By Courtney Reedy
I didn’t think I would be one of those people who cry in nature. I also didn’t think a pandemic would create havoc and kill millions in less than a year.
But there I was, hiking the newly acquired Falls Creek trail, and crying.
My husband and I were walking the quiet trail just as the sun was beginning to greet the day. Snow still clutched the landscape and the wind had yet to tumble over the rocky pass. Somewhere between inhaling the woodsy smell of pine and watching the trail wind down to the river, I felt overwhelmed.
It could have been many things. The restrictions on travel. The increasing infection rate. Fearing my health and sanity. It could have been all these things. As modern society seemed to be crashing, the fact that I could still visit public lands was the real reason I was overwhelmed. Not with fear, sadness, or loss but with gratitude.
Modern life had taken an unexpected turn, where every decision could bring me closer to infection or infecting someone else. Escaping to public lands allowed my heart to take a rest from the torrent of decisions and focus on the moment – a trail, a river, and a clear blue sky.
This year public lands were so much more than a place for camping and hiking. It was a place where I could forget the ever-increasing death toll. It soothed my soul and silenced my anxiety.
It wasn’t the first time I have experienced the healing power of public lands. As a veteran, I am all too familiar with the toll of mental hardship. After two deployments and staring at way too much gunmetal grey, there was a distinct feeling that there weren’t enough nature in my life.
Like the steady North Star in a life full of wayward paths, public lands have been my constant guide when I feel lost. I can’t afford to buy large swaths of land and create personal wilderness havens. It is because of public land access that I can afford the high price of nature’s soothing balm.
This year I needed many infusions. With each dose, I dropped off my anxiety, sadness, and loss at the foot of a dirt trail. It would be waiting for me when I returned, but I still felt grateful. For a breathless moment, I was able to find relief, joy, and hope compliments of Montana’s public lands.