I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach. ”“ Henry David Thoreau

Is it a coincidence that these woods are often as still as the inside of a church? At times, the silence here is so marked that it is almost as if nature ordained it that way, that nothing should mar the serenity and the calm of this wooded hillside.

Despite the occasional sound of traffic from the main road or the growl of a chainsaw coming through the woods, nature triumphs, for the trees provide a buffer against any noise that would intrude upon this serenity. For it is only during those still moments that the lessons she teaches are made audible, heard more with the heart than with the sense intended for that purpose.

It’s almost impossible for one’s values not to be reduced to their common denominators when surrounded by so much stark simplicity. When I first came here, I was still greatly influenced by all those extraneous demands and obligations that characterize life as we know it. But gradually, my focus narrowed, helped greatly along by the forbearance I saw in the trees all around me that never seemed to stray from their intended path yet were none the worse for it. I learned to tell time by the sun’s slant, learned which clouds portended rain, and knew when spring had arrived by the first plaintive sound of the peepers.

Getting ready for winter took on a new meaning, that went beyond pulling out a heavier coat and boots and retrieving the ice scraper out from under the truck seat. It meant keeping shovels handy in several locations, along with gravel for the icy hill. It involved putting studded snow tires on the truck, and storing water, candles, canned foods, and fresh batteries against power outages. It meant spending the better part of October and November cutting, splitting, and stacking wood, raking leaves up against the foundation, taping plastic to the windows against the cold, buying birdseed in bulk, and being alert for the first smell of snow in the air.

A kinship with the earth and her processes develops slowly and imperceptibly here, and things that were never important before take on a supreme importance. It is an apprenticeship of sorts, this following along and observing as the seasons unfold and exert their influences. But it is one through which much knowledge is gained and from which many simple truths are revealed.

What some seek all their lives has been here all along, if only they are willing to make do with less and allow nature to fill in the blanks of their boredom. For what does any of us need beyond food, water, shelter, and warmth? Anyone who spends enough time in a wooded place comes to know this in ways not possible before, if only because he or she is surrounded by so much evidence.

When the world and its ways start to intrude into my consciousness, as it sometimes does, I stop whatever I’m doing and go out into my leaf-strewn yard where I stand at the edge of the woods and wait. It never takes long before I’m comforted, never long at all before I am able to go back to what I was doing, safe once again in the knowledge that there is indeed something out there greater than I, that will keep me upright and persevering, much as it has all these trees for all these long years.

— Rachel Lovejoy is a freelance writer living in Lyman. She can be reached via e-mail at rlovejoy84253@roadrunner.com.