With increasing anxiety ahead of (and after) a pivotal national election in an increasingly polarized world, Brandon Withrow turned to the one place he knows can help him, now and in the future: The forest.
We had just finished dinner when my friend Viktoria North disappeared from the table. Like the angel Gabriel at the Annunciation, she suddenly returned with news for our guide Heidi Korven and me: The Aurora Borealis was directly above.
Full and a little sloshed, the three of us scurried up the quaint main street of Rossland, British Columbia, chasing a ballet of northern lights across the sky. We laid down on the cold asphalt, laughing like kids, as we watched the dance of spinning greens and pinks.
âWhat did we do in a previous life to deserve seeing this together?â asked Viktoria. âI wish I was on some Scooby Snacks [psilocybin or magic mushrooms] right now!â
âWhat is even happening?â shouted Heidi in disbeliefâthe northern lights are a lot rarer here further north in Canada.
This was my final night in the Kootenay Rockies, easily the most underrated region in the Canadian province of BC. It was also one of the most relaxing weeks of my yearâand I needed it. I had arrived a month before the recent US election, and my baggage was full of anxiety.
My first stop was Nelson, a foodie paradise and quirky small city with laid-back mountain life, where Iâd arranged to meet up with Viktoria. Weâd become friends before the pandemic and hadnât seen each other since. Grabbing ebikes from Electric Larry Landâs rental, we rolled through town, visiting breweries and catching up.
The next day, we went hiking along the White Queen Loop on Mount Beattie in Nelson, surrounded by jaw-dropping mountains, though the trail to the summit is mostly a dusty, pitted ski hill road. Near the top, it becomes a single-track hiking trail weaving between boulders, occasional bear scat, and huckleberry bushes (the berries make an incredible trail snack), ending at a stunning view: The larches.
That final night, after we stumbled away from the northern lights and to The Wild Turkey Inn, a historic Victorian-era B&B down the road, I fell into my bed and slept like a baby. The next morning, we said goodbye to Rossland with one last hike. Heidi led us up to a summit view of the small town resting in fall colors below. It was perfect. I knew I would miss it. I said goodbye to my friends and started the drive back to Spokane.
âWhat business were you on?â âWhat do you do for a living?â âHow long were you visiting?â âPop your trunk.â A US border guard circled my vehicle, offering zero jokes or tourism advice.
I left Canada.
A month later, back home in Ohio, no amount of optimism could prepare me for the election result. To survive my countryâs dark turn, I know I’ll need to return to the forest again and again. Over the next four years, it will be a place to find my anchor, to refuel my soul, and improve my physical health. I don’t think it matters what challenges youâre facing. Health concerns. Job stress. Family conflict. The anxiety around world events and watching fascism spreading across the globe. But whatever it is, Iâm prescribing the forest.
