City Girl Lost in a Tranquil Forest

Finding peace in the redwoods

My love of nature conflicts with my disdain for constant solitude. I am lost in the woods. I sit on our kitchen deck, listening to the babbling creek below wend its path from the mountains to the sea. The meditative chant of the water soothes me as it cantillates rhythmically over the rocks. I breathe in the deep clean smell of the redwood trees as they warm in the almost-summer sun, mixing with the green bouquet of ferns and mossy rocks and the slightest trace of animal musk. A calm breeze soothes me. As the trees dance gently, they exude their woody earth scent, like a diffuser stick drawing out the magnificent aroma percolating in the Earth. The raw, peaty scent of the coniferous giants centers me. It reminds me of that high I get when I smell freshly ground Sumatra beans brewing in the morning. The mid-afternoon sun pulls at the shadows from the forest floor. The tall canopy provides cooling shade while mottled slivers of sunlight bounce off the sparkling jade-colored leaves. The cloudless, deep blue sky meets my eyes through the jagged, furry arms of the redwoods. I breathe in the fresh coastal air. I feel my body relax, nestled at Gaia’s gentle bosom. At this moment, I feel peace.

I am trying to find tranquility and create harmony with my new life here in the Santa Cruz Mountains but often succumb to feeling ill at ease, out of place, lonely. My husband’s job brought us here last Christmas. My husband belongs here as if he sprouted from a redwood tree. I came along for the adventure and, of course, for love. That’s the easy part. I get lost in a moment here and trip out on the beauty, the smells, and the clean, soothing air like the softest baby blanket. But alas, the meditative creek lends my ear to silence, absence, and isolation. We have no neighbors in sight. Human interaction requires driving.

The mountain people are friendly. Beautiful hippies, introverts, gardeners, artists, small-town folks, salt-of-the-earth blue-collar families, Silicon Valley techies, yoga moms, and old goats scatter across my daily reel. They’re camouflaged, though. Or maybe I am. Do they not see me? I can’t seem to connect with them. They recede into the tree line like woodland nymphs holding dear to the secrets of the forest. I stand alone, dumbfounded by the beauty and loneliness of it all.

When I venture out to seek community, I am met by the confines and sit-stillness of a car. This is a source of stress, frustration, and depression for me. I try to train myself to think positively, live in the moment. I make use of the interminable daily drives by listening to Eckhart Tolle explain to me the Power of Now. I would prefer to listen to NPR, but we get mostly static here in the mountains. I switch between the Monterey and San Francisco stations and relish the familiar, comforting voices as I happen along a clear spot.

I wish I felt satisfied by the silence of the woods, but I do not. The constant echo of solitude chokes me. My oxygen is in the city. Cycling, walking, and running are my preferred transportation. I breathe with the pulse of humanity, in all its vulgar filth. It’s beautiful here, and I love the woods; however, living squirreled away in them does not come naturally to me. Weeklong hiking and camping adventures or renting a cabin for a month in summer would be closer to the mark. But I do live here, in Paradise, for years to come. So I tell myself to take stock, be grateful for the gifts I’ve been given, and find a path to inner peace and happiness. Even if not for me, for my son, who is decidedly a tree nymph himself.

I am learning that I must cultivate happiness from inside myself because happiness is not inherent to my surroundings. I am seeking inspiration to make the lifestyle shift from nature-loving — but not living — city girl to mountain mama. I don’t have the energy to battle the discomfort of isolation every day, but most days, I put forth an effort, and usually, each day is better than the one before it. As I take control of what I can and alter my expectations realistically to meet this still unfamiliar lifestyle, I am finding a surer sense of wellbeing.

Even if I can no longer walk, run, and cycle anywhere, I can make the drives worthwhile. I bought a state parks pass so that my son and I have easy access to hiking trails when we can find willing and able hiking partners. We’ve also become regulars at a toddler yoga class in Santa Cruz. We often drop by the local swimming hole to splash around and drive into town to walk and imagine ourselves part of the community.

My husband and I are slowly planning our garden for harvest next year, which we’ll plant once we put up a proper deer fence. We didn’t establish a garden this year for fear of inviting prey animals that might attract mountain lions that might consider human toddlers to be a delicacy. For now, we tend mainly to the potted herbs we grow on our deck. We did plant lots of lavender and native flowers for our bees, though, which we brought with us from the east coast. Here, I maintain my fantasy of someday becoming an urban semi-permaculturalist while not entirely embracing the more beastly challenges of the forest.

I dance and twirl with my hula-hoop every day on our deck surrounded by redwoods. I dance like nobody is watching because indeed nobody is, except for maybe a mountain lion. Our deck above the babbling creek is also an ideal place to write and reflect, especially when the cool afternoon shade coincides with my son’s naptime. Maybe I’ll finally get back to that childhood memoir I haven’t been writing for five years.

I’m getting to know myself with new capabilities and am developing tools for combatting anguish. I push myself to be physically and mentally active, engaging my son as a partner in this forest adventure. I spend most of my days outside, drinking in the magical elixir of the forest, breathing the coastal mountain air, listening to the flowing creek. The grounding smells of the redwood forest suffuse my senses. I see the beauty around me and feel myself not just communing with nature, but being nature. At this moment, I don’t have to drive anywhere. The afternoon shade soothes my skin. I listen to the surrounding nature sing its mellifluous ode to Paradise; I am humbled by Earth, and I feel at peace.