Keeping My Distance from the Woods

It feels like I haven’t been in a forest for ages—probably over ten, maybe fifteen years. I’ve never really been the type to wander through the woods or go deep inside them. The few times I did, it was more like excursions with family. I remember going with my grandparents to dig up sweet potatoes, or with my dad and older sister. Sometimes, it was a group of friends hunting for mushrooms. Beyond that, honestly, I never had much interest in tagging along.

The main reason is simple, really: even brushing past thigh-high bushes would leave my skin red, itchy, or covered in bumps—sometimes lasting until the next day. On top of that, I’ve got an unhealthy fear of spiders and snakes. If I see a spider web hanging from a tree or stretched across the ground, I’ll go out of my way to avoid it. And there’s the rest—lots of weird, slimy, crawling things hidden in leaves and soil. And it just doesn’t sit right with me.

So yeah, forests for me are a mix of memory and avoidance. I see them in flashes: the quiet moments with family, the thrill of finding something hidden in the earth, but mostly, it’s a place I keep at arm’s length.