Natural Healing
I wish you could hear the breeze combing its fingers through the maple trees in my front yard right now. Mother Nature has a way of taking me to a happier place, sometimes serenity, if for only a handful of minutes. In the peace, in the rustle, in the fragrant air of pine and cedar, the tension in my mind and body loosens under her watch. It’s a perfect 73 degrees.
My favorite room in the house is my front porch, the space resting behind the hydrangea bush, which overlooks my garden and the forest adjacent. Yesterday as I was tapping on my laptop working on my book at my makeshift desk, a mewing elk called from not too far away. We peacefully coexist – minus the frog bullies. A tiny herd of three bucks and a doe has been lingering in my front yard recently, nibbling on the drooping fetterbush. The largest male and I looked curiously into each other’s eyes before he sauntered off, retreating into the depths of the forest. I wish he would have invited me to join him.
Staring at the woods from my front porch reminds me of a comment my former supervisor made after my husband died. “If it were me,” he said, “I’d take a year off and go camping.” There are innumerable places here in the Pacific Northwest to get lost in the bosom of life. The rivers and mountains, the ocean, lakes and wildlife – everything is so abundant here. Forests that stretch as far as your eye can see claim the mountains with their evergreens. If God had an active hand in this chapter in my life, I think He directed my path to Washington for a season of recovery. As luck would have it, my new home was crafted next to a patch of wild on the edge of town.
Work started early today, 7:30 am on a Saturday. Full rest continues to be inconsistent, and my narcolepsy has returned. At 2:30 pm, my body informed me that I was going to sleep. Instead of retreating to my bedroom, I reclined on a chaise in the backyard next to the wild herb garden and face planted.
My post-loss body shakes sometimes, like I’m vibrating from the inside. I’ve asked my daughters to place their hands on my back to feel it, but the hum escapes them. Lying in the sun this afternoon, I could feel the energy dispelling from my muscles. I was shaking uncontrollably, and closed my eyes. Arms and legs did not resist the rest. The smell of the sage and basil intensified in the summer heat. The rhythmic dark-eyed juncos swiftly sang me to sleep.
Upon waking to the chasing chatter of the hummingbirds and the trilling towhees, my jeans and shirt were baked through with a penetrating warmth. No shaking. No sweating. No furrow on my forehead. Fresh air came to me from between the massive branches of the forest, and without the luxury of a year-long escape, I was renewed in the Pacific Northwest in my own backyard.
July 18, 2026