Forest bathing: slowing down, listening, and reconnecting with nature

Entering a forest without seeking to reach a summit, without counting kilometers, and without constantly checking the time. Walking slowly. Listening to the wind pass through the branches. Smelling the scent of damp earth. Observing a track in the moss, the movement of a bird, or the light filtering through the spruce trees.

This is the whole idea of forest bathing, also known as shinrin-yoku: immersing oneself in the forest atmosphere and rediscovering, for a moment, a more attentive relationship with the natural world.

The term is Japanese and relatively recent. Yet, the idea that human beings are not separate from the land is much older.

For millennia, many Indigenous peoples have lived, learned, traveled, hunted, fished, gathered, and transmitted their knowledge in close connection with the lands and waters that surround them. Here, in Quebec, this relationship with the territory remains at the heart of many First Nations cultures.

Forest bathing is, therefore, not an Indigenous practice. But its current popularity brings us back to a question that modern societies may have set aside for too long:

What happens when we stop simply passing through nature and start listening to it again?

What is forest bathing?

Forest bathing does not consist of bathing in a lake, nor does it require hugging a tree. The Japanese term shinrin-yoku instead evokes the idea of immersing oneself in the atmosphere of the forest.

The modern practice was developed and popularized in Japan in the early 1980s. Unlike a classic hike, its goal is neither physical performance nor the distance covered.

You can walk just a few hundred meters and spend a lot of time sitting still.

• Slow down: voluntarily decrease your walking pace and stop seeking performance.
• Listen: pay attention to the wind, the birds, the branches, the water, and more subtle sounds.
• Observe: notice the shapes, colors, movements, and changes in the landscape.
• Smell: become aware of the scent of wood, earth, plants, and the air.
• Touch: feel the textures of bark, stone, or moss without damaging the environment.
• Be present: put aside your phone and return to what is happening here and now.

It is a sensory experience before it is a sports activity. In an era where our attention is constantly solicited by screens, notifications, work, and noise, this simplicity can seem almost unusual.

And yet, it responds to something deeply human.

What are the benefits of forest bathing?

Sometimes, just a few minutes under the trees is enough to feel that something is changing. The noise becomes different. Your gaze carries further. Your breathing slows down. Thoughts that seemed urgent a few minutes ago take up less space.

This feeling is not purely poetic. For several decades, scientific research has been looking into the benefits of forest bathing and the effects of exposure to natural environments on physical and psychological well-being.

Available studies suggest interesting short-term effects on certain markers associated with stress, mood, and the general feeling of relaxation. Some research has observed changes in heart rate, felt tension, and certain physiological indicators after forest experiences.

However, we must remain cautious. Forest bathing is not a medical treatment, and researchers still highlight the limitations of several studies.

The most reasonable conclusion is much simpler: spending time consciously in nature can contribute to well-being.

Before shinrin-yoku: a much older relationship with the land

When forest bathing is presented in the West, we often hear that it teaches us to "reconnect with nature." This phrasing deserves closer examination.

For many Indigenous peoples, the relationship with the territory is not a new wellness trend to be discovered. It is part of cultures, languages, knowledge, responsibilities, and lifestyles passed down for generations.

However, there is no single Indigenous vision of nature. The First Nations, Inuit, and Métis each possess their own cultures, languages, territories, and teachings.

But in many Indigenous cultures, we find an important idea: the territory is not just something outside of the human being.

It can be a place of memory, learning, food, travel, transmission, responsibility, and identity.

In other words, the forest is not just something to look at.

We live with it.

Among the Innu and Ilnuat: the Nitassinan, much more than a landscape

This relationship takes on a particular dimension here, in the boreal forest.

Among the Innu and Ilnuat, the ancestral territory is called Nitassinan, generally translated as "our land" or "our territory."

For generations, families have traveled this vast territory by following the seasons, the rivers, the animals, and the available resources. The forest was at once a path, a campsite, a place of learning, a source of food, and a territory for transmission.

It was necessary to know how to recognize changes in temperature, read tracks, understand the movements of animals, observe the waterways, prepare a campsite, and anticipate the seasons.

