How do you connect with nature?

In recent years, I’ve read more about how bonding with nature makes us happier, healthier human beings. Scientists study the positive benefits of listening to birdsong, walking in the words, or just being outdoors. “Birds wake up the sleeping trees,” my Dad once told me, convinced that birdsong served as a melodic alarm for the trees to bud in springtime. Although I don’t fully buy that theory, I do believe that being attuned with nature awakens our senses and makes us feel more human.   

Florence Williams explores nature’s restorative power in, “The Nature Fix: Why Nature Makes us Happier, Healthier, and More Creative.” (I just started reading her book.) Anyone who spends time outside, whether walking or gardening, has probably experienced the jolt of joy nature brings.  

In fact, the local arboretum offers an introductory class for forest bathing, a practice of keeping quiet and calm among the trees. I may sign up next year. Until then, I will wander around the neighborhood, tromp through the park, around the woods, or down our path.  

I’ll give you a glimpse of the path that brightens my day during every season. Mother Nature’s stop sign is at the trailhead, rendering me unable to move until I admire the radiant red berries. This formerly bare bush stands before me, a beauty covered with shinny small (pea-sized) berries. I am tempted to pluck a delicate souvenir, yet I pass by.

When I reach the bridge, I look for a dear friend, the great blue heron. I often see him standing still as a stature in the treetops. Despite his distinct shape, he hides himself well. I must match my patience with his and only then will I spot this blue-gray bird with a graceful neck and long skinny legs. My heron gazes down at the small creek, which is a food source in addition to our neighbor’s Koi fishpond and the large lake several miles away. The creek is home to many a trilling toad and croaking frog saying, “Hello!”

Now the trees are winter bare, and I try to identify the species by its size and shape because I am unable to see the bark from afar. The trees flaunt their naked shape, and I envy their unabashed attitude.

Long gone are leaves, which covered the trees and our shortcut to the path. I recall rustling through the leaves like a child eager to hear the crispy, crunchy, and swishy sounds. Now invisible, the leaves are grounded and crumbled taking on a musty smell, which makes me sneeze. I miss the lovely red, amber, and orange foliage, signaling fall is here.

I also delight seeing the deep rusty brown and golden wooly worms that wobble along the path as autumn eases into winter.

In the winter, fewer people use the path. But I rise early, thanks to my husband. He dons the headlamp, and lights our way. His light casts strange scary shadows, which make me duck to avoid the imaginary bat or bird. Yes, I remind myself that it’s too cold for the bats who leave at summer’s end. What I see must be tree limbs.

I relish the dark quiet walk before the morning traffic gets too loud and bright. At 6 a.m., the path is empty except for a few hardy runners who tempt fate without reflective gear or lights. In warmer weather, more walkers, runners, and bikers are out. We also see more wildlife: bold beautiful red foxes, skittish and brave bunnies, and the playful yellow finches.

In spring and summer, the first colorful flash of the male finches makes my heart flutter. These birds play a game of tag between the trees. Oh, I wish I could fly too. For now, I will settle for coasting down the hills on my bike at 16 to 26 mph with the wind in my face wearing what I call my finch jersey. Both my husband and I have high-vis yellow and black jerseys. I wonder if the finch family will adopt us.

Also fashionable dressed in yellow and black are my fuzzy buzzy bee friends who bury themselves in the lavender thistle. Thistles have a bad rap because they are tough, wearing spikes and getting all prickly when humans or herbivores come too close to remove them or eat them, respectively. (I did read thistles are edible, but insects and butterflies need this food source more than I.) Monarch butterflies love the thistle and milkweed found in the fields along the path.

But Mother Nature doesn’t promise us bees and butterflies every day. No, there are vultures, voles, and snakes who live among us. I avert my eyes from the small dead creatures by the path knowing it is likely the half-eaten vole snack dropped from a hawk flying over. I also sidestep the raccoon poo in the middle of the path. And I jerk my bike wheel in time to avoid the snake, which blends into the asphalt.

It’s nature – there’s a balance and I respect that. When a young garter snake was trapped in the netting in our backyard, we freed him with sewing scissors and patience. The little guy was patient with us. Saving a snake may seem odd to some but in my mind, he did nothing wrong, and we had to make it right.

Nature is there for me. I need return the kindness.

It makes me smile when I hear the Carolina wren sing, “You’re pretty, you’re pretty,” just for me. Or at least that’s how I interpret her tweets.

 I am happier walking by fields full of thistle, which are buzzing with bees, butterflies and bunnies. I feel lighter when I hear birds, frogs, and foxes carrying conversations from the trees, creeks, and dens in the woods.

My wish is that nature brings all of us the benefits of a happier, healthier, and more creative New Year.