I Went to The Woods Because…

With apologies to Thoreau, A Singularly Sensitive® Photo Essay

I went to the woods this past week because I wished to live deliberately. But not Spartan-like. My family and I didn’t live in the woods as much as spend some time in a well-appointed cabin. Beyond the sight or sound of neighbors, our ears rang with the silence. In this slice of Potter County, Pennsylvania, the old-growth trees of the Susquehannock State Forest dwarfed us.

Waist-high ferns and giant trees delighted our 5’7” son.

During our time in the woods, I did live deep and suck out the marrow of life. It was exactly what my sensitivity desired: quiet, solitude, connection to natural rhythms. I am grieving the fact that we’ve left. My true home—the place where I feel at home, at ease, at one with myself—is somewhere far more remote than my actual suburban residence.

Lest you get the wrong impression, you should know that I’m a self-taught outdoorswoman. Although I grew up in rural Pennsylvania, my parents felt strongly that modern conveniences were not to be sacrificed during a rare vacation. In their minds, camping and hiking were for kids, for scouts, and for eccentrics, not sensible folks such as they were.

But I’ve always been drawn to spending time in nature. As a kid, I studied up on survival skills, reread my copy of Walden until the pages fell out, and envisioned hiking the Appalachian trail. I learned some tips from scouting. I even took a hiking class in college, satisfying a physical education requirement with a weekly excursion to a state forest. We’d be dropped off in small groups, rather unceremoniously, with a compass, a topographical map, and a reminder to stay together until we reached our meeting place. Our night hike remains one of my favorite memories of college, the wide sky pressing onto us in a swampy meadow.

This, I thought as I sat listening to a silence interrupted by bullfrogs and a gentle breeze, is what I was made for.

To this day, I don’t exactly know what I meant by that sentiment. But I felt at home in the woods. And I still feel that way when I’m in a remote, quiet setting, far from the noise and the energy of people. I can breathe, let my guard down, be at ease. I feel my connection to all of creation. The universe reminds me of its vastness, and I revel in my tiny place in it.

My family vacation to the woods recreated some of that magic for me. And since so many of us big-hearted people are aching for relief from all that’s coming at us, I’d like to share this photo essay with you.

You see, I’m not convinced that words alone would spark the same awe and wonder in you as I was privileged to experience this week. So much of being in nature is about sensory experiences. And since I haven’t figured out how to capture the smell of the woods for Substack and I didn’t record any sounds well enough to share, photos will have to serve this purpose.

One thing that you may not know is that, earlier in life, I was a freelance photographer. I adore landscape and nature photography. Back in the day, I would have spent this trip focused on composing a handful of technically superior images. This way of photographing nature, however, takes me out of the experience of being in nature. And that was counter to my intentions with this trip.

Since my goal was to be present, mindful, and aware of my surroundings, I opted to take pictures in the spirit of mindful photography, where the emphasis is on seeing in new ways and being in the moment. I took my full kit of camera gear, but never unpacked it. My iPhone camera isn’t half bad (and far lighter). These photos are technically imperfect, and I don’t know if they’ll inspire you, but they are potent reminders of what I experienced. They are a way for me to bring the woods home.

I hope you’ll get a sense of that experience, too. Enjoy these photos and, if you’re so included, leave a comment with a photo of the natural world where you are. I think we can all use that reprieve!

“We do not go to the green woods and crystal waters to rough it. We go to smooth it. We get it rough enough at home, in towns and cities.”
~ George Washington “Nessmuk” Sears

Historical Marker, Leonard Harrison State Park, Tioga County, Pennsylvania

The Pine Creek Gorge, familiarly known as the Pennsylvania Grand Canyon; view to the north from Leonard Harris State Park

Pine Creek Gorge looking south from Otter View on the Overlook Trail, Leonard Harrison State Park.

“Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wildness is a necessity.” ~ John Muir, The Wild Parks and Forest Reservations of the West

Part of the awe I find in hiking trails like this one in the Allegheny National Forest is contemplating how many feet have walked this path, in what seasons, in what mental states. In my escape to wildness, I feel a kinship with humanity that can be harder to find in everyday life.

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods;
There is a rapture on the lonely shore;
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar;
I love not man the less, but Nature more. 

~ Lord Byron

A pathless meadow we didn’t dare disturb. Allegheny National Forest.

Tall, tall trees were on my vacation wishlist. This stand in the Timberdoodle Flats, Allegheny National Forest, was especially beautiful to me for its carpet of ferns, those plants which have survived eons of evolution. Human history is a flash in the pan by comparison, and I appreciate the ferns reminding me of that.

“You do not have to sit outside in the dark. If, however, you want to look at the stars, you will find that darkness is necessary. But the stars neither require nor demand it.” ~ Annie Dillard, Teaching a Stone to Talk: Expeditions and Encounters

Our cabin was just outside Cherry Springs State Park, known for some of the darkest stargazing skies on the eastern seaboard. Unfortunately, clouds, intermittent rain, and the threat of storms kept us at our cabin. However, we were able to see some gorgeous skies in between showers. Even on a “bad” night for this area, we saw more and brighter stars than on our best night at home outside of Pittsburgh.

Clouds backlit by the Milky Way, shortly before the full moon rose. We’ve seen photos of the skies on clear, moonless nights. We will be back to experience that in person!

“After you have exhausted what there is in business, politics, conviviality, love, and so on – have found that none of these finally satisfy, or permanently wear – what remains? Nature remains.” ~ Walt Whitman, Specimen Days

The Allegheny River at the Kinzua Dam Reservoir, Allegheny National Forest. A troubled history of land appropriation and displacement of native peoples stands in contrast to the beauty of what this reservoir area offers today.

We visited the headwaters of the Allegheny River near our rental cabin in Potter County. Then saw it at Kinzua Dam. The same river flows past our home in Pittsburgh until it joins the Monogahela, forming the Ohio River. In turn, the Ohio flows into the Mississippi River and out into the Gulf of Mexico. I wonder what tales the water might tell of its journey, if we had ears to listen?

Nature remains.

I take solace in this thought and wish you a Singularly Sensitive trip through the landscape around (and within) you. 🩵