Knowledge of the territory was not built only in books. It developed by living on the land and constantly observing what was changing around oneself.

The very names given to places could describe a shape of the landscape, a waterway, a landmark, or an important characteristic that allowed one to understand the territory.

In this perspective, walking in the forest is not necessarily "going out into nature."

It is moving within a world that is already known, named, observed, and passed down.

This nuance profoundly changes the way we think about reconnecting with nature.

Perhaps we do not need to learn to love the forest as something outside of us.

Perhaps we primarily need to relearn how to notice the relationship that already exists.

Listen before trying to understand

Our era encourages us to immediately identify what we see. What species of tree is this? What bird is singing? What app can recognize this plant? How many kilometers have we walked?

This knowledge can be useful. But there is another way to enter into a relationship with a place: observe before naming.

In the forest, try simply stopping.

At first, you will probably hear the most obvious sound: the wind or a bird.

Wait longer.

Little by little, other sounds appear: a cracking branch, a falling drop, the rustling of leaves, an insect, a squirrel crossing the trees, or the movement of water in the distance.

The territory was not silent.

It was our attention that was occupied elsewhere.

The forest as a place of learning

In many Indigenous cultures, knowledge linked to the territory is not only transmitted through abstract explanations. It is also learned through experience, observation, repetition, and transmission between generations.

Watching an animal allows one to understand its behavior. Observing a river teaches one to recognize its movement. Returning to the same place at different seasons allows one to see what changes.

Accompanying an experienced person allows one to learn what a less trained eye does not yet notice.

This way of learning requires a quality that has become rare: attention.

It aligns, in a certain way, with what people who practice forest bathing are looking for today: to no longer be just physically present in a place, but to become attentive to what is happening there.

However, the comparison must stop there.

A two-hour forest bath does not replicate Indigenous territorial knowledge passed down over generations.

It can, however, remind us of something essential: it is difficult to truly know a territory without taking the time to listen to it.

A relationship also founded on reciprocity

It is easy to transform nature into a new consumer product. We could go into the forest solely because we want it to reduce our stress, improve our mood, or make us feel better.

But a relationship does not exist only in one direction.

Several Indigenous approaches to land stewardship insist on notions of responsibility, respect, and reciprocity.

Instead of just asking: "What can the forest do for me?", we can also ask ourselves:

"What relationship am I maintaining with it?"

• Respect the place: leave the territory in a state as intact as possible after your visit.
• Respect the animals: observe them without chasing them, feeding them, or disturbing their movements.
• Respect the plants: avoid picking what we do not know or what we do not need.
• Know the territory: learn the history of the place and acknowledge the peoples who maintain ancestral ties to it.
• Reflect on our actions: understand that our presence always leaves a mark, even a discreet one.

This reflection completely transforms forest bathing. The forest ceases to be just a wellness service.

It becomes a living environment again of which we are a part.

How to do a forest bath simply?

It is not necessary to leave for several days into a remote forest to practice shinrin-yoku. A woodlot, a quiet trail, or a sufficiently calm park can suffice.

• Choose a calm place: it does not need to be spectacular. A simple spot that you can revisit regularly is often more interesting than an exceptional place visited only once.
• Put away your phone: keep it on you for safety, but turn off notifications.
• Walk slowly: forget distance and let your attention decide the pace.
• Use your senses: look, listen, smell, touch, and notice the temperature, textures, and movements.
• Stop: stay a few minutes in the same spot doing nothing but observing.
• Do not look for a sign everywhere: a raven can simply be a raven. An encounter with an animal does not need to automatically become a spiritual message.
• End with gratitude: there is no need to borrow a cultural ritual. Simply acknowledging the good fortune of having been able to be present in this place can be enough.

If animal symbolism interests you, you can also consult our guide on totem animals and their meaning.

How long should a forest bath last?

There is no magic duration. A guided experience can last several hours, while a short period spent consciously under the trees can already offer a true break from the daily rhythm.

• 20 minutes: a first conscious pause when time is limited.
• 45 to 60 minutes: long enough to start truly slowing down.
• 2 hours or more: a more complete immersion, with moments of walking and stopping.

