Into the Wild

When we were in Scotland last summer we had the chance to visit the ethereal Fairy Pools on the Isle of Skye. You know how sometimes you drive to a remote place and you realize when you get there that everyone else (and their extended family complete with pets) wants to be there too? If you're coked up on anxiety like I often am, you might immediately worry that the experience will be lost in a throng of people, diesel engines, and Cadbury candy wrappers. That the mystery of the ancient places will have become like some tacky Druid-themed Disneyland complete with frozen banana stands and overpriced balloons. But keep reading...what follows is the good, soul-filling stuff. (Spoiler alert: I need not have worried.)

What I sought  was indeed an ethereal, mysterious, and mythical place, but the unexpected beauty was that it kind of restored my faith in all of us humans. Yes, there was a throng. Yes, some were complaining about the walk and the misty drizzle. But...everyone was as in awe as we were, ready to be enchanted and caught up in the ancient lore. It became a shared experience, as strangers were helping each other scramble across rocks; I know because I watched a beautiful Indian lady rescue Kellan when he nearly fell into a pool, camera bag and all. I was on the bank at the time, exchanging silent, incredulous looks with a young couple from Leeds as we all three realized the fall was imminent, and we all spontaneously cheered when that mother from India helped my son from America find his footing again. 

One of my favorite moments was climbing a hill to discover a group of women with Canadian accents, all wearing bathing caps and swimsuits as they floated around in one of the larger pools. 

Just to put you in the picture, the mist alone was freezing. And the water in the fairy pools comes from the River Brittle and a tributary called Allt Coir' a' Mhadaidh, which drain from the Cuillin Mountains. As in, very, very cold. These elderly wise women explained that they were wild swimming, which is exactly what it sounds like. They were there to embrace and be immersed in the wild, similar to the Japanese practice of forest bathing, but with an untamed Scottish kick. They looked alive. 

Similarly, there is another ancient place, humming with old and beautiful energy - it's the Angel Oak on Johns Island, just outside of Charleston. There, too, it can be hard to find parking, but I count that as a blessing - it means that the pull of nature is still strong. When we visit this living monolith it's like past, present, and future collide - children are running around, careful to take care with the massive roots, while elders and we middle-agers hug it's low limbs and mourn all that we've lost. The tree is thought to be 400-1,000 years old...let that sink in.   

I sometimes grieve the fertile earth being covered over by the miles of concrete, and yet another hill carved up into neighborhood plots. We may think we own the land, but we do not. My short afternoon at the Fairy Pools (Coire na Creiche​ for all you Gaelic speakers out there) and my days to Johns Island have given me memories to treasure, a confidence restored, and a hope for "all things made new." If I could encourage anything for all of us during this time of year it would be to get outside and try this calming technique:

1. Take a deep breath

2. Notice 5 things you can see

3. Notice 4 things you can feel

4. Notice 3 things you can hear

5. Notice 2 things you can smell

6. Notice 1 thing you can taste (Don't eat the berries!)

7. Take another deep breath

8. Go on about your day, in all grace and peace

Angel Oak, Johns Island SC