We went hiking at Burch Reserve yesterday, a gorgeous Fall day wasted by so many of our neighbors watching overfed behemoths bashing one another's brains on the gridiron.
In fairness, many of our other neighbors were at the Warner Parks across the road. The Reserve is a relatively recent addition to Nashville's sumptuous recreational park and greenway system, and is still relatively unknown or disregarded by park patrons. We had it largely to ourselves. It was lovely.
I think the enduring memory of our afternoon, though, will be the little picnic we had out on the back porch of the Nature Center when we finished. There was a mom and her son and daughter. The little girl, maybe five or six and uninhibited in the delightful way of children who've not been over-warned against stranger danger, settled in under the nearby bench and announced to us that they were playing tag and she was hiding. Then she hollered to her brother, who of course declared "found you"... at which point the little girl ran to find a better hiding spot. "No fair!"
Maybe you had to be there, but the moment was for me an epitome of childhood. It captured the freedom from care it seems fewer and fewer kids get to experience because their parents can't be troubled to pull away from their screens and spend a little quality time with their children in the open air on a glorious autumn day.
That goes for all of us, at every age. It seems like half or more of my students complain of chronic and debilitating anxiety, and not coincidentally also have lost their tickets to nature. They need what the Japanese call a forest bath, shin-rin yoku. They need to bathe regularly. We all do.
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