Day Four
We bade farewell to the campsite where we had spent the past two days. Morning sunlight streamed through the canopy as usual. After finishing our savory morning porridge, packing our backpacks, and restoring the camp, we still had a precious window of time left. Teacher Shan-Lu presented everyone with a quiet gift: a moment of solitary connection with the forest.
Arranged by height—shorter students in front, taller ones behind—we put on blindfolds and placed our hands on the shoulders of the person ahead. Guided by two mentors per line, we moved forward with slow, deliberate steps. Upon reaching a suitable location, the guides gently led us one by one into a designated spot in the forest. Sitting down slowly, we learned to first touch the earth around us, feeling the textures of our surroundings, listening intently to the forest sounds, and breathing in the woodland scents.
Only after settling into the silence did we remove our blindfolds to behold our private sanctuaries. Dappled sunlight filtered through the leaves; alongside the birdsong, wild bees hummed softly around us, alighting curious upon our clothes. We observed the subtle stripes, legs, and delicate wings of a bee until a slight movement sent it drifting away, only for others to return later. In those quiet, solitary moments, we were closer to ourselves than ever—watching how each tree stretched with unique grace toward the sunlight, filling us with a deep, effortless sense of ease.
Embracing Stream and Mountain
At the signal of our group call, we reassembled into a circle for warm-up stretches, awakening our bodies for the journey ahead. A short distance down the trail, a mountain stream appeared, allowing us to refill our personal water bottles and resolve our water shortage. The spring water tasted delightfully sweet, though its icy chill required us to hold it in our mouths for a moment before swallowing.
Reaching the Asahi Police Post, Teacher Shan-Lu and the guides decided to take us down to a nearby stream to play in the water and collect shared water for the group. The crystal-clear stream was refreshing and cool. Children joyfully scrambled across mossy rocks to explore upstream, while others soaked their feet in the water, bathing in the gentle autumn sun. A few guides boldly washed their hair in the stream, letting the natural sunlight dry it, and several children eagerly followed suit—embracing a novel wilderness experience. Having bonded deeply with the mountains, embracing the water felt like another precious gift.
After playing by the stream, we hoisted our packs—now heavier with two additional liters of shared water per person—and pushed forward toward Naoyama.
Two Homes: Mountain and Valley
Arriving at the Naoyama Police Post, the first sight that met our eyes was a messy, abandoned campfire pit surrounded by discarded trash—plastic bags, empty tins, plastic bottles, glass jars, even sandals, a fork, and sunglasses. The littered ground felt jarring and disheartening. Should we stay and camp here, or move on? The guides held a quick meeting and decided to stay, choosing to rekindle a fire on this very spot to bring healing to a piece of land abused by human carelessness.
After clearing away the debris and preparing the hearth, we entered our final night of the journey—and the ultimate test for the students. Setting up tents, gathering wood, and preparing the campfire had to be accomplished entirely through student self-organization. As an incentive for completing the tasks within the time limit, Teacher Shan-Lu promised an extra story.
Driven by enthusiasm, the children selected tent sites, gathered and sorted firewood, hauled heavy logs to build seating, arranged rocks for the hearth, and stacked branches for the fire pile. Yet as the structure neared completion, they realized there was no bamboo nearby to make tinder fibers for the “Fire Child.” Stuck without a solution, their focus began to slacken, and they drifted into idle chatter while the sun dipped toward the horizon—a classic lesson in staying the course.
Seeking guidance, the mentors led the group to search the surroundings for alternative fluffy fibers that could catch a spark. We discovered dry miscanthus grass and palm fibers—both excellent substitutes. With expanded possibilities, every corner of nature became a classroom. The children pulled the fire cord while Teacher Shan-Lu and the students held down the central spindle, finally bringing forth a living flame. Offering gratitude for the mountain spirit’s permission, we felt the evening fire dance with extraordinary joy—as if the flame brought a regenerative, healing energy to revitalize this land.
For dinner, we enjoyed thick, fragrant curry rice enriched with fresh apples and coconut milk. It was so delicious that children scraped every corner of their bowls. Sitting around the campfire, we ate in quiet contentment, savoring each surprise hidden in the dark—a bite of sweet apple, a piece of tender onion or potato. Without sight guiding our appetites, our senses tuned inward to the pure taste and texture of the food.
After dinner, we gathered close around the hearth once more, firelight illuminating glowing faces. Before our sharing circle began, the Grade 7 and 8 students offered a gift of two-part choral songs to the mountain spirit and to everyone who made this journey possible. The adults sat in an inner ring by the fire, encircled by the standing students. High and low voices vibrated together in steady, intricate harmony, sending beautiful melodies echoing through the night forest—a deeply moving moment of blessing and grace. The children’s heartfelt intentions dissolved gently into the mountain wind.
For our final sharing round, Teacher Shan-Lu invited everyone to share their most vivid memories, key learnings, and heartfelt gratitude from the journey. Every child offered genuine reflections accompanied by warm laughter, celebrating five days filled with wonder, growth, and discovery. We expressed our deep thanks to the mountain, the fire, the waters, the wildlife, and every person who sustained this journey. Amid this atmosphere of profound gratitude, we spent our last night together. A touch of reluctance lingered in our hearts, yet as Teacher Shan-Lu beautifully reminded us: The wilderness is now a home within our hearts. Tomorrow we return to our homes down in the valley, but the forest will remain within us forever—an eternal inner sanctuary.
The Mentors’ Campfire Circle
Each evening after the children drifted off to sleep, the guides and teachers gathered around the fire to exchange their observations from the day. Viewing the journey from different vantage points, everyone offered valuable perspectives: the guides helped teachers see the children’s emerging capabilities and potential from new angles, while the teachers provided context to help guides understand the deeper roots of the children’s behaviors.
Together, they nurtured one another, seeking ways to help the children forge a deeper, more meaningful connection with nature. The guides also read the group’s dynamic, sensing what the students needed at each stage—recognizing, for instance, how the distinct energies of boys and girls called for tailored, conscious guidance. I felt immensely grateful for the dedication and professionalism of the Shan-Lu team, whose wisdom offered profound inspiration and renewed strength to fulfill my role as a teacher. Every moment was a fresh start from the heart.
To be continued…
Teacher Hsiao-Ling
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