The walking trail led to a creek and we followed its slow downwards arc through the gulley. The air felt swollen with moisture and so much cooler there, among the giant tree ferns. Mikki squatted down with his camera to frame a shot.
‘Walk more to the left side of the path,’ he said. I could tell he had dropped into movie director mode so I did what I was told and tried my best to forget he was right behind me, watching and filming. ‘Walk slower!’ he shouted. ‘And don’t swing that arm so much!’
‘Look up every now and again too!’ Mikki yelled. It was getting more and more difficult to forget he was there, I can tell you.
I turned my face to the sky—
‘Cut!’ Mikki shouted.
‘Was I that bad?’ I laughed.
‘Not at all!’ Mikki said, tripping on his feet as he lurched towards me. ‘I’ve got an idea! Why don’t we make a documentary of our own … it could be about forest bathing.’
I loved the idea. ‘Yes!’ I screeched, sounding a little too much like Clementine.
‘And you can be the presenter!’ Suddenly my love for the idea plummeted.
‘No way!’ I protested, still Clementine-like. All my previous imaginings about being in one of Mikki’s nature videos evaporated. ‘You’d be great. Like an eleven-year-old Jane Goodall with her gorillas, but you’d be all about forest bathing instead! It’s brilliant … don’t you think?’
‘Really?’ I scoffed. ‘A presenter with a broken arm?’
Mikki pointed the camera straight at me.
‘Why not? A presenter with a broken arm? I say, yes, Alberta!’
The green light on the camera illuminated.
‘Go for it, Alberta!’ Mikki said. But I just froze. Whole seconds passed. Mikki gestured with his pointer finger, in a spiralling kind of way, which I could only interpret as, Come on… hurry up!
‘Mikki, I really don’t want to do this!’
But he just kept on filming.
‘Just play along!’ Mikki said. ‘We can edit later. Let’s just improvise and see what happens.’
Before I knew it he started firing questions. It sure felt like he’d prepared them earlier too. Maybe Mikki had a secret ambition to be a TV presenter himself?
‘So, Alberta, tell me how an eleven-year-old kid in Australia became interested in the Japanese practice of forest bathing?’
‘Wait, Mikki!’ I said. I couldn’t answer Mikki’s question, and it had nothing to do with stage fright, either. ‘Don’t move! There’s a—’
‘First rule of improvisation, Alberta,’ Mikki interrupted. ‘Always play along with your partner’s offering.’
‘I know, Mikki, but there’s—’
‘It’s just fun, Alberta!’ Mikki shouted.
It wasn’t that I didn’t know how to improvise, or play along, or have fun. We did loads of improvisations in Drama and I was always saying ‘yes’ to people’s ideas. It was about the copperhead snake that was rippling across the path between us! Mikki hadn’t noticed it because he was only seeing what was in his camera display and he was slowly stepping towards me (and the snake) with his camera. Heading straight for it, in fact!
‘Cut!’ I yelled. ‘Mikki, listen!’ Mikki peered over the top of his camera.
‘Just stop!’ I whispered. ‘And don’t freak out but there’s a … snake!’ I pointed.
Mikki screamed so loudly that the snake immediately disappeared into the bracken by the edge of the path.
We both stood statue-still. Mikki’s eyes were full of terror. Then, when we were sure the snake had gone, we both started laughing our heads off.
‘It was more scared than you were!’ I said.
‘I’ve never seen a snake before!’ Mikki puffed. ‘Not in real life.’
After all that the idea of being a presenter in Mikki’s documentary felt way less daunting. I mean, I wasn’t scared of snakes so why would I be scared of talking in front of a camera? I remembered how Clementine and I used to goof around in the kitchen like we had our own cooking show, and how much I loved being the host in front of our pretend-camera.
Mikki picked up a handful of gravel and threw it to where we had lost sight of the snake.
‘Just need to make sure it has really gone,’ he said. He tossed another stone in the same direction.
‘I think the coast is clear,’ I said.
When Mikki was satisfied the snake wasn’t going to come back we started where we’d left off, Mikki leading with the same question …
‘Alberta, how did an eleven-year-old kid in Australia became interested in the Japanese practice of forest bathing?’
‘Well, according to research out of Japan—’
‘Go again!’ Mikki said. ‘Remember to look straight at the camera!’
I took a deep breath and continued. ‘According to scientific research the practice of shinrin-yoku, or forest bathing is all about synchronising with the forest environment,’ I said.
Mikki lowered the camera.
‘Brilliant, Alberta! I knew you could do it!’
I laughed. ‘I don’t even know what synchronising with the forest environment means!’
‘Okay,’ said Mikki. ‘Follow me and I’ll show you.’
