We all have seen it, and most of us have done it. Enter a restaurant with friends, sit down, and within 20 seconds everyone whips out their “smart” phones. Watch a gaggle of young people anywhere and you’ll wonder if their thumbs will require surgery by age 35. Pass a hiker or jogger on the trail and odds are good that person is wearing earbuds or headphones.
Please understand that I am not some Luddite raging about cellphones and the 24/7, intrusive nature of social media. I rely on my Samsung, but it pains me to read that so many young people are vulnerable to anxiety or depression exacerbated by excessive use of phones. On the other hand, our wonderful little computers offer tools that would astonish my parents. For instance, Cornell’s amazing eBird app enables beginning birders to learn by leaps and bounds.
My wish, however, is that people would limit the use of their phones whenever they are in a natural environment. How can you appreciate the dawn songs of ruby-crowned kinglets or white-throated sparrows if your head is full of rap music? It is impossible to relish the beauty of a sunset over the ocean if you are banging out emails. In a world that bombards us with all kinds of stimuli, what could be more inspiring than sitting on a ridge enjoying the awesome silence of the Milky Way?
As a child I enjoyed camping trips to lovely places in New York and Pennsylvania. In summer we would jam the Corvair station wagon full of gear and the five of us would play the license plate game all the way north to Ontario’s stunning Algonquin Provincial Park. I remember fishing from a rowboat in Pog Lake, listening to the breeze through the white pines. After dinner we gathered around the campfire, listening to owls and wolves, hoping the raccoons wouldn’t mount another night raid on our provisions. Some nights we drifted off outside on our sleeping bags during the Perseid meteor shower.
The Japanese are credited with describing a form of relaxation and healing that has been translated to “forest bathing.” I prefer a less squishy name, so we can use the Japanese term itself: shinrin-yoku. The Cleveland Clinic website describes this as immersing yourself in the forest, but it could be any natural setting away from the din of modern life. There are three components to the practice:
1. Yugen — being so keenly aware of the wonder around you that the deep emotions you feel cannot be expressed in words.
2. Komorebi — fully appreciating shades of light, shapes, and colors, such as sunlight filtering through the leaves of a tree.
3. Wabi sabi — celebrating the sheer beauty of the imperfection and impermanence of the circle of life.
Medical professionals and mental health counselors now prescribe such natural meditations as a form of relaxation and healing. Studies are ongoing to fully characterize the medical benefits of the practice, but anyone who has rested on a quiet stretch of sand listening to waves lap on the beach can attest to its benefits. It does not require a psychotherapy appointment to figure out that a few minutes of downtime just might help to heal what ails you.
Trail builder extraordinaire Don Miskill was kind enough to share an email from his friend Donna Salko, a gifted birder and photographer. Donna had been sitting near the water at Mitchell Field when she purposefully put away her phone to just listen and observe. In a little more than two hours, Donna was lucky enough to watch a lovely field bird, the bobolink, and some eiders along the shore. A herring gull worried a clamshell, trying to figure out how to release the juicy morsel inside.
Bumblebees worked the flowering plants nearby, pollinating and collecting material to sustain the hive through the winter. Another pollinator, the beautiful American copper butterfly, flitted among the flowers. A skittish white-tailed doe appeared, keeping a careful eye on her perfect triplets. Donna was thrilled to experience these sights and more, capturing many of them with her camera, including the wonderful shot accompanying this column.
I have long been known to hike over the next ridge or scale the highest peak in the area, just to see what lies beyond. Quiet time afield during annual migrations or sitting by a wetland can be magical. Put down your iPhone and give it a go.
