Finding Peace: Reflections on a Solo Walk in Forest Therapy

ANFT Forest Therapy Immersion 2025

Whispertree - Boonville, CA

Theme: Home

I came to this immersion because I felt called back to a place that had once held me during a time of healing. Anderson Valley was more than just a chapter in my past—it was where I lived in the Redwoods, where I began to find myself again, and where the rhythm of nature helped soothe what was unsettled in me. Returning here felt like coming full circle—not to close anything, but to deepen the roots of everything that’s grown since.

Whispertree brought together a beautiful community of like-minded people. Guided by Manuela Siegfried and Ben Page, we spent our days walking, reflecting, and sharing. There was a sense of belonging that is rare and precious to me—an openness in which I felt seen, supported, and understood.

On our final day, we guided each other in small groups and then ventured out on a three-hour solo walk. When Ben asked us to name the theme of our experience, mine was clear: home.

That word carried so much weight. Anderson Valley had once been my home, a place where I fit in easily—both with friends and with the landscape. Now, as I walk through a difficult season with my small family, with a loved one nearing the end of life, and a partner I long to support from afar, the idea of home feels even more layered. It’s something I want to protect, to nurture, and to offer fully—especially to Doug and our daughter.

The walk began with a butterfly. I didn’t know where to begin, but the butterfly did. I followed its gentle lead, even as it brought me through a patch of poison oak—a diversion that allowed others to pass through one of the main trails. As I found myself back to the vista trail, I found myself in tall, golden grasses that moved like waves in the wind. Beyond them, hills of evergreens and pines rose into a sky impossibly blue. I climbed toward the sun, where the wind softened the heat and felt like a gift.

At a plateau, I came upon two chairs and a bench. I arranged them into what I later will refer as a kind of living room—a quiet nest where I didn’t need to hike, but simply be. I sat in that space for three hours, letting the memories and love I’ve carried wash over me. I thought of the person who first introduced me to this valley. Tempted to leave this spot many times I held fort. I passed the time and even at one point found myself weaving grass and it felt like watching my grandmother crotchet a blanket on the sofa. I thought of Doug and our daughter. Of our home, and how I never want to take any of it for granted.

A children’s book came to mind—The Best Nest—where a mother bird searches endlessly for the perfect home, only to discover the best nest was the one she had all along. At that moment, two quail flew in and landed near the base of the oak tree in front of me. The synchronicity struck me. Their landing was so unified, so graceful—it made me wonder how they could move through the air in such harmony.

The male quail climbed a branch and looked at me for a long time, showing different angles of his soft, expressive face. Then the female joined him. They didn’t startle at my presence. In fact, they moved a little closer, resting in the quiet I had created. I knew then what I had sensed all week—that the quail had a message for me.

Each morning, I had been waking to the sound of a dove, reminding me of my grandparents and childhood in Ohio. But layered into that was the more unfamiliar call I later learned was the quail. I had told another guide I believed the quail had something important to say.

Now I knew what it was: Wake up. Remember your people. Remember your roots. Your family, your friends, the places that shaped you—this is your nest. This is your home.

And in that moment, the message arrived. I didn’t need to search for closure or transformation. I only needed to hold what I already had—with reverence, with love, with presence.

I left my quiet living room then and returned to my cohort, carrying the stillness, the warmth, and the song of the quail in my chest.

The quail who graced me with their presence on the Oak branch.