
Sometimes my life feels like a forest—dense, shadowed, and uneven.
Everyone else seems to walk a wide, sunlit path: their maps are clear, their steps steady, their packs light.
Meanwhile, I carry heavy bundles of pain and medicine, stumbling often, wondering if I’ll ever catch up.
~Cue the tiny violins 🎻 🤭~
Beyond the Familiar: Embracing a Different Forest
My therapist keeps telling me to stop comparing myself to other people – that life’s not a competition. Which, to be fair, is exactly what I’d say to someone I was trying to beat, too.
Comparison is never useful. It’s like measuring trees by how tall they look in someone else’s forest, forgetting that soil, roots, storms, and sunlight differ wildly.
Or like judging an oak tree by how quickly the wildflowers around it bloom. Different roots, different seasons, different reasons for being.
And yet I fall into it—measuring my path against someone else’s trail, forgetting we are not even walking in the same terrain.
Comparing … is a waste of time and effort; we are all different people, experiencing and feeling things differently.
San Diego Prepare Yourself: Sisterhood Adventures Await
Next month, my sisters will gather in San Diego. I am so excited for them. And to hear about their adventures. Sunshine, laughter, time to connect. It’ll be fabulous.
I would love to be there. But the cost of my monthly medicine is about the same as what that trip would take.
I live in a different economy—the economy of pain management. So instead of boarding a plane, I stay home.
~Poor lil’ me 🥲👉👈 🤣 ~
It’s hard not to compare. Their togetherness, my absence. Their momentum, my stillness. I remind myself that longing is not failure—but it still stings.
Screenshots of a Life I Don’t Live: Family Call, Personal Spiral
On a recent morning: my sister called from her vacation in London. On a family video call. At 9 a.m., I was still coaxing my muscles awake.
I listened to the bagpipes she was sharing and checked out the sights in the background. I marvelled at what she has been able to accomplish and see in her life. I joy in her success.
Inevitably another emotion starts to rise. As on the screen, this is what I see:
One sister in her home office, thriving in a job that suits her perfectly.
Another in her kitchen, caring for her family and home.
A sister-in-law outdoors, likely at the park or on a walk with her two littles.
My parents smiling in their living room, enjoying retirement and seeing their family.
And then there was me—tired, clearly still in bed, clearly accomplishing nothing.
That’s how I saw it. In truth, no one said that. But comparison painted me useless in bold letters across the screen.
~Woe is meee 🐌💤 😜 ~
A Sermon I Couldn’t Speak
At church, I tried to answer a question on a bad pain day after a sleepless night. My words came tangled, incomplete.
I saw my husband’s face and thought, I’m taking too long. I gave up. Without tying my random thoughts together. And I gave him the microphone. He expertly gave a clear, concise answer that was perfectly on point. My effort looked weak next to his polish.
“My brain and I, we are not friends. My brain and I, we are classmates doing a group assignment called Life. And it’s not going great.”
But here’s the truth: trying counts. Even stumbling words are a kind of courage.
The Math of Measuring Up Never Works: The Broken Ruler I Keep Using
Comparison is a thief. It always leaves you with less than you started.
It’s like weighing a feather against a stone and expecting the scale to balance it out. It demands a sameness life never promised. It blinds us to the worth in our own story.
As a people, we tend to magnify the strengths and blessings another person receives. But minimize our own gifts, talents and opportunities. Social media is as helpful as a screen on a submarine when it comes to perpetuating this problem.
There’s no hierarchy of pain. Suffering shouldn’t be ranked, because pain is not a contest.
Fear and scarcity trigger comparison and we start to rank our own suffering.
Brown calls this comparative suffering. She goes on to say,
The opposite of scarcity is not abundance; the opposite of scarcity is simply enough.
Empathy is not finite, and compassion is not a pizza with eight slices. When you practice empathy and compassion with someone, there is not less of these qualities to go around. There’s more. Love is the last thing we need to ration in this world
This toxic pattern of comparison blocks emotional processing and prevents genuine empathy, creating isolation rather than connection.
My worth is not judged by what I do in comparison to others, but by what I do with what I have—what love, what compassion, what presence I can offer. Even just in showing up.
