Into the Wild

Ever since I was little, I have loved to explore. I wanted to explore every inch of the Earth that I possibly could, and it seemed as if there was never enough time in the day for me to adventure. Having grown up in the secluded town of Lyndeborough, New Hampshire, I had miles upon miles of untouched land, right in my own backyard. I spent countless hours alone with my thoughts, wandering the near five acres of land that my family called home. More often than not, I would venture out beyond our property line, craving the mystery that the wilderness promised. Sometimes I’d pretend that I was one of the Boxcar Children, setting up my own little shelter in the woods and make-believing that I was the protagonist in my own little adventure novel. Other times, I’d wander aimlessly, taking in the changing leaves, mossy swamps, and smell of the earth. My mind would etch trodden pathways in the leaves, calling me to follow. With every step, the wilderness felt more and more like home.

I knew those woods like the back of my hand. Every creek, cave, and set of animal prints offered a sense of security, as if every whisper of the wind intended to ease my curious mind. When everything else in my life seemed so complicated, nature was always so simple. Whether or not I was different, nature never cared. It was an escape; a place where I could just be, coexisting with all forms of life, in celebration of what made us all so vastly different. It was something so beautiful to me; souls and beings from all walks of life coming together in perfect harmony. It was a whole new world of community that I felt like I could be a part of; and a place where I could just blend in, despite being the only one of my kind. Nevertheless, the wilderness knew I needed her. She held me when I cried, and seemingly triumphed with me over every victory. I never felt alone in nature, despite always coming to her as an individual. I loved to find quiet groves within the forest, detached from all signs of human life. There I would lie for hours, eyes closed, feeling gravity pull every inch of my body into the damp, fallen leaves. The smell of the crisp air filled my lungs with every inhale, as the weight of the world seemed to dissipate with each exhale.

Even as I got older and moved away from my childhood home, I found that no matter where life took me, I always came back to nature. Even though I no longer reside in that little town tucked away in the corner of New Hampshire, I knew that, no matter how far I ventured, I would always find new ways to come back home. Home, to me, was nature. I find peace in an afternoon stroll down unpopulated dirt roads. I can escape to the little patch of woods that exists behind my current home, channeling my inner child who used the wilderness to heal. The White Mountains offer solace when I need complete solitude, and there is no better feeling than breaking the treeline while summiting a four-thousand footer.

I learned a lot from nature over the years; she is what raised me. I wanted to be like her; to move through the world with the same power and purpose that the trees did, as they swayed in the wind and rain yet remained rooted to the earth, so firmly. I wanted to feel as free as the birds, flitting from tree to tree across the clear blue sky, almost as if they were painted there. The wilderness allowed me to take in every lesson nature had to offer. I learned the beauty in being different; that it was okay to feel that way sometimes. I knew that when times were tough, there was always a place for me to turn, that would accept me with open arms. Through nature I learned how to be strong like the redwoods in California. How to stand tall like the peaks in Colorado. I learned to roll with the punches life threw at me, like the tide in Florida. Ultimately the wilderness taught me that wherever I would go, nature had something valuable to teach me. Yet most importantly, nature taught me that despite all the wonder each region of the world has to offer, New Hampshire is where my roots are planted.