How the Outdoors Became My Safe Place

Some of my earliest memories begin with the sound of frogs.

On warm evenings when the sun slipped below the trees, my family would walk the path around the small pond behind our house. The air would cool just enough to carry the sounds of crickets and birds settling in for the night, and the water would reflect the last light of the day. Even as a kid, those moments felt peaceful in a way I didn’t fully understand yet.

One bird in particular always caught my attention. The red-winged blackbird had a call that sounded, at least to my young ears, like it was saying my name.

“Jer-Rah-Meeee.”

I remember standing there by the water, listening to that sound echo across the pond, feeling like somehow I belonged in that world.

Looking back now, I realize those small moments were the beginning of something much bigger.

We didn’t have much growing up. Our house sat on a small piece of land surrounded by farmland, and the outdoors was simply part of everyday life. We had a pond in the backyard, trees everywhere, and fields that stretched out farther than a kid could explore in a single afternoon.

Most days were spent outside.

I wandered through the fields behind our house, climbed trees, and invented little adventures of my own. The woods became a playground where imagination took over. A fallen branch could become a fort. A narrow path between trees could become a trail to somewhere unknown.

Even then, I was drawn to exploration.

Summer nights had their own rhythm. As the sun disappeared, the yard would come alive. Crickets chirped, frogs called from the pond, and the air filled with the steady hum of nighttime life. I would leave my bedroom window open so the breeze and those sounds could drift inside. Listening to that quiet symphony helped me fall asleep, and in many ways it helped me forget about the things happening inside the house.

As I got older, I joined Cub Scouts, which became my gateway into scouting and into a deeper connection with the outdoors. Camping trips, hikes, and learning basic outdoor skills opened up a whole new world to me. I became fascinated with animals, forests, and the quiet rhythm of being outside.

Even when there wasn’t a camping trip planned, I tried to recreate that feeling on my own. I would pitch a tent in the backyard and sleep outside. I built forts in the woods and carved out little trails through the trees. I could spend hours out there, completely lost in my own small world.

It’s funny how some things never really change. Even all these years later, I still find myself drawn to those same places.

Scouting taught me practical skills like cooking over a campfire, navigating with a compass, and finding my way through unfamiliar terrain. But it also taught me something deeper. It showed me that I was capable. That I could figure things out. That I could depend on myself.

Those lessons stayed with me far beyond the campfire.

My home life wasn’t always easy. There was abuse in our household, and many nights were spent in my room while my father yelled downstairs or while I hid out of fear of being hit or worse. It was the kind of situation no child should have to experience.

Like many kids growing up in that kind of environment, I developed ways of coping. Some of them weren’t always healthy, but they helped me survive those years.

One of the places I found relief was outside.

The woods gave me space to breathe. Out there, the noise, tension, and chaos of home seemed to fade away. The forest didn’t ask anything of me. The trails didn’t judge me. I could just walk, explore, and exist in a place that felt calm and steady.

Years later I would learn the word escapism, and it made sense. When things felt overwhelming, the outdoors gave me somewhere to go.

One of my favorite memories from that time came when I was a teenager living in Waterdown, Ontario, a small town along the Niagara Escarpment. The Bruce Trail ran practically through my backyard, and I spent countless hours walking those paths.

I would head down to the trailhead and disappear into the woods for hours at a time. No destination, no real plan. Just following the trail wherever it happened to lead.

It was the first time in my life that I remember feeling real calm. Real peace.

Even now, decades later, I recognize that same feeling every time I step onto a trail. The quiet of the woods, the rhythm of walking, the sense that for a little while everything else fades away.

Those early experiences shaped far more than my hobbies. They built the foundation for who I would become. They taught me respect for nature, a deep appreciation for wild places, and a responsibility to care for them. They taught me resilience and self-reliance. They showed me that even when life feels overwhelming, there is always somewhere you can go to breathe and regain your footing.

For me, that place has always been the outdoors.

And all these years later, it still is.