Measuring By Love, Not Ladders
I’ve decided to measure my life by something else: in every conversation, I want the other person to leave feeling better about themselves than when we started.
If they do, then I’ve accomplished something real. It may not be a promotion, a trip abroad, or a picture-perfect moment. But it’s love, and it’s within my reach.
In such a headspace there should be no time for shame and comparing. Only felicitations and adulation.
Broken But Still Moving
Mandy Harvey is a singer/ songwriter. I saw her on an America’s Got Talent clip. Mandy lost her hearing when she was 18. Interestingly enough she has EDS which is similar to my connective tissue disorder.
On the show, she spoke about initially going to dark places. And when she decided she wanted more for her life, she wrote this song. And performed it in front of a live audience and judges and cameras.
She beautifully sings,
“I don’t feel the way I used to / The sky is grey much more than it is blue / But I know one day I’ll get through/ And I’ll take my place again… So I will try…
There is no one for me to blame/ Cause I know the only thing in my way/ Is me…
I don’t live the way I want to/ That whole picture never came into view/ But I’m tired of getting used to/ The day
So I will try..
Those words hold me when comparison tries to unravel me.
Forest Therapy: A Way Forward
If comparison is a thorn, forest therapy can be a balm.
The forest floor is messy. Layers of leaf litter, moss, dead wood. It doesn’t pretend to be clean and perfect. It is rich because of its imperfections.
Your struggles, limitations, pain give richness and texture to your life story—not flaws to hide.
Walking a path in woods, you may have to step over roots, navigate mud and stray branches. But each step gives you awareness, grounding, breathing space.
Comparison often makes us spin like leaves in the wind; forest therapy anchors us.
When comparison grabs tight, I go to the woods.
The forest does not compare:
Trees don’t measure their height against one another.
Moss doesn’t resent the ferns.
Streams don’t ask why the river runs faster.
Each element grows where it is, as it is. That is enough.
Roots, Rituals and Small Resets
Here are ways the forest has supported me:
Leaning against a tree and letting its rootedness remind me that I, too, belong.
Listening to the birds until my thoughts soften.
Sitting by water and imagining my comparisons floating downstream.
From Forest Floor to Open Sky
Yes, I still compare. Yes, it still hurts. But when I remember that comparison steals joy, I find space to choose something else.
I may not be in San Diego, or London, or even fully awake at 9 a.m. (to those who are, Have as good a time as possible, given that I’m not there. Heehee 😊)
~Life said nope 🙃🍋~
I can still offer kindness, presence, and love.
And maybe that is enough.
I want to feel good about my life. Not in the sense of “as good as anyone else,” but as my life, full of the shape I have.
Chronic pain is part of the soil I grow in. It’s changed what I can do, yes—but also deepened what I can feel, what I can appreciate.
If everyone else seems to be walking on sunlit paths, I may be walking in dappled shade, or in a different time of day. But my path is still mine, and still worthy. Because even in the shaded parts of the forest, light still filters through.
My two year old grandson was happily playing in the yard. I was happily watching him. I love to see how his little mind works. And in this particular instance I got to see a bit of myself in him as he struggled.
He has a little cart that he pushes around. He was attempting to go around the patio table. In his way were the bags of bottles that I should have been returning to the depot instead of watching him play. It is so much easier to ignore the chores as ‘the grandma’ than it was as ‘the mom’.
At first he was frustrated but I sat back to see what he would figure out. He wandered away and then started moving the bags of recycling from one spot that was in his way to another spot that would be immediately next in his way. Of course his little 2yo brain couldn’t see this the way I could.
He was so calm and focused on the task at hand. I sat back to see how he would handle the upcoming challenge.
It was time. His little plan had been executed flawlessly. Now he was going back to attempt to push his cart through again. He was so happy. He got past where his path had previously been obstructed. Only to immediately be blocked. He saw his error. Panic ensued. His hands flew to his face and he stopped dead in his tracks. He looked at me with dismay in his eyes.
