By Bettina Freese

I took my son to the woods the week I brought him home from the NICU. I was trying to make up for all of the bright lights and chaos that we experienced after he prematurely left the womb. He spent his first week in the NICU amidst the cacophony of beeping monitors and a tangle of IVs and electrical cords. I wanted to undo all of that with heavy doses of nature, offering him solace through the calm of the trail.

I wanted him to smell the forest floor, to feel warm breezes of spring bouquets wafting across his brand new skin, and to replace the beeping with the twittering of migrating birds. These are the things I was certain would help him grow quickly from his tiny 3 pounds and 13 ounces. It was the most womb-like place that I could think of.

I tucked him into a sling and headed up a fire road, ecstatic to be out after several weeks of bedrest. I wanted the fresh air (despite coal-fired power plant pollution) to replace the stale and stagnant hospital air still hanging in our lungs. My pasty complexion needed an outdoor flush, and my brain ached for stillness.
He rhythmically bounced against my hip, lolling to sleep in a way I could only hope was reminiscent of the womb. Meanwhile, my five-year-old, Elijah, chattered about firefighters, swords, guns and pirate battles, entirely dismissing the fact that we were in the woods. I couldn’t even get him to look for bear caves.

As I looked around for a diversion from the usual topic of little-boy violence, I began noticing how much of the trees had been whacked away, gutting a wide path for a soon-to-be road. Gaping holes and spans of red dirt existed now where there was once dense forest. We stopped to sit on a log. I thought that if we sat still and had “quiet time,” (mommy’s favorite game) we could at least listen to what was left of the forest and breathe it in.

“Let’s listen for special sounds,” I said. “We’ll sit quietly for a little bit, and then we’ll talk about what we hear and see.”

I wanted to zone into that place that allows the brain to believe the body is actually a piece of moss growing on the forest floor. I wanted the baby to feel that vibe from us. We sat, listening for the rustle of tiny spring leaves, the scurrying of a squirrel.

“I hear an excavator,” he said excitedly. “And chain saws!”

My heart sank.

Of course that’s what he heard.

I set out again on another day, this time just myself and the baby. I went looking for a spot along the creek where I could nurse him before we hiked. I found a tree along the bank to lean back against, and we settled in for lunch. A few minutes later a woman hiked across the bridge in the distance and saw me. I know this because she was waving and hollering hello, going on about what a nice day it was. Now, I’m not of the kind of people who believe the forest is just for me. I even realize that if you want privacy, you probably should be in good enough shape to go deeper into the woods. However, if I see somebody having a moment in the woods, I try not to disturb it for them.

Next came a man hiking with his small dog. I sized him up. Did he see me? Was he going to talk to me? Would he come over here? Suddenly he didn’t look like the type to even be in the woods in the first place.
Of course I began thinking of the lunatic who recently murdered a few girls on the trail. That story got everybody talking about how dangerous it is to be in the woods by yourself if you’re a woman. This reaction upsets me. It reminds me of the e-mails scaring women into believing that they are always at risk of being raped and left for dead – ankles slashed from beneath the car at the gas station, perfume salesmen in mall parking lots anesthetizing naÔve women. They begin, “This one is serious, girls!”

These stories instill fear, which as a result emotionally cripples women, manifesting feelings of vulnerability, rather than empowerment. Just as I begin seeing lots more women hiking, mountain biking, and enjoying the woods, we are hushed back into our homes and into our pumps by these stories.

It saddens me to think of women afraid to visit the woods for some much-needed peace and quiet. Evil people who hurt others do exist in our world, but by far most of them lurk in the city, not the forest. The woods are far safer than the shopping mall.

Still, as I stood there with my baby, there was a part of me that felt very vulnerable. I had originally envisioned a dreamy lunch, nursing my baby by the creek, and now I was having an adrenalin rush looking around for a safe place to hide or run.

Fortunately, I returned to the woods last month for a blissful afternoon playing beside the creek. We found thousands of tadpoles in shallow water, some of them nearly frogs. “Maybe they’re having a meeting,” Elijah suggested. We saw hundreds of butterflies together, which was beautiful until we sickeningly realized their frenzy was over feces – enough to thrill any five-year-old. The paths were scattered with white trillium and dwarf iris, and the dogwoods were like afternoon fireworks. There were plenty of people enjoying the turn of season, but only in short bursts. We had many trails to explore. Elijah was enchanted by a lovely couple on horseback who stopped to let us stroke their horse’s soft noses and then gave Elijah treats so that he could feel their large wet lips eat from his hand. We waved goodbye as they forged the creek.

It’s okay to feel fear. It’s not okay to be paralyzed by it. My kids and I enjoyed a day together in the forest—and we’ll be back next weekend.