Several days ago I stepped off the beaten track into the forest. Until that moment, I did not remember the full impact such forays could have.

It began as I sat outside bundled up in the afternoon sun, watching feeder birds work the feeders. For some reason I thought of a small Common Juniper bush that grows some distance behind the house. In past years, I've hiked up the hill to the well-hidden shrub and plucked a few berries before the snow flies. I like to keep some berries in the house because they can relieve and sooth the upper digestive tract.

I couldn't find my usual walking stick so I picked up a stout piece of dowel with a long nail at one end, and started into the forest. There is a gentle incline towards the back of the property before the trail turns steeply upward. The hillside is covered with mature firs, the odd poplar tree, and many Rocky Mountain Juniper trees. The forest floor consists mainly of various types of grasses, and other than the steep incline, walking is relatively easy. Huffing and puffing with exertion, I reached the flat spot, a wide ledge at the base of volcanic cliffs strewn with lava boulders that tumbled down the incline over the course of many years.

This was the approximate vicinity of the Common Juniper Bush but I had not recently walked here and could not remember an exact location. I was loathe to turn around and walk downhill again after expending all my energy to reach the flat area, but in order to find the Juniper Bush it was necessary to cast about a bit uphill and downhill.

I circled around for about a half-hour. The shrub remained stubbornly resistant to being found, so I started downhill, figuring I must be too high on the hillside. A few steps later I crossed a well-traveled trail and decided to turn left and follow it. I gave up on finding the shrub and just walked without a destination. As fate would have it the trail led me right up to the Juniper shrub.

I knew this was the right spot, not by the look of the ravaged juniper bush, but by the way the bush sat in a slight dip covered by a veil of small, crowded fir trees. It was obvious deer browsed on all the limbs of the shrub jutting onto the path, but I found some purple berries on a branch pointing uphill away from the path. There were also some green berries holding fast to the twigs but I left those behind. Thus successful, I continued along the trail knowing that this path eventually turned downhill directly behind the house.

During my walk I saw no birds, or wildlife; not a single squirrel chattered. I walked only amidst trees, shrubs, rocks, grasses and silent growing things.

When I glimpsed my house through the trees, I felt a strange sensation. It felt as though I'd broken through a veil and emerged from a strange reverie and was now back at the threshold of some other way of life. It was as if the forest walk had wrenched me from my daily mindset of cars, and pavement, and houses, and people and sent me spinning into something older and more primitive but still familiar.

My brief foray into the forest made me think of John Muir's saying 'In wilderness is the salvation of mankind.' One can argue there is no more wildness left and we have lost something important, perhaps the salvation of which John spoke. Still, during my short walk I felt the effect of wilderness. I knew that I was still of this world and knew that a connection could still be made even if I was alone only for a brief time, in a forested incline at the edge of town.