Day Five
Dawn broke softly around six in the morning. Before the sun had fully risen above the horizon, I heard the rustle of children packing sleeping bags and sleeping pads. Sticking my head out of my bag, a child whispered: “The guide said it’s time to take down the tarp.” Sensing a purpose behind the early wake-up call, everyone quickly organized their gear. The children moved with remarkable speed and precision—taking down tarps, coiling ridge lines, and securing their packs.
Of course, some students still took a long time just to roll up a sleeping bag. Yet what stood out was the children’s mutual understanding and patience. They focused on what they could do best without keeping score of who did more or less, working together simply to complete the task well. Those less accustomed to self-care improved noticeably through repeated practice. For some, this was their first mountain journey with classmates, and as teachers, seeing each child’s quiet effort and growth reaffirmed that nature is truly the greatest teacher.
Healing the Mountain Forest
After enjoying warm, sweet oatmeal porridge, Teacher Shan-Lu gathered us by singing the “Woo-Woo Song.” Using stories and vivid imagery, he guided the children to put their love for the forest into concrete action, introducing the concept of mindful tidying: when something is taken away, the empty space calls for conscious arrangement. Stepping back to look at the space as a whole with deep gratitude, the space itself guides us to act rightly.
Together, we set out to heal this piece of land. For every piece of litter picked up, we offered one statement of gratitude to the forest. Only glass bottles were left behind temporarily, gathered safely to one side due to their weight and fragility. Every other scrap—plastic bags, tin cans, plastic bottles—was bagged and packed out to carry down the mountain.
When we finished, the collected trash stood like a small mountain in the center of our circle—a shocking sight. It was hard to fathom how two small campsites could yield such a vast pile of waste. Why do people who love lighting fires in the mountains merely consume the wilderness, leaving behind artificial refuse they refuse to carry out? Is this a love for nature, or simply a love for oneself?
We didn’t just pick up trash; we consciously restored the forest to its wild state, gently scattering fallen leaves and pine needles over the abused ground to cover its wounds. When the restoration was complete, we stepped back together to admire the magical healing power of our collective hands. Seeing the dramatic transformation of the campsite, tears welled in my eyes as a sudden, profound realization washed over me: by opening our own boundaries and stepping into the wilderness, we learn from nature, receive its gifts of joy, and give back through physical action to bring healing to the land. From this real engagement, love for the earth springs naturally, accompanied by a quiet prayer that the beauty of nature may endure.
Teacher Shan-Lu helped the children realize and believe that even at twelve or thirteen years old, they possess the power to act for nature. The moment hands step forward to do the work, real change begins—a moment of profound empowerment. He also reminded them to carry this awareness into their daily lives: reducing single-use containers, bringing their own utensils and tote bags, and minimizing waste. Trash reduction is a choice every person can make to treat our environment and those around us with greater gentleness and intention.
Barefoot Journey
With gear packed, we shouldered our backpacks for the final seven kilometers toward the Qingquan trailhead. The route featured very few ascents, consisting mostly of gentle downhills. My steps felt light and easy. Yet I made a fascinating observation: whenever I walked with full presence—aligning each step with the rhythm of my breath—my movement flowed effortlessly; but the moment my mind drifted elsewhere, my feet slipped on the trail. The earth returned an extraordinarily honest reflection of my inner state.
After five days of living in the wilderness, our internal frequencies harmonized with the frequency of the mountain. We walked in natural silence, taking steady, grounded steps. Along the way, we encountered crowds of hikers heading toward us like a bustling train—their loud chatter and broadcasted music clashing sharply with the mountain’s quiet pulse. The children felt the contrast deeply, sensing how far their own inner states had transformed.
Reaching a ridge saddle, we crossed from a cold, shaded slope over to a sunlit peak facing Mount Xiakelo. The forest layers stretched before us in crisp clarity, bathed in warm, comforting sunlight. Because we moved with ease and had plenty of time, the guides decided to pause for an extended rest, allowing the children time to sketch the mountain landscape, write in their journals, enjoy snacks, and bask in the sun.
This brief pause expanded our understanding of the wilderness: earlier, we were walking through the forest; now, sitting on rocks looking out at the mountain range, we entered deep observation and reflection—a continuous interplay between willpower and thinking.
Resuming our hike toward the trailhead, we arrived at Tamuradai, about one kilometer from the Qingquan exit. The guides surprised us with an unexpected experience: barefoot walking. We removed our shoes and socks, stepping directly onto rocks, fallen leaves, wooden boardwalks, and forest ground cover.
Unlocking our feet from hiking boots and socks brought an immediate sense of cool, refreshing relief. The guides instructed us to probe forward with our toes before gently lowering our feet to feel the earth’s subtle feedback—a movement identical to the threefold step in Eurythmy. So many foundational truths share a common root.
Our feet naturally took careful, steady, and gentle steps; forcing heavy, rushed strides with loaded backpacks would surely hurt on sharp gravel. Feeling each step offered a distinct flavor—varying in temperature, texture, and sound. Remarkably, no one slipped anymore. It was a fascinating experience; watching the children adapt their movements, everyone slowed down to savor every step.
Before long, we reached the trailhead. Just as we held a mountain reverence ceremony upon entering, we closed our journey with deep gratitude and farewells to the mountain spirit. One by one, we offered quiet words over sorghum liquor. Finally, we gathered in a closing circle, offering heartfelt thanks and warm hugs to every companion—bringing the journey to a perfect close. Yet I hope this is merely the beginning of their lifelong exploration of nature. Until we meet the mountains again!
To be continued…
Teacher Hsiao-Ling
> Day One
> Day Two
> Day Four