Of course I flew to his aid. We worked to put the bags in a better spot until the time Grandma stops playing and gets to the bottle depot. He grabbed his cart and around he went.
How often do we try something and when it doesn’t work the way we expect we panic and stop trying? I have been guilty of this useless response many a time. My little grandson is still figuring things out. I don’t judge him for his response. But I saw so much of myself in it that I have been thinking about it since.
I have a good idea. It doesn’t go as planned. I panic. I stop. I give up.
Good ideas are the way to start. Planning to watch it fall apart might also be the process going perfectly. It is over this period that you get to see what is working and what isn’t.
I applied this to my perceived progress as a human being. I am always trying to improve but when it doesn’t go as planned I often feel a surge of stress leaving me in a bundle of singed nerves. The improving is timely and correct. The not going as planned is timely and correct. The only thing going wrong that I have control over is that surge of stress. I can control the surge by controlling my thoughts around my circumstances.
Maybe this is how the sequence should go. Attempt one. Utter and abrupt failure. Thoughts. ‘Well that didn’t go well’. ‘Maybe I should adjust.’ Attempt two. Less abrupt but still utter failure. Thoughts. ‘I have learned how to avoid some of the pitfalls. What do I still have to learn?’ And so on. The wording may seem elementary but it gets me pointed in a different direction.
Dr Daniel Gilbert said, “Human beings are works in progress that mistakenly think they’re finished. The person you are right now is as transient, as fleeting and as temporary as all the people you’ve ever been.”
I am trying to remember in my moments of panic. When I realize I have done something wrong/ stupid/ careless, that this is part of the human experience. And it is passing and fleeting. And EVERYBODY gets things wrong at times. We are all disasters trying to look like we have it all together.
If you can see the humor in your error, even better! But all in good time, the subtle art of laughing at one’s self is taking it to the next level.
Some of your efforts are going to tank. And that, my dear friends, is actually things going perfectly. Make adjustments. Try again.
So much of my time growing up was spent worrying that I was doing things “wrong” and that someone might see. Much of my young adult life was spent hoping nobody would notice I had no idea how to be a mom. I have spent so much of my time in chronic pain thinking I must be doing it “wrong” because I’m not getting better. I can’t get to a plateau of healthy like everyone else.
I just kept feeling wrong!
Until I found healing in the forest. This, I know how to do intuitively.
“For beauty give me trees with the fir on” -Henry David Thorough
Photo by Brent Munkholm
Being in the forest increases feelings of awe, wonder and gratitude. In the forest we can relax the overworked brain and just be. There is no wrong here. The only thing that has to be done is to take your next breath. And unwind. Soften. You can let go here, the forest has your back.
When things in life go awry, take a moment, and when you are ready, make the next plan, schedule the next attempt, put yourself back into the arena regardless of the possible flop.
And remember to have fun with it!
I absolutely agree with Sarah Ivens who says in her book Forest Therapy, “We need to be reminded of just how good puddle jumping and mud cake baking, tree climbing, squirrel chasing, blossom breathing, and forest foraging feel. Because nature really is the best medicine.”
Playing in the forest can prepare you to integrate play into your day. This can open your brain to overcoming the challenges you face. And when you see it as play, the challenge is more of a dare. I double dog dare you to spend time playing in nature this week. See if it helps your daily living.
If you need help finding ways to use the forest as your friend and guide, reach out to me on my contacts page.
The obstacles you face will always have an answer. It just might not be resolved at your first undertaking. Keep trying and take care out there.
Does anyone else feel like summer goes way too fast? I am loving walking everywhere with my grandson. We go to parks, and spray pads and pools. I love time with family from far away.
But it always ends. The days get shorter and the nights get cooler. Did I do everything I was supposed to do on summer days? Did I take full advantage? What if I missed something?
I hear a general consensus among my friends that there is a certain expectation with summer. You have to do all the summer bucket list things. And take pictures and post them (or it didn’t actually happen). You have to get a super nice tan. You have to spend time at the beach.
Camps. Boating. Family time. The list is infinite. But the weekends are finite. And they seem to disappear to things like weddings and reunions. Then a couple inevitably host bad weather. And that’s it. It’s over.