The quality of attention probably counts more than the number of kilometers covered.

Forest bathing, hiking, and forest therapy: what is the difference?

These terms are often mixed up, although they do not designate exactly the same thing.

• Hiking: generally implies a route, a destination, or a distance goal.
• Forest bathing: emphasizes slowness, sensory immersion, and attention paid to the natural environment.
• Forest therapy: this broader term refers to different wellness approaches linked to trees and forests. Some claims made in its name, however, go beyond what is scientifically proven.

It is therefore not necessary to believe that trees possess mysterious medical powers to recognize that a calm moment spent in the forest can do you good.

The land, animals, and cycles

The more you return to the same natural environment, the more something becomes obvious: the forest is never exactly the same.

Spring transforms the waterways. The birds return. The plants emerge. Summer closes the forest canopy. Autumn changes the colors and the movements of animals. Winter reveals tracks that remained invisible on the ground.

These cycles represent another way of understanding our place in the living world.

We, too, go through periods of movement, rest, change, and renewal.

This idea of cycles and balance also appears in many teachings associated with the medicine wheel, the interpretations of which vary according to Nations and traditions.

Observing the seasons can thus become more than an outdoor activity.

It is a way of placing our own rhythm back into something much vaster.

Rediscovering nature without appropriating Indigenous traditions

The current popularity of nature-related spirituality sometimes leads to confusion.

Respecting Indigenous peoples does not mean reproducing ceremonies found on the Internet or mixing elements from several Nations to create one's own ritual.

It is entirely possible to develop a deeper relationship with nature without borrowing what does not belong to us.

Here are a few ways to start:

• Learn: discover the Nations that maintain ancestral ties to the territory where you live.
• Listen: give real space to Indigenous voices and knowledge.
• Respect: understand that certain ceremonies, teachings, or knowledge are not intended to be freely reproduced.
• Support: encourage Indigenous artisans, organizations, and initiatives whenever possible.
• Transmit: teach children that the forest is not just a place to consume an activity, but a living environment to be respected.

Respect often begins with something very simple:

listen before taking.

What if reconnection wasn't something to be found?

There is a lot of talk today about "reconnecting with nature."

As if we had lost a place to which we needed to return.

But perhaps we never truly left nature.

We breathe thanks to the same cycles. We drink the same water that has been circulating for generations. Our food comes from the soil, plants, animals, and water. The cold still affects our bodies. The light still influences our days.

We may build cities, install screens everywhere, and live for weeks without touching the earth directly.

Despite all this, we remain living beings in the midst of the living.

Forest bathing may therefore not truly be a reconnection.

It is a reminder.

A reminder that the world continues to breathe around us when we stop making noise.

A reminder that we can still recognize a track in the snow, listen to a river, or watch the movement of a tree in the wind.

And a reminder that, long before our era looked for a name for this feeling, the peoples of this land were already living with the territory as a daily presence, a source of knowledge, and a responsibility toward future generations.

An experiment to try on your next outing

The next time you enter a wooded area or the forest, don't look for anything for a few minutes.

Choose a spot. Stop. Breathe.

Then ask yourself:

• What is the furthest sound I can hear?
• What is moving around me?
• Which smell is dominant here?
• What trace shows that an animal passed by before me?
• What has changed since the last season?
• What will this place look like in six months?
• What did I not notice when I arrived?

You have nothing to succeed at.

Nothing to bring back.

Nothing to post.

Only a few minutes to be there.

The forest will do the rest.

Conclusion

We often look very far away for what is sometimes only a few steps away: a way to calm the mind, rediscover our senses, step out of the rhythm imposed by our days, and remember that we belong to something larger than our immediate concerns.

The forest has never stopped offering this space.

For the Indigenous peoples of this land, the territory also carries stories, knowledge, languages, responsibilities, and family ties that go far beyond the modern concept of a simple nature activity.

We cannot borrow this relationship or pretend that it is our own.

But we can take from it a universal invitation:

slow down enough to see what surrounds us, listen long enough to learn, and walk softly enough to leave something intact behind us.

The next time you enter the forest, try not to just pass through it.

Be truly present there.