Growing up in a small town on Vancouver Island meant that getting out of the house and into the forest was a matter of walking out the door. My parents always encouraged us to get outside, so every summer they would take my older brother, two older sisters and me on a multi-week exploration of roads less travelled.
One Westfalia, six people, two dogs and a canoe on top.
Dad would drive our trusty steed off the main road, open an outdated logging road map and we would all jitter our way along potholed gravel roads for hours. We would slow down if the road was blocked, and stop if there was a creek to swim in or a debate to be held over the scat we saw (grizzly or black bear?).
The evening’s campsite was a surprise location as often as it was a planned destination. But, of course, my dad “knew the whole time we’d get here.” “Here” being a nameless lake, a fir-lined enclosure or pristine waterfall.
In the end it never mattered where we were—we were relieved to stretch our legs and let the lingering trembles of bumpy roads subside. We would set up camp, build a fire, canoe the lake, have dinner, clean up and pile back into the van at bedtime, exhausted from so much fresh air.
It would be false to state that these are all happy memories. Nature is not always a holiday. Leech-filled lakes, mosquito-dense forests and shifting weather were common, on top of the bouts of exasperation that resulted from being in constant close quarters with your family for weeks on end. Not to mention our dog Pablo, who was notoriously car-sick.
Nevertheless, I have continued exploring the wilder world as an adult and I’m a more grounded person because of it. When I’m feeling overwhelmed by life, I walk through the door and venture forth.
Getting outside doesn’t necessarily mean surviving for weeks in the wilderness. Going out for a run, choosing to walk instead of drive to the grocery store, or having my morning coffee on the porch instead of the kitchen are all ways that I’ve introduced fresh air into my daily routine. A jaunt around the block is incredible for remedying stress. Being physically apart from my job, school or house removes me from my email, the pile of assignments or the dust bunnies under the sofa. I value work, higher learning and cleanliness, but taking a moment to step back helps me to negotiate them better when I’m struggling.
Observing the simple wonders of the outdoors, like warm sun on a winter day or leaves reddening in the fall, offers moments of clarity. When in that space, life seems to fall more evenly into place. As in my childhood, no matter where I am, the shaky feeling from the bumps in the road slides off and, more settled, I turn to the tasks at hand.
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