Overcoming

when connecting in nature leads to more than you expected

Welcome to Nature Moments, where we are making the world a better place, one nature connection at a time. Be curious, be amazed - and then do it again! 💚

It’s possible that, as often as I write about how connecting in nature can change lives, I don’t write often enough about the actual people whose lives are changed :)

But a weekend hike in Acadia reminded me just how impactful these nature connections can be. Not just people connecting with nature, but people connecting with each other in nature. And I can’t wait to tell you about it!

There’s a reason why people bond over group hikes and river floats and camping weekends. A reason why people are drawn back, again and again, to meet up on the trail or on the water or around the campfire.

Getting outside together connects people to each other in ways they don’t experience in other settings. They may not be able to quite put it into words, or specifically notice what made it different, but they know that something was extra-special and they want to do it again.

Connecting with nature will change your life. Connecting in nature will change your lives, together!

sidebar

Whenever I go out on the trail these days, I always wear my Rise Resist Repeat t-shirt and/or hat. Because the thing is, with fascists in power, nature is no more safe than any of the rest of us, and I want to do my best to always be expressing that.

This particular morning, we stopped at a coffee shop on our way out of town, and I sat down in a chair to wait for our order. I saw an older man with a cane walking my way, so I stood and moved to the side to free up the chair for him. He sat down and said, “Thanks.”

Then, glancing at my t-shirt, he said, “So what’s the meaning behind that, Rise Resist Repeat?”

In my area, most older white men are MAGA, but I wasn’t in a sugar-coating mood just then. So I said, “Well, with fascists running the government, it’s a reminder that every day is an act of resistance.” He paused for a long second.

And then he said, “Well, that’s the truth,” and asked me where I got it. :)

---

Anyway, our journey began at a trailhead that opens just across from the parking lot for Acadia National Park’s enormously popular Sand Beach. It was my oldest son’s last weekend before college, and he wanted to climb the Beehives together.

The thing about the Beehives is that one side is a traditional trail to the peak of one of Acadia’s iconic pink granite outcrops. But the other side scales the granite face in a series of steep switchbacks and steel rungs-and-ladders. That side of the trail is one-way. You can go up, but you better be ready, because you can’t change your mind half-way and climb back down.

My husband is afraid of heights. He’s really good at managing it, having dealt with it from childhood, and having spent a number of years working on roofing jobs in spite of it. And I am just a really cautious climber, taking my time and choosing all my steps and holds carefully, always a three-points-of-contact, slow-and-steady-arrive-alive type.

Our kids, of course, are mountain goats who have been pushing the boundaries of our comfort zones since their earliest trail days, when we would take them out on weekends to discover their mountain-legs among the towering heights of the Mount Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest in the Cascade Mountains of Washington State.

The sum total of this equation is that the kids go on ahead, stopping periodically to wait for us to catch up, and Joe and I slowly but surely come along behind.

So my first indication that anything was out of the ordinary was a little flurry of encouraging comments drifting down from the switchback overhead. “You’re fine, take your time! Take all the time you need! It’s okay, you’ve got this.”

When I peeked over the next level, I saw a woman sitting just off the side of the trail, with her husband, waving hikers past. My kids were tucked into a niche next to her, waiting for us to catch up. She was afraid of heights, looking at a particularly narrow next section of the trail, and not sure if she could keep going.

As my oldest son got ready to cross the ledge, he turned back to the lady and said, “Ma’am, I’m really comfortable up here. I’ve been doing this since I was a kid. I can show you how to cross this part really safely, step-by-step, if you want.” And she hesitated, and she looked at his face, and she said, “Yeah, okay, I think I can do that.”

My son eased her along little by little. “Step here. Hold here. This tree is really sturdy. You’re almost there.”

(And yes, this tree was really, really sturdy. These fantastic, gnarled old pines cling to the rock face like steel cables. You can see how years of use, hundreds of passing hikers, have worn the bark of this specimen smooth as a baluster, a safe anchor along a precarious path, a touchstone connecting travelers to the mountain - and to each other.)

The rest of us gave them space to get ahead, and then folded in behind. For the rest of the climb, we could hear them above us. “Nice one! You’ve got this. Yeah, just like an ordinary ladder. It’s really solid, you’re doing great.” My younger two added their words of encouragement from behind, forming a little chorus rising like thermals up the pink granite face.

I topped the last rise to see this lady, sitting triumphant with her husband, absolutely beaming as she enjoyed a well-earned drink of water in the shade of a weathered pine.

“Congratulations!” I said. “You did such an amazing job, what an accomplishment! That fear is a real physical force, and conquering it is huge!”

She was overflowing with joy. Other nearby hikers paused to listen as she shared her story, how paralyzed with fear she had been, fear for herself, but mostly the nagging, relentlessly growing fear that something terrible would happen to her husband. She kept trying to stuff it back down, but she hit that ledge and it had her stuck. How she hadn’t been sure what she was going to do, and then my son offered to walk with her, step by step, and she felt such a sense of calm, maybe because he was so calm, maybe because he reminded her of her own son, who was always reaching out a helping hand to others. And how she hoped she hadn’t been a burden on our family hike.

Damn. That last bit had me blinking back tears as I assured her, “Of course not! We enjoy a good hike, but connecting with someone on the trail is extra special. It’s not a burden, it’s a bonus.”

The victory was radiating out from her with the intensity of a solar flare, and you could feel an energy that would be a long time dissipating and would leave an enduring afterimage, probably for the rest of her life. It’s powerful stuff, and it stays with us on a visceral level that many experiences seek to replicate and few can match.

One thing I will tell you. There is no feeling like hitting an absolute mountain in nature - whether physical or emotional - and then finding a path to the top of it. It’s not a feeling you’re going to find in the gym, or on the screen, or on the corporate ladder. Nature amplifies both challenges and victories in a way that we are often seeking in other settings even though it’s just waiting for us, right there, outside.

Connecting in nature is good for you. Connecting with each other in nature is even better. And it can change the world!