While it is easy to find anecdotal evidence all by yourself, there is plenty of research to back the notion that being in nature is a good idea. One article specifies five benefits. 

 

 

Those are pretty impressive achievements, all worth the time and effort to step through the door. Doing it with someone you love is better still. 

 

The intention to move my bag of bones is gaining traction. My humble path takes me past the post office, which once upon a time was also the train station. There are benches along the trail, due to the generosity of people I have never met. Sometimes their names are inscribed on a plaque. I doubt I will ever be able to thank them for a chance to pause and listen to the whippoorwills. The bench slats are constructed of a substance more impervious to weather than lumber, and show no signs of wear.

 

By contrast the resting place outside the post office is wooden, and its age is in evidence. My grandfather sat on it while he waited to commute to Philly, where he traveled to scribe humorous stories for the newspaper. But come to think of it, probably most mornings found him trotting down the road, overcoat flying, in response to the whistle, which he could hear from his kitchen, with not a moment to waste. He lived even closer to the station than I do, and had twelve children to distract him from punctuality. I daresay my father sat there too, waiting for the train to UPenn where he was a medical photographer. It was a brief career on his way toward the ministry which was the final destination. 

 

It sweetens my jaunts to think of those men who walked the same path, and passed the same trees. It was even the same sun that warmed them.