To everyone who has been called Outdoorsy.

I have awoken naturally at 4:30 am - not a usual occurrence but a welcome one....

I have awoken naturally at 4:30 am - not a usual occurrence but a welcome one. I am due to be up and on my way to a regular group fitness at 5:30 am anyway. The wood fire is going strong even at this early hour. So the cold of the winter night remains at the door - it is cosy in our lounge room, quiet and still. No sunny day to beckon me outside. The perfect opportunity to write.

I have been thinking about this blog - the need to put 'pen to paper'. Weekly writing shared as part of our Weekly Meditation and Movement in Nature have been going strong. But this more long form, inspired writing has not had the time-slot allotted to it - much less the inspiration bubbling up. 

This week - every week actually - journeying in the outdoors has been a-calling. As winter comes on in, planning for skiing and snow-play adventures begins. Conversely, I ponder the red-center, up-north, remote landscape possibilities. Excitement for both exist. Commonalities in these polar opposites. The same gut, heart, alive knowing as I sink into snow and its icy cold and/or lie upon dry warm-red-earth and soak up the warmth of tropical climates of the north.  

 I thought I would share this little ode.  (I would add every Man too). Published on She Explores it is my morning shout out to you all, and gratitude for sharing such experiences with The Natural Space to Be.

An Ode to Every Woman Who’s Ever Been Called Outdoorsy 

Words & Photos by Madison Perrins

You, a natural resource.

You who feels like the best version of herself at sunset when the air is crackling and the dirt’s between your toes.

You who as the sun’s rising, promises to be quiet and let the dawn share its secret with the day on its own.

You who, at high noon, have almost-but-not-quite dared the sun to burn your skin, imagining the cracked patina leather it would someday become: signs of a life outside. But you know better than to dare the sun anything.

You who have pulled on crusty socks unceremoniously and brushed off those who notice.

You, who know that all the bruises and scrapes from scrambling and rambling are the best because they remind you of being alive. Someone may even point it out: “How’d ya do that?” And you shrug your shoulders, because you honestly don’t know.

You who have shed tears on the trail without really knowing why.

You who look at the mountains and think they must know everything about you, and you who look at the sea and are sure that it doesn’t care about you at all.

You who have surprised yourself by falling behind the group, and you who have surprised yourself by charging ahead. The trail is the same, but each time, you’re the one who’s different.

You who have surprised yourself by falling behind the group, and you who have surprised yourself by charging ahead. The trail is the same, but each time, you’re the one who’s different.

You who, however gracefully, made it. Sometimes it’s ugly, and sometimes you move across the water or rock and have never felt lighter.

You who smiles as someone tries to understand why you have to be barefoot at least some portion of the year, or come in with rosy cheeks and wild hair and dirt clinging in clumps to, well, anywhere it can get. And you who don’t really need them to understand anyways.

You who have found your remedy—you lucky girl. It takes some years to know about the cure-all of dried sweat and moon-stains.
You, a natural resource, supplied by nature, and made up of it, too. I am proud of you.

Madison Perrins is a Montana-based photographer and consistent contributor to She Explores.