Hello and welcome. This a continuation of last week’s ramblings about home being a feeling rather than a place. I guess it could be place, but, as a whole, it is the overall feeling of said place that perhaps makes it “home” or “a home.” It was the feeling of home with an ocean view last week and this week will be the feeling of home deep in the depths of breathing forests. It’s a party.
Going to a land with a forest is on equal playing fields with going to a land with an ocean. Both are needed for survival and the feelings from and about these places are no match to cities and suburbs and places with masses of humans — all in accordance with my own life essentials. Perhaps I’m a wee-bit biased and this may be related to the fact that I grew up in the woods, surrounded by trees and greeted by deer as we opened our front door and saw mountain lion scat along the deer trails we took to get down the hill to the lake. We could scream bloody murder and nobody but the hidden animals, composed trees, and undisturbed ground could hear. It was lovely.
I hear others talk about their childhood and say they would go to friends’ houses just down the road or walk to the store for a treat or meet up with some friends at the local park. I can’t relate to any of these stories because none were possible for me. The closest friend was a ten minute drive away and getting on the highway was necessary. The closest store was a fifteen minute drive away and getting on the highway was necessary. The closest park was… well, I’m not sure how far away the closest legitimate park was, but the reasons people go to a park were two steps away and no highway necessary, so we had that I guess. But I never feel like I missed out on this kind of particular childhood after hearing these stories and rather think maybe these others missed out instead. They missed out on wooded adventures and discovering animal dens and finding owl vomit to dissect (which I didn’t know until a few years ago that this is apparently something you can buy). I would not have traded my childhood for anything.
Anyway…
Being surrounded by trees full of life feels like a welcoming party. Not a typical welcoming party with loud music and celebratory drinks and everyone wanting to participate in small talk, but a calm party with no loud music and no drinks and no small talk. No invitation necessary, just if you happen to stumble upon the party, you will be greeted peacefully and with open arms. The music playing is the hushed sound of trees rustling in the wind, birds chirping and cooing amidst the air, and small animals breaking pine needles and twigs on the ground beneath their paws.
The air at this party is cleaner, fresher, and smells a whole lot better than a typical party. The exposure of smells in the landscape can almost be categorized by colors, with each variant of green having its own smell and air to it. You may be briefly immobilized by the sudden awareness of your ability to breathe easier here. With lungs now full of this raw nature, the mending has begun. Your body’s tension lessens and navigating through this corner of land becomes a cakewalk.
This party is saturated with new friends because you have never been to this neck of the woods before, yet, at the same time, they are old and familiar friends. In their presence, you are at ease with yourself — and for the moment, at ease with your life. The need to fit in does not apply. There is no judgement. There is no dress code. There is no obligation to speak and force small talk. You are only encouraged to perhaps listen to the natural sounds of these friends in their world and respect this realm and haven you have stumbled upon. This is a place that will always be available and free. This party is welcoming you home to a restful place you have never stepped foot upon, and this comfort and ease is an experience and understanding of home.