Full Circle

The beauty of the forest

The Forest Has Been Calling Me My Whole Life

My deep love of the forest has been ingrained in my soul for as long as I can remember.

As a child growing up in Georgia during the 1960s and early 1970s, I came of age before "stranger danger" became part of everyday conversation. Before stories of the big bad wolf or wicked witches made us question the safety of the woods. Being afraid of the lush green shade that offered refuge from the sweltering July heat was simply unheard of.

For my four sisters and me, summer days usually began with our mother's familiar instruction:

"Get outside and stay there until I call you for lunch!"

I cannot imagine my childhood without the forest of tall Georgia pines that bordered our subdivision. Our backyard became the gathering place for neighborhood children whose mothers had issued similar marching orders. We spent entire days outdoors creating adventures, solving imaginary problems, and exploring every corner of the woods.

At the time, I thought our mother simply wanted us out of the house. Someone was always in trouble. Someone was always testing her patience. But now, after raising three daughters of my own and doing a great deal of inner-child healing, I see those years through a different lens.

My perspective has softened.

Raising five strong-willed, independent, empathetic, rebellious young girls could not have left much room for peace and quiet. Especially when carrying burdens and wounds that had never been healed.

She did the best she could with the tools she had.

What I once viewed as banishment, I now recognize as survival.

And for that, I am grateful.

Thank God for the forest.

Anyone who has lived through the heat and humidity of the Deep South knows you learn to adapt. Our energetic games—bike riding, kickball, tag—were reserved for the cooler morning hours. As temperatures climbed, we retreated into the woods to play robbers, cowboys and Indians, and countless games born from imagination.

I remember feeling grateful for the cool refuge provided by those towering pines.

What I didn't know then was that they were offering much more than shade.

They were offering healing.

Had I understood that as a child, I might have invited my mother to join us beneath those trees. Her tired heart could have benefited from their medicine too.

It's a shame it takes us so long to remember who we are—and how to heal.

The forest has always called to me.

Even when I wasn't fully aware of it.

In high school, I enrolled in a forestry program. Two class periods spent outdoors sounded far more appealing than sitting in a traditional classroom. I needed electives, wasn't allowed to play drums in the school band because girls weren't permitted to, and had little interest in sports.

Forestry was perfect.

We learned to identify trees. We climbed using gaffs and safety belts. We studied forest management and ecology.

I loved every minute of it.

Still, I didn't understand why I felt so drawn to the trees.

Life has a funny way of leaving clues.

My first husband was building a tree trimming and removal business when we met. I loved watching him climb. I loved hearing him identify different species.

But I also felt something unexpected.

Sadness.

Every time a tree came down, I felt it.

At the time, I thought I was imagining things. Looking back, I realize I wasn't. I was sensing loss. I was feeling grief.

Today, at 61 years young, I finally understand the depth of my connection to trees, forests, mountains, streams, and wild places.

This journey into the practice of sylvotherapy and forest immersion has been both healing and enlightening. When we intentionally slow down and engage all of our senses, something remarkable happens.

The restoration is real.

Walking through the forest is one experience.

Stopping beneath a towering canopy and looking upward is another entirely.

Stand still.

Notice the strength of the trees. The storms they have weathered. The resilience they embody.

Take a slow breath.

Inhale the fragrances of pine, hemlock, spruce, earth, and rain.

Run your hands across the bark. Feel the texture of leaves and needles. Notice the moisture in the air and the complexity of the living ecosystem surrounding you.

Then listen.

Really listen.

The caw of a crow.

The hum of a dragonfly.

The whisper of wind moving through the leaves overhead.

Close your eyes.

Breathe again.

Stand quietly and allow yourself to receive whatever wisdom the forest offers.

Trust that the medicine your soul needs may already be present.

This practice has brought me a level of peace I never knew was possible. Breathing in the forest air, tasting its freshness, and fully immersing myself in the present moment has changed me.

Some people may think that's strange.

A little eccentric.

And that's okay.

Because I have walked among the trees.

I have spoken to them.

And in their own way, they have spoken back.

They have been calling me my entire life.

Preparing me.

Teaching me.

Guiding me back to myself.

The healing is real. It is tangible. It is profound.

My heart is full.

I have come full circle.

And I cannot wait to share what comes next.

Thank you for walking this path with me.

Stay tuned.

— Millie
Founder, Elemental Pathways Wholistic Wellness