Rector's Note: A Forest Bath 9.17.26

I just got back from a bath in the forest. Well to be honest, as full immersions go this was more like a sponge bath in the woods. Still, I had a bit of time in the middle of my day today and thought I’d try out forest bathing, which sounds a bit more romantic than taking a walk after lunch to reduce my glucose levels.

Forest bathing is a ritual of presence and awareness done among trees, the farther removed the better. I opted for Edge Hill Woods, which has an uphill path that begins at the bend where Kelly Lane meets Pleasant Avenue, down the street from the church. I’ve gone on this quarter mile climb several times. What made today’s hike a “forest bath” was the intention to pay attention to what I heard, saw, touched smelled and tasted along the way. And maybe also the sweat – the morning’s cool fall temperatures reverted to summer by mid-afternoon. And I didn’t wear the best shoes.

Still, it was lovely. Grasses nearly hid the path and tickled my ankles as I picked my way up the hill. I bathed in the chip of a cardinal and the screen-door-creek of a blue jay, the scolding of a squirrel and an argument among some flickers. I relished the cool brush of shade on my skin as I stepped out of the sunlight and into shadows. This little patch of trees, which leads up to the private property where the local castle sits, is surrounded by houses that are hard to unsee. Yet there are pleasures for the eye -- the distraction of bird flight, the huge boulders that push up from the hillside, the little stairway of decaying concrete that leads nowhere, aided by a rusty rail.

Smell and taste were a little harder to conjure. Most of the flowers were done for the season. I left my water bottle in my office and would have enjoyed a sip on the way. It takes some imagination to assign a flavor to the air or a scent to the afternoon, though it’s not impossible.

At movie night last Friday, Elliot, who is in first-grade, informed me that he could smell the night coming on, as the sun set and The Sheep Detectives began. What does the night smell like? I asked. The moon, he answered without hesitation, clarifying that the moon smells cold. We thought about that for a moment. And what about the day? I asked. It smells like the sun, of course. But in the afternoon it might get hot enough to smell like popcorn, Elliot said, as he enjoyed a bag that PJ Linke had popped for us.

Elliot would be great at forest bathing.

Back in my office I’m still drying off. I never seem to exit this tiny bit of woods in the same place. This time I emerged on a different street than I started on, and the walk back to St. Peter’s was longer and hotter than at the outset. A bath indeed.

A change in intention can turn a routine act like an afternoon walk in the woods into something else. This is the wisdom of mindfulness, whether it’s applied to a breath or a hike or an afternoon spent sitting on a porch. Prayer is like that as well. It’s not so much the posture, as the intention one brings to it, the awareness that follows. I’m convinced that the presence of God is on the other side of our senses, just waiting to get in, through a scent, a taste, a touch, a still small voice or the chuckle of a robin.

I think autumn might be the best time for forest bathing. The  trees change color. The smell of leaves gets spicier. The quality of light shifts. The air starts to taste like the moon. I look forward to more of it. And with a little intention ahead of time, I might just remember my water bottle and a more suitable pair of shoes.