Nesbit’s study decided they preferred the air-conditioning, or they
simply didn’t respond to the follow-up questionnaire. Of the 2,500
who stuck it out, most were just like me: women in their mid-forties.
Researchers love us because we do, sigh, follow through on our
commitments, and we are conditioned to be helpful. But there were
rewards: I spoke to Nisbet months later, after she’d sorted the data.
“The more time participants spent in nature, the greater well-being
they reported,” she said. One of the most interesting findings was that
we seemed to like being in nature so much, we doubled our weekly
green time by the end of the month, from five hours to ten. As the
month progressed, we also reduced our time in vehicles, texting and
emailing. Progress! All this temporal rearrangement appeared to be
good for us. We reported significant increases in all measures of well-
being, including in mood and mental calm, and also decreases in
stress and negativity. We slept slightly better, and also reported
feeling slightly more connected to nature.
This was all true for me. The more I made myself get outside, the
better I slept and felt, except when my bee-stung arm turned into
armzilla. But the discomfort was temporary. Despite the planes and
all the people, my nearby parks were invariably cooler, breezier and
better-smelling than anywhere else in the city. I watched the buds turn
to leaves and I made a point of trying to identify a few birds by sound
and of looking for fractals. I often walked to look at the Potomac
River, just to take the currents in and let the water (always the
highest-rated nature feature in surveys) work its magic on my tired
neurons. The required thirty minutes often turned into many more.
Still, it felt a little contrived. Pull out the stopwatch. Try to feel
connected. I wanted to find people who were spending even more
intensive time in nature, real nature, and, frankly, I wanted it myself,
now that I was all connected.
It was time to head for the backcountry.