Day Three
This day was extraordinarily special: we didn’t need to carry our heavy backpacks.
What were we going to do instead? Enjoy the wilderness to our hearts’ content.
The morning at Baishi began with warm sunlight streaming through the canopy. Sitting up as I awoke, I gazed out in quiet contemplation while a chorus of birdsong filled the woods, giving thanks for another beautiful day. The inviting aroma of savory morning porridge filled the air as we gathered around the fire pit. Sunlight linked with the rising smoke like rays in a film scene—a breathtaking sight that made us all feel deeply watched over and protected.
Teacher Shan-Lu led us through nature connection games adapted from the teachings of the Apache Native Americans. Moving to the clearing before the Baishi Police Post, he layered one activity after another to introduce the wisdom of the natural world: a game tracing a seed growing into a grand tree, a survival-focused predator-and-prey chase, and an auditory “Bat and Moth” game that captured the tension of life-and-death encounters, demanding absolute focus, agility, and swift reflexes. There was even a playful interlude where teachers disguised themselves under fallen leaves and branches, popping out like bears to startle the children—though our gentle teachers clearly needed a bit more practice at being scary! To top off this delightful day, we enjoyed a rare treat for lunch: delicious seaweed rice balls stuffed with vegetarian floss and pickled plums, accompanied by a sweet mung bean and barley soup. It was pure bliss.
Wandering and Playing in the Forest
After lunch, to balance the outward excitement of the morning, we set aside a quiet personal hour. Everyone could choose their own rhythm—snuggling back into sleeping bags, finding a secluded spot to be alone, or writing in journals. A shared, unwritten understanding filled the space: some went in small groups to use the natural restroom, some perched on fallen trunks, others sat beneath trees taking notes, and a few took restful naps.
Following this gentle quiet time, the guides led us into a game called “You Describe, I Draw,” which challenged our habitual patterns of perception and our ability to listen deeply. Working in small teams, one person led while others followed in turn. Blindfolded, team members walked in a slow line until the leader stopped at a inspiring sight, guided everyone to sit down, and asked them to retrieve paper and pencil. The leader described the scene without using direct naming nouns—a profound test for both sides. By casting aside familiar names and labels, we were forced to re-observe and describe posture, shape, color, size, distance, and quantity. The drawers could only follow these descriptions, opening their eyes, noses, ears, and touch to receive the gifts of nature anew.
Next, we moved to the upper forest above our campsite. Teacher Shan-Lu shared a story of a hunter encountering a Reeve’s muntjac fawn, which freezes completely still when terrified to evade predators. Inspired by this image, we played a “Muntjac and Yellow-Throated Marten” game. Each of us became a timid fawn, hiding motionless in the woods while guides acting as yellow-throated martens roamed nearby. If a marten spotted a fawn moving, the fawn was captured. Playing the fawn, I closed my eyes, curled up tightly, and hid like a rock, terrified to blink. As the guide’s footsteps approached, my heart pounded wildly—stepping into the fawn’s world allowed us to feel the raw tension of being hunted. Grounding games in storytelling images made the experience unforgettable.
We layered the experience further: teachers disguised themselves under piles of leaves, and the children hid within view to observe while the teachers searched for them. Finally, we engaged in an exhilarating game of predator and prey, playing continuously until dusk before returning to camp to prepare dinner together. The children helped chop carrots, onions, celery, and cabbage while the guides rekindled the fire. We huddled close, warming ourselves by the flames and sharing our most vivid moments and deep gratitude from the day. Every game left the children with rich memories to savor, and we felt profound gratitude for the forest accepting our presence and harboring our joyful laughter.
We also received another gift that day: our shared water supply ran low, meaning there wouldn’t be enough to cook breakfast the next morning. Everyone chipped in from their personal drinking water to ensure we had enough for the meal. After reserving the required amount for breakfast, each group had about 600 mL of shared water remaining to quench their thirst until we reached the next water source.
This precious day of slowing down allowed us to truly live and play in the mountains. This is precisely why I didn’t want the children merely climbing high peaks—rushing from start to finish just to check off a summit goal before descending. While goal-oriented mountaineering might build willpower, it easily turns into exhaustion without joy, making children dread hiking and hindering a true love for the mountains. The journey itself, the tasting of every moment, the authentic experience, and playing freely in the forest—these are what foster a genuine connection and a deep love for the land. It is not about conquering nature, but about feeling at home and at ease within it.
To be continued…
Teacher Hsiao-Ling
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