Break the Box
Seriously, why did people stop enjoying nature? Camping, listening to birds singing, or just walking in a forest.
And you, my dear screen-bound reader. Look around. What do you see? I bet there are walls, and most likely – around you. Or a metal cage of a car or a bus. Or maybe even worse – underground (flashback of noise, crowds and absence of ventilation on hot summer days).
We sit in our concrete boxes (paying most of the salary to rent), staring at the screens full of colourful pixels. Our environments are so sterile, so safe, so unprovoking and curated. And we happily consume the content somebody generates for us all day instead of living our own lives.
Remember last time you were outdoors? And not in a local crowded park, where all plants are cut and put in order like chess pieces on a board. In the real outdoors, a proper forest for example. Can you still remember what it feels like—to actually be in nature?
I do.
When I was around 5-8, we lived in the countryside, in a village. We were growing food, had a bunch of rabbits, geese, chickens. And there was a tree in the middle of it all. No, The Tree. A gorgeous Tree, giving tiny but sweet pears, size of a plum, thousands of them – my favourite end of summer treat. The Tree was so massive (or I was so small), and I felt some kind of connection to it. I imagined it as my guardian, shielding me from rain and sun.
I could be playing under it all day with my toys (more like a box of trash by the modern standards, but kids always find creative ways). One time I made some tea from its leaves and cold water, feeling so grown up and wise drinking it from my bright yellow plastic cup.
It was almost 30 years ago. I haven’t been there since 8, but I really hope The Tree is still standing, bringing joy to somebody else.
And oh how I loved camp fires. Our family used to go “into nature” every other week or so in summer, and even in winter sometimes – usually going to some forest, sometimes on a river bank. I was always responsible for the campfire, foraging wood, starting the fire and maintaining it all day. Now I understand it was the smart “child labour” tactic, but I enjoyed it tremendously. Fire always mesmerised me.
We once came with friends, one of them was a head of a fire department. He saw my love of fire, and jokingly pointed to a big tree chunk with some roots and a hollow, and said: “if you can burn it all down – I’ll make you a head of all firefighters”. Oh he underestimated me. I brought all my knowledge and enthusiasm to it, making fire around the trunk and in the hollow, thinking through smart pathways for oxygen supply into the depth of it, planning which parts need more heat to do the job faster.
The tree was ashes, but I wasn’t made a firefighter, for better or worse. I kind of knew it was a joke, I was around 9 I suppose, but not that good picking up sarcasm. But it didn’t matter, I already got my reward – the pride in the accomplished hard task, feeling like a fire mage all day.
And what about you? Did you have anything like that? Even if not – it’s not too late to make the new memories. OK, I’m not saying everybody should become a forest dryad. But it’s not all or nothing, you can feel this connection, even if temporarily.
The photo on the top is my solo camping trip this summer. Just for one night, as it’s all the time I had this weekend. But that was definitely worth it.
If you are reading this post on a good sunny day – stop and ask yourself: “maybe it’s time to feel some sunshine on my skin?”
If you ever feel like reaching out — whether you have something to share, or just want to talk — I’d be happy to hear from you, stranger. This isn’t about followers. It’s about finding kindness and similar minded people in a loud world.