This year I am embracing all of it. Last year I made sure I had things to look forward to in the fall. But this year instead of a checklist I want to have more of a relationship with the changes of the seasons.
I want to use this summer to accomplish whatever is right and good for that day. I don’t want to mourn the loss of each Saturday. I don’t want to complain over what didn’t work out. I want to enjoy. To the fullest means possible. Because, why not?
We are connected to our earth and when we are in right relationship with her we can solve mysteries that perplex our fellowmen. The peace we can access. Our centered, balanced state. I see the change of the seasons as an example of how to be in right relationship.
Sunny summer days are magnificent. Cozy fall evenings are restful. Snowy winter days are dazzling. And hopeful spring mornings are reassuring that the brilliant process will continue on. Right relationship leads me to enjoy and appreciate it all.
I have a story about wanting things to be a certain way. Maybe even a way others would agree is ‘right’. But timing and how we approach our day are greater indicators of hopefulness than continually striving to make it work the way we want.
I have three sons. They all played soccer. We spent so many hours cheering at the sidelines of a soccer field. So. Many. Hours.
Photo by u041cu0430u0440u0438u043du0430 u0428u0438u0448u043au0438u043du0430 on Pexels.com (not my boys)
One evening we sat in our camping chairs, half asleep and less than half paying attention to the game as we chatted with other parents. Our relaxation was suddenly obliterated when with looks of wonder and alarming amazement we saw our son. Our not super athletic son being put in goal.
Mind you this was still small potatoes and it didn’t really matter whether they won or lost but my mama heart wanted to go save him. He looked so small with his great big goalie gloves and that massive net behind.
I prayed for our forwards and our defense. And against their team. Just keep him from being embarrassed. My prayers were working. For minutes now he hadn’t had to do anything. Dang this mama can make miracles happen.
Actually it had been so long since he’d had to do anything that he noticed the goalie shirt he’d had thrown on him in his rush to get on the field, was backwards.
Not a big deal. Except. No. He wouldn’t. Noooo. He would. He did.
He left on his massive goalie gloves and started to turn his shirt around. Luckily play was still at the other end of the field. As the rest of the parents’ eyes were aimed at the other team’s net and they laughingly and happily cheered for their kids, my eyes were fixed with incredulity and twitching with great anticipation as my son, currently in goal, was changing his shirt.
As only a good story could go, the play changed direction and was fast approaching my son who now had the shirt the correct direction but regrettably, no better off due to the fact that it was inside out and currently stuck over his head.
At this point my sweet boy noticeably jumped. For although the shirt was over his whole face he must have been able to sense some of what was about to happen.
The rest of the crowd joined me in looking towards the goal that my son was covering. Some quietly snickered. Some tried to shout helpful suggestions, “Just take the shirt off!” “Not that way, it’s twisted!” “Why are you doing that?” someone pleadingly shrieked (that last one was me). All this happened within seconds as the play was coming upon my dear boy.
And then a breakaway. To my awe and amazement, my not-so-sporty son proceeded to make a save. With a shirt completely covering his face. And then another save. And another. Inevitably he was scored upon.
In all my hours of sitting on the sidelines that was my absolute favourite moment of all time.
But not HIS favourite memory, although he can now see the humour in it.
If he had chosen to keep the shirt as it was, it wouldn’t have been perfect but it would have kept him from getting a shirt stuck over his face while he was in goal. With the possibility of the game changing in his direction.
Is there something in your life that currently seems wrong, that you are being tempted to fixate on, when that is not the goal for this season of your life? Are you hanging on to the way it ‘should have been’? Let go.
Allow the goalie shirt to stay backwards for a time.
You can go ahead and pull it off and hope for a quick change that goes smoothly and is accomplished in good time. But what if you are supposed to be watching the play? What if you are the one to save something? Or someone? What if you need to pay attention to what is in front of you and not what you are wearing?
My hope is that these questions will strike each of you in a spectrum of rays depending on your season and your energy level. Your energy level does not define you, but you do need to pay attention to it.
