Mossy Forest Bathing – unplugged in Washington State

Mossyrock, Washington, a town with a population under 800, is dominated by trees and moss—an ideal place to spend the night with our lovely woodsprite, Amy.

No Wifi, no TV, no cell service. “If you need us, just honk your horn,” our hosts told us. A writer’s haven if I’ve ever seen one.

I knew these were my people when I saw the loop trail. Bob and Amy were also ready to stretch their legs, so we set down our bags and went for a walk.

We noticed right away one tree that seemed out of place. We later learned it was a Monkey Puzzle tree, native to South America, thriving in Washington State as an ornamental.

The trail wound through ferns and firs which seemed to grow larger the further we went.

We were soon surrounded by moss and shrinking into the forest like Alice in Wonderland.

Fallen trees nurture forest life. After I’ve lain down for the last time, I’d like to do the same.

Here’s a tree that was once a small seed, which took root in the fallen nurse tree and now has grown straight and tall.

Now we were in the stuff of fairy tales, half expecting to see a wolf in a bonnet or a small hut with a very large chimney.

Back in the hideaway, we rummaged through our road provisions and settled on grilled tofurky and cheese sandwiches for dinner. Each time we reached for our phones, we realized there was no point. I wondered if I would make it until tomorrow to check my texts.

After sundown, we stepped outside to look at the stars and saw the lanterns.

If we’d had any doubt these were our people, the lanterns and the ball jar of crayons next to the guest book settled it for us.

The next morning, I took the loop alone and went beyond, finding evidence of mankind, a rusted car that reminded me of an upturned beetle.

I froze when I heard a loud snap. And froze again when I heard another. Perhaps I was about to see a bear! Holding my breath, I stepped closer to the sound, wishing I’d brought my invisibility cloak.

Time stretched as I watched the ferns rustle. Maybe it was an invisible bear. Finally, common sense prevailed, and I looked into the overstory to see a few squirrels knocking pinecones to the ground.

I turned and headed back. I’d had enough of an adventure. Two shelf mushrooms waved goodbye, a little mockingly, I thought.

Bob and Amy had enjoyed a good catch-up. I told them my bear story before diving into a bowl of granola, blueberries, and soy milk. We left replenished, fully oxygenated, with our sleep tanks topped off. Unplugging had been as easy as falling off a log.