Silent observation of nature is an old and familiar practice. In Walden, Thoreau wrote, “You only need to sit still long enough in some attractive spot in the woods that all its inhabitants may exhibit themselves to you by turn.” In the early 1900s the noted naturalist and wildlife writer, Earnest Thompson Seton, promoted the idea of selecting a quiet spot in the woods, sitting still, waiting, and allowing nature to reveal itself. This technique, followed by outdoor enthusiasts and scientists, came to be known as “Seton Watching.”

During the 1980s the closely related practice of shinrin yoku or “taking in the forest atmosphere” was developed in Japan. Participants stroll along wooded paths beneath the forest canopy, mindfully and fully opening all five senses. Research on this Forest Breathing approach has documented its stress relieving and rejuvenating effects. Shinrin yoku trails and trainers are common in Japan and spreading around the world as people are drawn towards this health giving form of nature experience.

Jon Young in his recent book, What the Robin Knows: How Birds Reveal the Secrets of the Natural World, uses the term “sit spot’ to describe a special place in nature that you return to again and again and where you sit for an hour, engage your senses, observe your surroundings, listen to the ever informative language of the birds, and develop a deep nature connection.

Several years ago I found myself longing for a fuller experience of nature. I had been spending more time hiking, biking and kayaking. And as good as these “moving-through-nature” activities were, and as many hours of enjoyment and stunning moments of beauty as they provided, some part of me sensed that there must be more. Sometimes when walking down a shaded forest trail or paddling across a placid lake I felt like a tourist just skimming the surface of the experience.

Jon Young’s description of the sit spot made sense to me. I was intrigued by the way he presented a structure for nature observation, the idea of dedicating a full hour, dividing the hour into 10 minute segments, taking notes on all that was observed during each segment, and listening to and learning the language of the birds.

As I considered his ideas an image for my own sit spot came to mind, a wooded peninsula along the shoreline of a lake in a nearby state park.   As if called by an inner urge, I made a commitment to go to that spot for an hour a week for a full year.

Without any preparation and even though it was the middle of winter I decided to start my project immediately, let the process unfold; figure things out as I went along. But then, I found it hard to get started, hard to carve out the first hour. And I fretted that once in the woods I would be bored, cold and uncomfortable.

Finally overcoming this internal resistance, I headed out on a cold gray mid-February morning. During that very first session my worries evaporated like morning mist melted by the rising sun. As my mind settled and my senses opened, it felt as if a veil had been lifted from my vision. I began to see colors and shapes and forms that I hadn’t noticed. I began to hear a symphony of sounds, the wind gusting and fading, the branches whooshing and rattling, the winter birds calling and singing. I felt the fresh chill of the wind on my face and inhaled the piney-snowy-earthy fragrance of the forest.

During subsequent sessions I continued to see more and gradually started to perceive dynamic relationships between the animals, birds, plants, earth, and weather. I sensed the relentless and powerful flux and flow of adaptation. I felt a deepening connection to and immersion in the world of nature.

My sit spot hour became the best hour of my week. My year-long commitment took on a life of its own. I woke up earlier, stayed longer, and learned more. My sense of self, my view of place in the scheme of nature, began to shift, develop, and evolve.

After each session I wrote down my observations and reflections in a journal. These journal entries turned into chapters, chapters that with the help and guidance of editors and friends grew into a book. The book, The Stillness of the Forest: A Year of Change at Prompton Lake, is due to be published by Shanti Arts in 2018.

This blog is a continuation of my journeys into forest stillness. I plan to return to my favorite sit spots from time to time. Yes, I have several of them now. I plan to travel to new sit spots in different states and countries, in varying climates and environments. I hope to invite others to join me on my forays into forest and field, to share the experience of nature watching, and to tap into the richness of how their minds and sensibilities experience the realm of nature.

These blog entries will be my way of sharing my enjoyment of, learning through, and hopefully continuing to grow with nature. It is my hope that these entries might offer you, the reader, moments of enjoyment and encouragement to seek out your own nature experiences.