Friends of the Forest

Friends of the Forest Friends of the Forest offers nature-inspired wellness programs for women seeking deeper connection, healing, and inner peace.

Rooted in the rhythms of the Earth, we create spaces for rest, renewal, and soulful belonging. Friends of the Forest is a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization that helps reconnect women with the Sacred and more-than-human world. We provide engaging, sensory immersion experiences in nature to help women cultivate a healing reconnection with our natural world by incorporating creativity, connection with

nature, mindfulness, personal development, and equine wisdom. Rewild your sense of wonder for the more-than-human world, and rediscover how Mother Nature provides sacred guidance through life's circular and seasonal journey. We welcome you to connect with nature, live with the seasons, tune into your body’s needs, and explore a little earth magick with us.

There is no perfect way to be in relationship with nature.No one right posture, prayer, or practice. Your body already k...
07/26/2025

There is no perfect way to be in relationship with nature.
No one right posture, prayer, or practice. Your body already knows how to belong here.

This is not a performance. It’s not for anyone else’s approval.
It’s about presence, not perfection.

When we release judgment, we give ourselves permission to be fully here—as we are. We let go of distraction and drop into direct experience: this breath, this breeze, this moment.

Think of each time in nature as a seed planted in your heart.
You may not see the results right away—but something is growing.

Affirmation:
✨ “What I’m experiencing is appropriate for this moment. I don’t have to fix or change anything.”

Prompt for Reflection or Journaling:

Where does judgment show up when I connect with nature or my body?
What would it feel like to release the pressure to do it “right”?

Suggested Practice:
Go outside without a goal. Let yourself wander, sit, or pause. No agenda. Just be.

As the Wheel of the Year turns once more, we find ourselves nearing the next threshold—Lammas, the first of the harvest ...
07/26/2025

As the Wheel of the Year turns once more, we find ourselves nearing the next threshold—Lammas, the first of the harvest festivals.

This moment in the cycle invites a pause. A breath. A chance to look around and within. Each turning of the Wheel is both an ending and a beginning, an invitation to reflect on what has passed and to prepare for what lies ahead.

The harvest festivals—beginning with Lammas—mark a sacred time of gathering, gratitude, and grounding. They remind us that the work we do, inwardly and outwardly, has weight and consequence. That what we plant—intentionally or not—will, in time, bear fruit.

And so before we step fully into the energies of Lammas, I’m taking a moment to honor the Wheel itself: this ancient rhythm that guides us through darkness and light, through growth and rest, through sowing, reaping, and renewal.

Next week, I’ll be sharing deeper reflections on Lammas—its themes, its symbolism, and its invitation. But for now, I’m simply standing here at the edge of the season, feeling the warmth of the summer sun, and beginning to ask: What is ready to be gathered? And what is asking to be released?

The Wheel turns. And with it, so do we.

Wild blessings,
Kathleen

As we approach the turning of the wheel toward Lammas—the first harvest—I find myself pausing beneath the soft green can...
07/25/2025

As we approach the turning of the wheel toward Lammas—the first harvest—I find myself pausing beneath the soft green canopy of trees, listening to the hush between birdsong, and feeling deeply grateful.

Grateful… and truthfully, a little awestruck. To see so many kind, wise women gather beneath the shade of this page—each bringing their own quiet magic—is nothing short of a blessing.

I’ve always hoped this space might feel like a small sanctuary—a place where your spirit can rest and be nourished. A quiet clearing you can return to, again and again.

And this intention—of care, of gentleness, of connection to the more-than-human world—flows into everything we create.

Whether it’s a forest bathing walk, a soft morning among horses, or one of our gatherings online, every offering is shaped with the same hope: that you leave feeling a little more grounded, a little more seen, and a little more connected to your own inner rhythm.

Even in the shadowy hours, there is always something—
a glimmer,
a birdsong,
a golden thread of light,
a breeze that finds you just when you need it most.

So thank you.
For being here. For reading. For bringing your tenderness into this little woodland corner of the world.

May this season bring you gentle clarity, soul-deep joy, and a harvest of all that truly nourishes.

Wild blessings,
Kathleen

07/25/2025

There is a quiet enchantment in the way birds move through the sky—weightless, unbound, as if they carry the memory of other worlds in their wings. Their presence is both delicate and powerful, a living bridge between earth and sky.

Across cultures and centuries, birds have been seen as messengers—carrying whispers from the unseen, bringing signs when we are willing to notice. The raven, with its shadowed knowing, invites us to look beneath the surface. The owl, gliding through moonlight, carries the hush of deep wisdom. The songbird, greeting the morning, sings of beginnings and tender hope.

