re-set and rest

It all started with a mandatory sit spot in mid-March - just one week into physical distancing. We hiked back to the bush at my childhood farm. When we reached the sugar shack ruins, I rang the singing bowl three times. A beginning, an offering.

We set out, each in our own direction, then settled in. 

My children were far from me, but I could see that they’d sunk into quiet. Even the dogs planted their bums, looking around, sniffing the air, aware, still.

Inhale, exhale. Thoughts expand, thoughts cease.

I needed this forest quiet - a respite from my frenetic thought life and from city life where I was starting to feel watched, passing faces on sidewalks that looked scared, unsure, tentative. 

Minutes flew past and after half an hour I reluctantly rang the bowl.

They bubbled questions to me on the walk back:

• When will all of the snow in the bush melt?
• If I turned over the logs now, would salamanders be there?
• When did Grandpa build the sugar shack?
• When will the trilliums come up?
• How long will Grandma and Grandpa live here?
• Were these deer tracks from today?
• How many praying mantis babies are in this one egg sac?
• Why are the turkey vultures back already?
• How do orioles make nests like that?

Our bush times have continued over the past weeks. In mid-March, I thought we were looking at a stretch of three weeks together, and it seemed like we needed some activities that would take us out of our heads. Our forest times have done that for us.

​Since then, they have evolved to include other activities too: journalling, whittling, photography, building a fairy house. We’re experimenting with following our intuition - asking ourselves “what does my mind and body need/want to do in the forest today?” and then going from there. 
​
Inhale. Exhale.

A re-fresh and a re-set, freeing our minds to rest.