Walking Diaries #2 with Christina Hubbard

The Impact of Walking in the Quiet of Nature

Welcome to the Walking Diaries where each month a friend of mine will share a story/reflection/poem/photo essay from a walk they took. Through their words and pictures, they’ll show and tell what the walk meant to them, and how they grew from it. And with each diary shared, I hope you’ll be encouraged to lace up your shoes and put one foot in front of the other. 

Today I’m sharing a writing from my friend Christina Hubbard. Christina and I live two hours from each other but first met in Mississippi attending a week-long writing workshop. Her poetry immediately drew me in, but now I continually find myself refreshed by her writings that tend to an artist’s heart. Leave a comment with your thoughts, or perhaps share how you’re inspired to seek out the quiet of nature for a walk.

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I forget important things.

Yes, sometimes I forget my keys or turn off the oven, but those are trivial. I mean I forget significant things that affect how I enter the world each day. One of those is walking in nature’s quiet.

Recently, the noise of my life began to seep into my soul. Something felt off. Maybe it was the constant traffic going by my office window, the trains at night I still can’t get used to after three years, or the pings on my phone. Or was it deeper? Maybe it was the friendship that needed tending, some rather deep marital work, or the feeling I had lost the rank of “cool” with my son. My spiritual director tells me it’s a good practice to fill up my reservoir before things feel off. But sometimes I forget.

The memory popped in my brain on the day I really needed it---the recollection of a trail I hadn’t walked in several years. Only sixteen minutes from my house, this trail is a place my family found respite during an especially chaotic season. We even considered buying a house nearby. It’s a rare place where I can experience absolute quiet---except for birds, bugs, and nature sounds. On this trail, you can find meadows, forest, owls, deer, and cows. If I walk it in the middle of the day, chances are I will see and hear no one. 

So that afternoon, I put on my walking shoes, grabbed my puppy and his leash, and got in the car. On the way I recalled that my dog hadn’t ever really been out in the country before where this trail begins. Well then, I really must go, I told myself.

I parked at the trailhead. There was absolutely no one in the lot. Being alone in the country can be unsettling for a moment if you’re not used to it. I felt jarred by the absence of people for a few minutes and realized I couldn’t even remember the last time I was surrounded by complete silence. 

I hooked up my dog’s leash, and we began walking. For a moment, I allowed myself to take in the scenery: the trees, hills, and meadows in front of me. They were indeed beautiful to my eye, but what I heard was golden. I sighed aloud, “Oh my goodness! It’s so quiet! Thank you, God.” I took a deep breath. Then another. And another. Peace overwhelmed me. My breathing started to sync with my footfall.

There’s an interesting concept called forest bathing, which originated in Japan. Forest bathing involves walking in nature with intention and attentiveness as a person uses all of her senses to experience the beauty of the forest. No technology. No distractions. No hurry. It’s a chance to wake up to your environment, feel more connected to the world and yourself, and find grounding. 

That day I engaged in my own pseudo-forest bathing with a heavy dose of quiet and some other natural features. Even though the day was hotter than I expected, I could feel the silence permeate my bones. The only sounds I heard were birds, the wind in the trees, and some curious cows lowing in a field. My heartbeat began to calm. I felt the thoughts and sensations whirring in me slow to a hum.

Anne Frank wrote in her now famous diary,“The best remedy for those who are afraid, lonely or unhappy is to go outside, somewhere where they can be quite alone with the heavens, nature and God. Because only then does one feel that all is as it should be and that God wishes to see people happy, amidst the simple beauty of nature. As long as this exists, and it certainly always will, I know that then there will always be comfort for every sorrow, whatever the circumstances may be. And I firmly believe that nature brings solace in all troubles.”

It’s interesting that Anne wrote that while hiding for years in a cramped space with several adults. Sometimes my soul life feels like an overcrowded apartment. Noise and urgent things press in on every side. Being alone with nature and God while I walk regulates my inner compass toward beauty, good, and wholeness. When we let quiet and nature soothe our ills, clarity sprouts up in the soul. 

That walk wasn’t totally quiet.

My puppy met a very friendly cow and tugged incessantly on his leash as he explored the buffet of wild country smells. I could sense that even he was coming alive to the sights and smells he didn’t know were outside of his suburban territory. When we arrived home (me, feeling much more myself, and he tuckered out as only a puppy can be), I wrote myself a large reminder in my daily notebook: “Weekly Walks---take them often. Helps to sort all the stuff inside me. Evens out all the edges. Softens.”

Some things are too impactful to forget.

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Christina Hubbard is an internationally published writer and speaker. In her work, she mentors artist-leaders to live with courage and compassion. She is a graduate of the Renovaré Institute for Christian Spiritual Formation. Currently, she is working toward a Masters in Theological Studies with a concentration in Christianity and the Arts at Regent College in Vancouver, British Columbia. Christina lives in Kansas with her husband and two children in an old farmhouse and spends her time writing poetry, taking photos, and walking with Snoop, her King Charles Cavalier Spaniel puppy. Find her at christinahubbard.com.

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