When you encounter a bird—whether in flight or resting—pause. Let yourself feel it, not just see it. How does it move through space? What mood does it bring? Are its calls sharp, sweet, rhythmic, or haunting? Birds often speak not in song, but in sensations, memories, and subtle stirrings of the heart.

Sometimes, a bird appears when we most need to remember something we've forgotten—our voice, our lightness, our instinct to rise.

These winged guides ask little of us. Just this: look up, breathe in, and be still enough to notice.

Suggested Practice:
Find a quiet place where you can sit in stillness—by a window, in your backyard, beneath a tree. Close your eyes and listen for birdsong. Let the sounds move through you like a language older than words. When you open your eyes, allow your gaze to soften. If a bird appears, don’t analyze—just be with it. Feel its presence.

Then gently ask:
“What are you here to show me?”

Let whatever arises come without effort. Sometimes, the message isn’t in the mind—it’s in the quiet that remains.

Impressionist stillness.A woman in a boat, alone but not lost — resting at the meeting point of movement and pause.Paint...
07/24/2025

Impressionist stillness.
A woman in a boat, alone but not lost — resting at the meeting point of movement and pause.

Painted in soft strokes and shifting light, this quiet moment on the water invites reflection.
Not just of sky on water, but of self — of thought, emotion, memory.

She doesn’t row. She doesn’t rush.
She allows the boat to drift.
She watches the shimmer of light on the surface — and perhaps, the soft rising of something within.

This is the quiet medicine of water.
To be held. To be softened.
To remember that even stillness can carry us forward.

Reflection Prompt:
What part of you needs to float for a while — not directed, not driven, just gently witnessed?

ART/"On the River," by Guy Orlando Rose (1867-1925), American Impressionist

07/24/2025

Spirit in the Trees: Meeting Guides Through the Green

There is something ancient about trees—something that humbles us without words. Standing among them, you feel the stretch of time: their quiet endurance, their watchful stillness, their rooted strength.

Trees have long been seen as guardians, teachers, and guides across cultures and traditions. The Celts believed each tree held a specific spirit or energy. In Norse mythology, the great World Tree, Yggdrasil, connected all realms. Even today, many of us instinctively go to trees for comfort—to sit beneath their shade, to lean against their trunks, to listen.

And often, they listen back.

Have you ever found yourself drawn to a particular tree? Maybe it’s not the tallest or the most beautiful, but something in you recognizes something in it. That draw could be more than just preference—it might be a form of communication. A spiritual connection.

Trees are not just part of the landscape; they’re part of our inner journey. They mirror our own growth—how we reach upward while staying grounded. How we shed and renew. How we survive storms, break open, and still stand.

Reflection Questions:

Is there a tree in your life that feels like a companion?

What qualities does this tree embody that you might also need or carry?

What would it feel like to imagine this tree as a guide? What would it say?

Suggested Practice:
Find a tree that draws you in. Sit with it. Rest your back against its trunk. Breathe with it. Ask it silently, “What do you know that I’ve forgotten?” Then just be. Let any insight, emotion, or image rise gently. There’s no need to explain—just receive.

07/23/2025

There is a quiet wisdom that lives in the land beneath our feet.

Before we had books, before structured prayers or formal guides, we had the Earth. The land was our first teacher. The winds carried stories. The rivers gave us rhythm. The mountains reminded us to be still and strong.

When we begin to walk again with reverence—pausing to notice the moss on the stone, the way light filters through branches, or the hush that falls just before rain—we remember: nature is always speaking. The question is, are we listening?

In many traditions, spirit guides are not just ethereal beings but also the very forces of nature—the ancient tree, the singing bird, the pulse of the Earth beneath bare feet. These are guides rooted in presence.

Sometimes, we seek guidance as if it’s far away. But what if it’s right here—in the wind brushing your cheek, or the way the earth holds you when you sit in stillness?

When I go outside and simply listen—with no agenda but openness—I often feel a sense of homecoming. The land doesn't rush me. It doesn't expect clarity. It simply offers presence. And in that, I hear messages: subtle, intuitive, wordless but full.

A few questions for reflection:

What is the land around you saying today?

Where in nature do you feel most at peace or most “seen”?

What happens when you slow down and listen—not with your ears, but with your whole being?

Suggested Practice:
Take a slow, silent walk in a place that feels special to you. Instead of thinking, focus on sensing. Notice what draws your attention naturally. Spend time there. Be with it. Ask: “Is there something you’re trying to show me?” Then just listen.

Yesterday’s Oracle of Wild Places was Move with Beauty—and the image stayed with me: a luminous pink betta fish, flowing...
07/23/2025

Yesterday’s Oracle of Wild Places was Move with Beauty—and the image stayed with me: a luminous pink betta fish, flowing through water like a whisper.