Mikki quickened his pace to get ahead then slowed his steps right down, his voice too.
‘Firstly, you need to take care of any distractions, like phones. Phones should definitely be turned off.’
‘What if you want to take a photo?’ I asked. But Mikki didn’t answer.
‘Next,’ he continued, ‘you purposefully slow your pace.’ I watched Mikki’s feet and the deliberate steps he was taking and listened to the crunching sound on the gravel. I tried to do the same with mine.
‘Now, once you’re free of distractions and you’re walking nice and slowly … focus your attention on your breathing.’ Mikki took an audible breath in and sighed it out. It was like there was a cool breeze sweeping between Mikki’s words. ‘Look at all the nature around you, imagine the whole forest breathing with you … with every fresh step you take invite the nature in to calm your mind and body.’
I laughed. ‘Except if the nature turns out to be a snake!’ Mikki ignored this too. His voice remained calm and centred.
‘Notice the many colours in nature, the particular blue of the sky, all the shades of green in the plants and trees,’ Mikki said. ‘And can you notice, just notice all the different shapes? No need to name or categorise anything … just notice … allow your eyes to drink it all in.’
As I followed Mikki’s instructions I felt myself growing more and more relaxed. All the usual forest sounds, the ones I’d barely noticed before, suddenly seemed louder. Colours were more vibrant and illuminated too, and the sunlight flickering between the trees took on a life of its own. I felt time actually slowing down and slipping away, which wasn’t so crazy at all, given it was New Year’s Eve and time actually was slipping away. Soon the year would be over. My mind couldn’t help jumping to the New Year’s bash at the Bowls Club that night and how usually Sylvie and I would have made plans to meet up beforehand. But Mikki soon took me back to the forest.
‘Really observe all the small details …’ he said, ‘… the leaves, the bark on the trees, the earth under your feet. Notice any movements from the breeze … all the things that usually pass you by.’
Mikki eventually stopped talking and we both ambled along the trail in our own little worlds. Until, Mikki had another idea.
‘We could have our own YouTube channel, you know?’ he said.
This made me burst out laughing.
‘You might laugh, Alberta,’ Mikki argued. ‘But I subscribe to loads of nature documentary channels on YouTube. People are making really cool videos, even people our age.’
‘Really? I thought YouTube was just full of rich kids doing product reviews so they can get free stuff.’
‘Well, sure,’ Mikki agreed. ‘There’s plenty of that going on too.’
‘Or cooking hacks or slime. Or … boring gaming stuff.’
‘Yes, but we could have a really cool channel. I’ve always wanted to but—’
‘You should, Mikki!’ I said. ‘You totally should.’
‘Believe me, I think about it all the time,’ Mikki said. ‘But I’d be a terrible presenter. Anyway, I just want to shoot film. You could do it though, Alberta. With a bit of practice, you’d be the perfect presenter.’
‘I was pretty good with the fake cooking shows my sister and I used to do.’ I laughed. ‘But gee, Mikki … I don’t—’
‘Our channel could be amazing … there’s nothing on forest bathing and how to communicate with trees!’ Mikki’s face lit up. ‘And my grandfather would be so proud!’ he exclaimed.
I think it was that part that got me over the line, the idea of making Mikki’s grandfather proud. I wanted that too, I really did. And it wasn’t like I didn’t have time. What else was I going to do for the rest of the holidays? I decided to go with it, in the full spirit of improvisation – run with my partner’s idea.
‘Okay, Mikki! Let’s do it!’
All the usual scenes in the forest had taken on a different, film-worthy light. Mikki and I followed the walking track deeper and deeper into the forest, chatting about how we’d make our first video. Mikki kept stopping to shoot snippets of film. Most of all we needed to agree on a name for our YouTube channel and as we brainstormed, we let ourselves be taken where the forest seemed to want us to go. The ideas were flowing thick and fast, like a game of word ping-pong. But no matter how many names we tried, nothing seemed to stick.
‘How ’bout … TreeTV?’ Mikki suggested.
‘Nah,’ we both said in unison.
‘Kingfisher Forest Bath?’ I suggested.
‘Nah,’ we both said again.
‘All About Trees?’ Mikki said.
‘Nah,’ we said, as one.
‘Big World, Little Forest?’
‘Nah.’
The brainstorming went on and on. Names like Forest Drama, Studio Eco, Forest Babble, The Tree Tub, Feelin Grovey … but nothing seemed to stick.
‘Forest Bath?’ Mikki suggested.
‘I like Forest Bath but …’
‘You know, Alberta,’ he said. ‘Let’s just work on the video today and decide later.’
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Maybe the perfect name will come to us in a dream? It worked for Albert Einstein. He discovered the theory of relativity after dreaming about cows!’