The tree is cooler to the touch than I was expecting. I bring my nose to the bark and inhale deeply, squeezing my eyes tight to focus my attention. The scent is toasty, familiar. I place my hands on the rough surface and, much to my surprise, find myself murmuring “hello.” Elsewhere in the park, others are inspecting leaves closely; some are sitting quietly beneath trees, and one woman is smiling wide, staring up at the birds slicing across the sky. A bell chimes and we say our goodbyes, coming together to form an informal circle. A hushed, contented sort of wonder is upon us.
The reason for this admittedly odd behavior—odd, at least, in a city like Los Angeles on a Saturday in February during prime brunch hour, no less—is a forest therapy walk organized by Usal Project, an organization offering nature-based workshops and retreats in L.A. Once we are all settled, Alyssa Benjamin, our kind-eyed facilitator guiding this experience, poses a decidedly open-ended question to the group: “What are you noticing?”
In its simplest of definitions, forest therapy is a mindful nature practice. In Japan, it was dubbed shinrin-yoku, meaning forest bathing, in the early 1980s. Around this time, people were leaving behind rural communities and settling in densely populated cities where they worked with computers and other new technologies. The economy boomed, but the health of the people began to decline. Drawing from a rich cultural history of nature reverence, the Japanese government began studying the health impact of spending time in the forest. They looked at physiological markers like blood pressure and heart rate, stress hormone levels, immune system response, and general feelings of wellbeing. The results were so promising that more than five dozen nature trails were designated throughout Japan as forest therapy bases.
Since then, studies have found that strolling in a greener environment yields lowered levels of cortisol, a decrease in sympathetic nerve—a.k.a. fight-or-flight—activity, lower blood pressure, and a slowed heart rate, not to mention better moods and lower anxiety. One particularly magical finding is that phytoncides, the aromatic organic compounds that trees emit—a.k.a the stuff that makes a forest smell so very good—boost our immune system. Phytoncides help protect trees from pests and pathogens, and, it so happens, protect us, too: When we breathe them in through the forest air, they increase the number of natural killer (NK) cells in our body.
If you think about it, all of these findings make a good deal of intuitive sense. Humans have spent 99 percent of our existence in close relationship with the natural, living world—only recently does it seem we have lost the plot. Being in nature might, in this way, feel very much like coming home.
On the other hand, it’s not as easy as that might sound. Our lives are humming with a tantalizing array of technology and distractions, and the space between humans and nature has become a chasm. Alyssa Benjamin, my guide from the forest walk who is also the host of a podcast called Our Nature, reminds me, “It’s brave to step towards this type of work. It goes against the rhythms of society and culture.” That’s where the structure of a forest therapy walk comes in: “People can simply show up, and as a guide, I hold that container to help them make the space,” she tells me.
So what exactly is a forest therapy walk? Like yoga or any other healing modality, forest therapy guides each have their own unique style, but the basic ingredients are the same: Intention, connecting to your senses, engaging with nature, and sharing that experience with others. Maybe you’ll meet in a city park, a local botanical garden, or an arboretum. You might even be able to do a virtual forest therapy walk in your backyard or around your neighborhood. A core principle of forest therapy is the insistence that you do not need to go to the middle of a remote forest or have any special skills to cultivate a deep relationship with the natural world. It is enough to show up and see—and smell and feel—what there is to see, smell, and feel.
Over the course of the walk, you could be invited to follow your curiosity and explore something in the natural environment that catches your eye, or to follow your nose and give plants, leaves, or the dirt beneath your feet a sniff. You might be invited to observe what’s in motion or to befriend a tree. After 10 or 15 minutes of self-guided exploration—a longer-than-it-sounds span of time to vibe out on the breeze or the birdsong filling the air—you rejoin the group, and are invited to share what you noticed.
If you’re thinking this all sounds a bit like kid stuff, well, that’s kind of the point. “I see people transform into their childlike selves during forest therapy,” Benjamin shares. “But, it’s not like they’re reverting to some earlier stage of their lives. It’s more a realization that their capacity for wonder has been there all along, and that a bit of presence in the natural world can bring it forward.”
For Julie Sczerbinski, the co-founder of The Forest Therapy School, a boutique training program based between Virginia and Connecticut, it’s about getting out of our heads and into our bodies. “We don’t have to think while we are practicing forest therapy; we are focused on experiencing the forest through our senses. The mind quiets down, we become present, and our bodies connect to the experience of aliveness.” Her co-founder, Regan Stacey, an artist who came to forest therapy after surviving breast cancer, continues: “Forest therapy [can help us] see the truth that we are interconnected and interdependent. It offers us intentional time to be with ourselves, each other, and the natural world.”
Will Davies, a graphic designer who lives in the bustling Fairfax neighborhood of L.A., came to the forest therapy walk not sure what to expect. A self-described nature lover who considers himself fairly experienced when it comes to the outdoors, Davies realized that he had been spending time in nature, but not with nature: “Hiking was about getting somewhere, camping was about spending time with friends, backpacking was about getting off the grid.” Learning tools to slow down and tune in, Davies feels “newly equipped to access deeper dimensions of nature I previously was blind to.” Forest therapy seeks to shift us from a more passive, or otherwise transactional and surface-level engagement, to an intentional, reciprocal, embodied relationship with nature. Connecting with the living world in this way can cultivate feelings of gratitude, calm, and wonder. All good things, to be sure.
Pam Soffer, an ecotherapist and nature-based psychotherapist, also joined the Saturday morning walk in L.A. For her, it was the “community of curious others” that most resonated. “Every time we reconnected as a group… I loved that each person’s reflections drew out the depth of my own experience,” she shared. You can get lost in the woods by yourself (and enjoy many of its benefits), but there’s something especially restorative about sharing the experience with others. The sincerity and candor are often disarming, and leave you feeling a little more hopeful—about people, the planet, all of it.
For Michael Washington, the founder of Usal, it’s about creating these kinds of opportunities for connection, expansion, and discovery. “We’re letting the experiences do the talking,” he tells me when I ask if there is an ecological and environmental mission at play. “My instinct is that once you experience it, you want to go back and figure out how to keep it around.” It, of course, being the natural world in all of its wonder-filled, sensory glory—just waiting for us to notice and say “hello.”
Dana Covit is a writer, creative strategist, and certified forest therapy guide based in Los Angeles.