Over the last year, being surrounded by trees has led me to explore "tree bathing." I took a course, read the manual, learned about terpenes and how trees communicate, and about the importance of simply being with them.

Somewhere in all of that was the suggestion that I spend a night among the trees.

Technically, this is my backyard.

But our backyard is kind of big.

And there is wildlife.

I liked the idea of a digital detox, artificial-light detox, a night of silence, and a deeper relationship with this land.

I was intrigued.

I was also hesitant.

The hesitation wasn't about running water or using the bathroom outside. We lose power regularly here in Maine. I've adapted.

It was the coyotes.

And, if I'm honest, my limited experience sleeping outside.

People often ask me about the drums.

Or the rattles.

Or why I hold Moon Gatherings.

Sometimes the question is spoken.

Sometimes it's simply the look on their face.

"Isn't this all a little...different?"

Maybe.

I remember the yellow ribbon. It hung beside my picture when I was in second grade. It was my first art award. My piece, In My Backyard, elicited chuckles from my parents.

"Whose backyard is that?" they both asked, looking at the 11x14 sheet of red construction paper with black cut-outs of people and a swing set.

"Isn't that ours?" I remember thinking, though I never said it out loud.

Suffice it to say, it was my version of my backyard.

In sixth grade, I created my first acrylic painting. I used little glass jars of paint on a bumpy 4x6 sheet of paper that came with the kit. I painted poinsettias, and my teacher submitted it to the city's art competition—open to every student from Kindergarten through twelfth grade in Medford, Massachusetts. I was named Artist of the Month. My parents were confused. You see, I wasn't supposed to be an artist.