Sacred Places

When I was young, I loved to be outdoors. The air seemed to be alive with scents and sounds that called to me. Often, in my primary school grade, as soon as I was out of sight of our house on my way to school, I made a left turn into the woods. It was a small village on the edge of Dartmouth and while not rural, it was not built up by any means either.

A ten-minute walk would put you well into the beginning of a forest with hidden lakes not far away. Sometimes I would play out a little story of cowboys and Indians with myself having to account for both roles as I was always alone on these adventures. At other times I would just lay back on fragrant pine needles, arms behind my head, and look up at the trees and the deep blue sky above them. Soft breezes would play across my skin like smooth silk. Laying still and letting myself experience the gentle caresses of the air, all seemed right with the world.

The trees, being evergreens, were always full and bushy. The pine needles made a perfectly comfortable mattress to lay on, with the exception of actual pine cones giving the occasional lump. Their roundness did not dig into my back much as the fresh, fallen cones tended to give under pressure. If a tuft of grass was close I had to pull out a blade and put it in my mouth to chew on. It could get a little bitter if you chewed it too much and turned it into a pasty substance, but I had learned the science of grass chewing early in life.

The sun was warm and the air fresh and the breezes soothing. The smell of pine mixed with that of the grass but neither masked the other and each was distinct.

There was a freshness and cleanliness about the forest. I sometimes drifted off to sleep there as my mind was at ease in that hidden sanctuary which was really not far removed from the disciplined environment of school or the sometimes tense world of adults at home.

On other occasions, I would just walk in the forest. I liked the springy forest floor underfoot or the sound of a distant woodpecker. There was green moss on the bases of tree trunks, tan-coloured pine needles, lush green trees, and now and then a protruding grey rock. There were no set paths that I noticed, so I wandered among the pines in whatever direction suited me.

Finding my way back to where I entered the woods was never a problem despite no discernible trail. My sense of direction was always enough to keep me from getting lost. I was young and didn’t own a watch so I never kept track of time, but I always seemed to return home before anyone started to look for me.

I enjoyed life in the neighbourhood; liked playing with my friends. Sometimes, though, I felt a need to be alone in the forest with the sights and smells and sensations of it. In later years, after I left the neighbourhood, I would come to think of those times as a luxury that I no longer had and that I missed.

Throughout adulthood, when I felt stress I would feel a longing for simpler times and the freedom of the forest. Sometimes I would get in the car and drive out of town to a secluded, forested spot. I would walk among the trees and feel the wind on my skin and look at the details of nature around me. Now and then I would catch a wisp of the beauty I experienced as a child, and feel renewed. I would return, ready to take on whatever new challenges life had for me. The forest had been, and in memory still is, my sacred place.