She didn’t rush. She didn’t fight the current.
She just moved—gracefully, intuitively, as if beauty itself was her compass.

It reminded me that not all movement has to be fast or forceful.
Sometimes the most powerful thing we can do is soften into the moment, and let ourselves be led by wonder.

As women, we are often taught to push. To achieve. To perform.
But this fish teaches a different way—one that honors presence over pace. One that says: “You are a bright thread in the tapestry of the deep. Swim where the color calls.”

So today, I’m choosing to move like her.
With grace. With reverence. With beauty as my guide.
Not because I have to go somewhere fast—but because I trust where my body, heart, and spirit are quietly pulling me.

There is magic in this moment.
And I belong to it.

Each Monday, we begin with a card — a mirror, a guide, a small light.This is your reminder to move gently, with grace an...
07/21/2025

Each Monday, we begin with a card — a mirror, a guide, a small light.

This is your reminder to move gently, with grace and wonder.
You don’t have to rush. You don’t have to strive.
Let your rhythm be led by awe.
Swim toward color.

What beauty is calling you closer?

I’m feeling so deeply grateful. 💚Our 2nd monthly gathering of Women, Magic & Meaning was another beautiful reminder of w...
07/20/2025

I’m feeling so deeply grateful. 💚

Our 2nd monthly gathering of Women, Magic & Meaning was another beautiful reminder of why we do what we do at Friends of the Forest.

A day filled with laughter, ease, and community —
Mothers and daughters, close friends, and women who came alone all found connection and belonging.
This is what happens when we gather with intention.
This is the magic.


Creating spaces where women feel safe, seen, and supported isn’t just part of our mission — it’s what inspires everything we do💫

Thank you to everyone who showed up.
Thank you for trusting the space.
And thank you for being part of something bigger.

✨ We’re just getting started.

https://friendsoftheforestct.org/forestsisters

Story #7: Smoke for the Ancestors, A Story of Sweet FernSweetfern isn’t truly a fern, though its soft, feathery leaves ...
07/20/2025

Story #7: Smoke for the Ancestors, A Story of Sweet Fern

Sweetfern isn’t truly a fern, though its soft, feathery leaves might fool the eye. It grows like a quiet guardian along roadsides, bog paths, and woodland edges—where the soil thins and light stretches like a blessing. When fall arrives, its foliage deepens to a glowing bronze, wearing the last fire of the season before winter’s hush.

You’ll know it by the scent.

Crush a leaf between your fingers, and it releases a fragrance like forest fire and warm resin—sweet, earthy, and clean. A scent that lingers. A scent that remembers.

Long before herbals and apothecaries, Sweetfern was known to those who lived close to the land. Indigenous peoples burned it as smoke for the body, the home, and the spirit. It was a purifier, a comforter, a quiet ally. Brewed as tea, it eased fevers, calmed the belly, and settled restless thoughts. A plant not of force, but of release.

There is no poison in Sweetfern. No sting or bitter warning. Just warmth. Gentleness. Presence.

In the old ways, dried bundles were kept in rafters and hung near hearths. When grief had stayed too long or someone passed through the veil, Sweetfern was burned—not to drive spirits away, but to guide them home with grace. A breath between worlds. Smoke for the ancestors.

Some say its smoke carries prayers. Others say it simply helps you hear.

Sweetfern is not the kind of plant you hunt for. It finds you—growing in places where people pause to breathe. It curls itself around stillness. Around silence. Around the quiet parts of us that ache to be soothed.

And when the wind stirs through it, rustling like old words between old friends, you might catch its scent and feel something in you loosen.

A sorrow lifting.
A memory returning.
Peace, coming home.

She lives in all of us—the Wild Woman.Not untamed in the chaotic sense, but wild as in whole, instinctual, connected to ...
07/19/2025

She lives in all of us—the Wild Woman.
Not untamed in the chaotic sense, but wild as in whole, instinctual, connected to the rhythms of the earth and the truth of her body.
She doesn’t perform. She doesn’t ask for permission. She remembers.

This series of posts, Nurturing the Wild Woman, is a seasonal offering of gentle reflections, embodiment practices, and soul nourishment designed to help you return to your natural way of being—one rooted in presence, belonging, and deep relationship with nature.

We’ll explore what it means to live in alignment with the seasons, to tend the wildness within without judgment, and to trust that your way of being is not something to fix—but something to honor.

Each post is a seed—small, simple, and meant to grow slowly over time.

We begin with summer, and the art of letting go of judgment...
because nurturing the Wild Woman means allowing—not controlling.
Trusting—not forcing.
Becoming—not performing.

Stay with me, wild one.
Your remembering has already begun.

Address

Essex, CT

Telephone

+18609041933

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