Enjoy summer days. Doing all the things or none of them. Enjoying all the people or sticking to yourself. Let the expectations stay with whomever created them. Just BE in summer and allow the effects of nature to be stored in you like wells of water that you can draw from in the winter months.
Join me in a forest walk to enhance the treasures you can find in nature. Head over to my contact page to reach out and to book. Take care sweet friends.
Don’t ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive and go do that. Because what the worlds needs is people who have come alive, -Howard Thurman
What makes you come alive? I’d love to see in the comments.
I had to think for a while when I was asked this question. I was guided back to my school days and to remember what I loved to do for fun. Somewhere around grade 5 or 6. Those recesses for me were spent on the swings. My best friend and I joined forces on the swings. From grade 4 on she was my partner- in- shenanigans. I still keep in contact with her. The darndest things can happen on the swings.
I love even now to find a park with few enough kids that I can snag one of the swings and try going higher and higher. I always wanted to go all the way up and around. I swear I almost had it one day.
I didn’t know I needed to come back to life when I was in the midst of the suffering. In the worst of my pain, I didn’t see a way out. I felt stuck and thought I’d just have to live out my days in that state. It is hard to be there and hear people say, ‘come alive!’
There are ‘down’ days and ‘did too much yesterday’ days and ‘I just wanted to get it done and now I am paying for it’ or ‘I just wanted to pretend I was normal’ days. But when there is a day you feel up to it. Find something that makes you come alive and do it! Often.
What I am learning as a forest therapy guide has helped me come alive. The feelings of darkness and despair have been replaced with hope and healing. Today I want to share some of the science of going into the forest. How it creates those feelings of coming back to life.
Most of us notice that we feel better when we spend time in nature. But we don’t often stop to think about why. Stress seems to slip away in the forest. When we can strip that away and focus on the moment, all sorts of the health problems related to stress slacken. Headaches diminish, blood pressure eases, skin problems recede.
Cortisol is the stress hormone that can cause all sorts of problems. A study was done where the participants were split into two groups. One half went for a walk in nature, The other group went for a walk of the same duration in the lab. All participants who walked in the forest had a marked decrease in their cortisol levels. Those who walked in the lab did not experience any marked results.
You may have heard that merely looking at forest scenery for at least 20 minutes will lower your cortisol levels. Heart rate decreases. The body’s fight or flight response goes into remission.
When stress is present in our lives our immune system is affected. Stress can make it harder for the body to fight off sickness. Some say that when you feel happy your immune system is being strengthened.
Phytoncides are another one of those healing products of nature. Found most abundantly in evergreen forests phytoncides are given off by such trees as spruce and pine. But even oak trees can give off this extremely beneficial compound. The word phytoncide means, “exterminated by the plant”.
Photo by Brent Munkholm
When this substance is given off by plants, it kills or slows the growth of bacteria and fungi. They have a very important role to play in the forest itself. When people breathe in these phytoncides our bodies have been shown to increase the activity of natural killer cells. These cells are important in killing tumor and virus infected cells that can cause all kinds of problems.
Another win for spending time in nature is that it can boost your creativity. A study was conducted in which participants went on a backpacking trip and then given creative problem solving tasks afterwards. They performed 50% better after time spent in the forest. Take from that whatever you want but no matter how you look at it, time in the forest is overall beneficial.
I have read that going into the forest for 3 days and 2 nights will reset you. Particularly your hormones. I would be a willing participant in that study. Where do I sign up? Put me in a forest where I can allow my body to go into a state of rest and I suspect I would become a very different creature.
Your rituals create your life. Get some good ones. -Dr Libby Weaver
Join me in creating a ritual of going down into the woods. What ritual could be better than spending time in a place that makes you feel better? Plus it produces an array of physical, mental, emotional and spiritual health benefits.
I love playing on the swings because of the feeling of freedom it gives me. I can still get enough umph to spend that moment in freefall looking straight at the clouds. Find something that gives you that sense of fun and awe. If you want help with this or any other forest therapy related questions, contact me. While you’re there sign up for a forest therapy walk to find out how beneficial it really can be.
Take care out there my friends. Find a way to come alive (when you are ready.)
SUNBEAM ACRES 