Nature Heals

My Grandpa and I, with my dog Jody. Age 3.

I go to nature to be soothed and healed, and to have my senses put in order.

~John Burroughs

I have turned to nature for healing, comfort and solace as long as I can remember.
As a child, the Mojave desert was my playground. I chased tumbleweed and lizards, my small hands held horned toads and weathered rocks, and I would sit under the vast sky and count stars for hours.
I couldn’t imagine that a more magical place existed in this world and I always felt more at ease in the natural world than any other place.

When the world felt unsafe, as it often did during my childhood, I had a ritual that I did not share with many people. I would head out to a large hill of soft dirt in the nearby open desert, where I would dig into the side of the hill with a small discarded paint can until I created a depression large enough to hold my curled up body.
Tall Joshua trees stood guard around me while roadrunners and jack rabbits would often approach with nothing but curiosity in their eyes.
I felt safe and protected. I felt soothed by the cool earth that held me close and I could feel the very heartbeat of the land.
The desert was a very windy place, so each time I returned to my hill, I would have to dig out a new spot; but the digging itself was an important part of my ritual. Windblown sand is often quite beautiful and I loved the feeling of the warm grains running through my fingers and noticing each shiny particle that together formed my special place. My young mind realized that the large stones scattered across the landscape were eventually wore down to grains over time and yet they still remained. Changed, yet still an intricate part of the whole. The desert was endlessly fascinating and such an accessible teacher for a sensitive and curious student.

I’m not sure why I sought such deep comfort from the land at such a young age, other than following the examples set by my maternal Grandfather, who I loved more than life itself. He was Cherokee man of very few words that met life head on, and I credit many of my tendencies to his ways. He taught me to respect all living things and believed that everything has a spirit. His “church” was whatever land he happened to be standing on that day. He was also a healer and knew the medicines of plants and was called on to help many a neighbor or stranger when they fell ill. He never spoke words that he didn’t mean and he was such a good listener He also had a wonderful sense of humor that I appreciated, because even as a child, I could wear the world a bit too tight at times. He knew birdsongs by heart and we shared many evenings sitting on the large porch of their farmhouse nestled within the hills of Eastern Oklahoma, listening to whip-poor-wills calling, and watching fireflies while sipping sassafras tea in such a comfortable silence. I wish I could remember even a fraction of what he shared with me, but the deep love we shared has lasted a lifetime and the land was our love language. It still is.

I am cut from the same cloth and I am so very grateful for that. No matter what I am facing or where I may be, I have the earth to hold on to.