Shinrin-yoku: Forest Bathing in My Own Front Yard

 

by Nancy Corson Carter

Fascinated by current interest in Shinrin-yoku, I learned that the term emerged in Japan in the 1980s to describe a physiological and psychological exercise, a form of ecotherapy.  The purpose was to “offer an eco-antidote to tech-boom burnout and to inspire residents to reconnect with and protect the country’s extensive forests.”¹      

Forest bathing, as it is commonly called, can be the reason for people to travel to faraway places like New Zealand or Costa Rica and hire specialized guides, or it can be as simple as walking in any natural environment near you and allowing yourself to relax and consciously open your senses to what is around you.

I’ve found that my delight in the natural world often increases as I wander with my camera, and it can be in a place as near as my garden.

When we first moved into our home, I saw some plants in the little garden strip behind the house that were consistently gnawed down to the nubs. I decided to transplant them into the newly fenced front garden. Thus, I was introduced to hostas, no longer just “deer candy.”  When they grew their lovely leaves and later their flower stalks, I was fascinated. Over the next few years, I planted new kinds until a lovely variegated circle grew in the shade of our porch-side magnolia.

I discovered how much I enjoyed following their yearly cycle and began taking photos of it.

Here are a few photos that illustrate what I consider a kind of “time-lapse” pleasure in the “forest bathing” seasons with these beautiful plants. 

I imagined the just-rising plants as performing a graceful Thai “fingernail dance" and the unfurling of beautifully formed leaves in colors of greens and blues with some patterning as another dance with billowing skirts unwinding and twirling like Spanish dancers. 

The elements of light, wind, rain, and the seasonal cycle toward flowering marked the beguiling dance of a life cycle they represented as a whole, with, finally, the disintegration of the leaves (probably nibbled to lace by voles, rabbits, and other animals who could crawl under our fence for a summer’s end feast), and their final descent through the autumn and winter back into the Earth.

As I’ve worked on this collection, I suddenly realized that I have, in my own humble way, copied what the famous photographer Edward Steichen did in his later years with a shad-blow tree in his yard—take multiple shots of a beloved subject throughout its life throughout the year (or more), enjoying its beauty as a kind of contemplative practice.

The beauty of nature and its uplifting sense of Creation as a gift we are part of, to enjoy and to care for, is a constant theme of many of the Psalms. See, for example, the lines from Psalm 104, which open the landmark report RESTORING CREATION FOR ECOLOGY AND JUSTICE, adopted by the 1990 GA of the Presbyterian Church USA

1Sunny Fitzgerald, National Geographic online, October 18, 2019, “The Secret to Mindful Travel? A Walk in the Woods.”

Nancy Corson Carter, professor emerita of humanities at Eckerd College, has published THREE poetry books, Dragon Poems The Sourdough Dream Kit, and  A Green Bough:  Poems for Renewal (most recent) and three poetry chapbooks. Some of her poems, drawings, and photos appear in her nonfiction book, Martha, Mary, and Jesus: Weaving Action and Contemplation in Daily Life, and in her memoir, The Never-Quite-Ending War: a WWII GI Daughter's Stories. Website: nancycorsoncarter.com