Gifts from the Forest and The Present Moment

This past week, I took a much-needed break from art and work to enjoy an adventure in the forest with my husband, Rob. It was an excursion two years in the making that started with a special present for Rob’s 50th birthday back in December of 2019. I bought him a racing experience where he would get to drive a souped-up Ford Mustang around the Pocono Raceway track for 3 laps.

I’m sure you can guess that the pandemic happened shortly afterwards, derailing our plans for a getaway to the Pocono Mountains and his racing experience. We were finally able to schedule the experience this past week.

Afterwards, we drove to Hickory Run State Park and hiked part of a trail known as the Shadows of Death trail. While I didn’t like the name of the trail, I loved every moment of the hiking experience. This wasn’t simply a walk on a sedate dirt trail like many of our hiking excursions in Lancaster County.

Tree roots and rocks littered the path as we climbed up and went down over and over again. I was filled with excitement at every turn, not knowing what sight I would see next. The trail forced me to pay attention. I needed to tackle each piece of it a step at a time because I couldn’t see that far in front of me.

It was exhilarating. The smell of the dirt. The gentle embrace of the trees. The cool breezes and little peeks of sunlight through the branches. The tiny saplings competing for sunlight among the vast forest canopy. Rock ledges and waterfalls. And a few man-made steps that eased the way on parts of the trail.

At one point, I was surprised to discover that I was a bit out of breath. I was so focused in the moment that I didn’t realize how much effort I was expending. We stopped to rest near two small waterfalls and I took a moment to enjoy the chaotic jumble of rocks and fallen branches, trees of all sizes and ferns that seemed to pop up from every spare space. I took pictures and I found myself smiling, soaking in the inspiration.

As I write about this now, it occurs to me that hiking that forest trail was a lot like creating my art. When the work is going well, I am focused in the moment. I can only see what is in front of me and I’m not planning what I will do next. I follow the path where it leads and make discoveries along the way. And I smile. I am often pleasantly surprised and delighted with what comes out on the page or on the computer screen.

I finally understand what my creative writing teacher, Melissa Greene, meant when she said writing a book was like driving through fog. She said that you could only see that small stretch of road ahead and you needed to write from that place and no further. At the time, I remember that that metaphor frustrated me a bit. I didn’t like that I couldn’t know more about the story as I wrote it. I wanted to know the end before I started writing. I thought it would be a waste of time to follow the story, only to reach a dead end and start again.

But engaging with my art these past few years and hiking in that forest has taught me that the present moment is really where all the juice is. It’s the source of awe, delight, and excitement. It’s the place where my work is most alive. The place where I disappear and the work takes on a life of its own, just like those trees, ferns, and waterfalls in the forest. My job is to get out of the way and let go of the outcome. Easier said than done, right?

Creativity, after all, is not a linear process. It isn’t logical or neat and tidy. But perhaps that’s precisely why it is so engaging and fun. I hope you’ll take this as an invitation this week. How can you engage in the present moments of your life more fully this week? What might you learn?