How to Take a Nature Bath

I took a nature bath yesterday. What’s that, you ask? Well, it’s simply a walk with my dog, but I purposefully call it a nature bath when my brain is pinging in too many directions. It forces me to slow down and connect with the present. It transforms my bodily exercise into a multi-sensory experience. It deepens my ordinary routine of a walk into sacred steps of wonder.

There’s a local nature preserve near my house called Binky Lee. It has become one of my favorite places. I’m not sure if it’s because of its fun name, or because the experience changes with every step. When transforming my walk routine into a nature bath, all of my senses flip on for their exercise too. I notice the crickets and other prairie insects, reminding me of home. I mentally dance with the birds, as they sing their songs to each other, and to me. I feel how the dewy air feels on my skin, and note my gratitude for this cooler morning. I look up to the sky, grateful for seeing blue and that the Canadian wildfire smoke has gone. I smile at the sound of my feet whooshing through the thick grass. I feel the excitement of my dog when he dips into the tall grasses, thinking another four-legged is playing hide and seek.

This preserve is a topographical paradise, as it changes with every step. There is a wide-open plain area, reminding me of my Midwest roots. On top of the hill, there is a spectacular viewpoint of the expansive Pennsylvania rolling hills. When taking a right off the circular path, you enter small, windy forest paths, where you can’t help but slow your steps. This leads to a small creek bed, where the sound of the water becomes a cleansing bath to this overstimulated 21^st century life.

Sometimes, when walking a path with a particular vibe, I feel transported to a different time. Does this ever happen to you? It happens every time here, when I take a right off the main path into the woods. It invites only the brave and the curious in. It would be easier to go left and stay in the brightly-lit open path. Here, I choose to go right and descend through this dark, damp forested path – the kind where roots are splayed out over the path like a carpet, saying, “this way, for the brave.”

When I’m on this part of the path, I get this vibe of those who walked here long ago. I think about Native Americans, and how they likely walked this ground with a softer foot than I. I think of early English settlers, perhaps navigating by sun and compass to guide their path west.

When I think of the early English settlers, I can’t help but think of the risk they took. You see, my ancestors came to America from Germany. One side settled in Wisconsin and the other in North Dakota. Can you imagine hopping on a boat across the Atlantic, saying goodbye to your homeland, family and friends? And likely never seeing them again? I can’t imagine driving across the state without my phone with GPS, let alone across the world two centuries ago. Clearly, my ancestors’ definition of risk is different than mine.

What about the Native Americans that walked this path? They lived off the land in a way I’ll never comprehend. They worked together as a tribe, trusted their instincts and prayed to the earth. Most of the time, she provided. What did risk look and feel like for them? Perhaps it was risk when they moved their tribe to another unexplored part of the land. Perhaps their definition of risk is different than mine.

What does taking a risk look like today in my 21^st century world? I have a little experience in risk, as I’ve moved across the country a couple of times. What are other examples of perceived risk? Is it telling someone we love them? Perhaps speaking our truth, with no fear of the consequences? Is it taking a leap of faith by following our dream?

I’m not sure. All I know is that taking risk in today’s world is likely different than taking risk was for our ancestors. But regardless of the century, at the end of the day, in order to take risk, it requires the same input: courage.

If you are trying to find the courage to take a risk, lean on your ancestors for help. They were good at it, I have a feeling. Every single one of them, in some way. As you and I take our risks today, we set the example for our future generations.

This weekend’s nature bath led to a lesson in taking risks. What perceived risks are on our path ahead of us? To push the fear aside, the courage of our ancestors will help clear the path.

In that, I have no doubt.