By Freya Elias
I have a haven. A haven I’ve visited daily since the pandemic. I call it the Treesa Loop. This name originated when I started climbing the tree at the top – Treesa, I call her. This sanctuary on public lands keeps me safe.
My family and I hike up to my sanctuary almost every day. Today, as usual, I agreed eagerly to go. Although it was January, the sun shone warmly. I shrugged on a sweatshirt and bounded outside.
We walked up the path to the woods. My sweet old dog, Mandi, trotted across the muddy road, gold curls bouncing. We would have to wash her paws. We strolled along, chatting in the quiet.
The breeze played with my hair, the strands tickling my face. I inhaled the crisp scent of forest air, watching the trees for squirrels.
We reached the trail. From here it was a short walk to the top; I could see the tips of Treesa’s pine needles. “Can I climb?” I asked, although I already knew the answer.
“Of course,” Mom said. I grinned and sprinted up the hill, my ponytail flapping. The chilly air whipped across my face. I felt free, my legs pumping rock to rock.
I reached the top quickly and swung my arms around the first branch, hauling up. I stood and grasped one branch at a time, using my feet for leverage. Before I knew it, I had nestled myself onto the top branch. The perfect seat.
Mom peered nervously up at me. I was 20 feet off the ground. I could fly.
I stood up on the branch, my head peeking out the top. I saw miles of trees and mountains behind me and to my right. Beautiful. There were miles of houses. What a view. I could almost see our entire town.
I settled into the branches. All throughout COVID-19, I’d sat up here enjoying the view, thinking hard about important things – I could do that here freely – or just being.
All too soon, we needed to head back. I clambered down the tree and patted Treesa’s bark.
I ran ahead on the trail. My legs flew under me, soaring over the rocks, I trusted this trail completely. I could run it in my sleep. Finally, we reached Barnacle. I don’t know why I named him Barnacle. It just seemed like good name.
Barnacle was harder to climb. I reached my spot. In the woods, I felt a happiness only felt in my haven. A freedom many wouldn’t get to feel during these times.
I preferred climbing Treesa but Barnacle was calming. I pressed my nose against his bark, breathing in the musty, piney tree scent. I could stay on that tree forever.
Even though the sun was shining on my back and the forest felt amazing, we had to go. I clambered down Barnacle and patted his bark one last time.
“Goodbye Treesa Loop,” I whispered. “Until tomorrow, Haven.”