Category Archives: Unplugged

September 15, 2026 · 12:50 pm

The Woods are Lovely, Dark and Deep

Sometimes a walk in the woods is something you didn’t even know you needed—until you take that walk. For me, at least, it’s a good way to reconnect with nature and with myself, more specifically, by hugging trees, admiring moss and touching a lot of bark. There’s something incredibly cleansing, almost healing, about spending time in the woods—both for physical and mental well-being. Forest bathing, or shinrin yoku, is a term coined by the Japanese to describe the practice of wandering through nature, trees in particular, in order to reap a host of benefits. And apparently, there is some promising science behind that statement. As reported by the Cleveland Clinic, trees release tiny particles called phytoncides and when people inhale them, immunity is boosted. Cortisol, a stress hormone, is also reduced along with depression. So aside from the possibility of tick bites or a sprained ankle, a walk in the woods is thought to be good for you.

In my mind, it’s also a surefire way to fill one’s tank, so to speak—a way to escape the noise and chaos of civilization in order to drink in the calm and stillness of nature. A week or so ago, my husband surprised me with a trip to accomplish just that. Cook Forest State Park is an 8,500-acre expanse of old-growth trees and recreational facilities for hiking, canoeing, camping and cross-country skiing located in remote northwestern Pennsylvania along the Clarion River. As a many-decade resident of the state, I can’t believe I’ve never visited this extraordinary wonder of nature, until now.

To say that we enjoyed our excursion through the innumerable stands of white pine and hemlock is an understatement. The scent alone was intoxicating, not to mention gazing up at the canopy of leaves and needles far above—the sky barely visible, completely enveloped by the forest. A carpet of ferns stretched out before us in a blaze of green while countless trees that had fallen lay throughout the woods in varying states of decay. Like a great shroud above us, foliage blocked a good bit of sunlight as soon as we stepped foot on the trail, our skin noticeably cooler as we hiked deeper and deeper into the forest. Everywhere we placed our feet, rocks and roots greeted us, but thankfully, no snakes or poison ivy.

Well into our journey along the path (that was not especially well-marked), it was as if we had been swallowed by the very essence of density, surrounded by trees hundreds of years old—wonderfully disoriented, soaking in the eerie stillness, alone together with our thoughts. The quiet was what I found most striking of all, aside from birds calling to one another and chipmunks scurrying about in the thick underbrush, it was dead silent. No traffic. No lawnmowers. Not even a plane overhead could be perceived. But I swear I could hear my heartbeat.

Naturally, I turned around a number of times realizing just how easy it would be to become lost since I had long ago forgotten from which direction we had originated. We chuckled about that, and the notion that we had yet to see a bear. So, we kept moving forward, but in the back of our minds thought it best not to stray from the trail and pray that we get out long before dark, as the lingering shafts of afternoon sunlight served as a reminder of how long we had been there. And because the gods were smiling upon us, we did get out, but not before we heard the distant rumble of thunder along with soft taps of rain, which I found strangely comforting, cloaked by the forest all around.

Robert Frost was right. “The woods are lovely, dark and deep.”

Welcome to my world. It’s where I live (recalling my respite, deep in the woods of Cook Forest). Visit me there at www.facebook.com/NotesFromPlanetMom. Signed books are available on Etsy at PlanetMomMarket.

Thunderstruck

Apparently, I am a ceraunophile—a lover of thunderstorms. The term is derived from the Greek word keraunos, or “thunderbolt” and the word -phile, which means fondness. It’s a good thing my husband discovered the term lest I go through life not knowing this interesting tidbit of information.

It’s not a new development for me. I’ve always loved thunderstorms, even as a kid. I remember many a summer sitting with my dad, a fellow ceraunophile, for the duration of an untold number of storms, safe beneath our carport in scratchy lawn chairs. There was something special about the time we spent there, together sharing our fascination with one of nature’s most extraordinary events, talking about everything or instead becoming still and allowing the rumbles of thunder to shake us to our core and to swallow our conversations whole. Most of the time the thunder was our cue to get out of the pool and head for shelter, wrapping ourselves from head to toe in beach towels, the air heavy and humid. Those moments live in my memory even still.

Things haven’t changed much; I continue to be infatuated with summer storms, especially just before the rain hits—when the winds shift and swell, the trees sway with indescribable ferocity and the air fills with an electric energy that seems almost tangible. There’s something exhilarating about watching the skies grow dark and hearing a low rumble in the distance. Even the birds know something’s about to happen as they retreat to their nests and suddenly go silent.

I look to the clouds as they gather en masse, now steely gray or blue-black, in anticipation of the coming crescendo—when bolts light up the sky, thunderheads crash and torrents of rain pelt the parched earth. It’s such a moving experience and, to me, the smell and sound of the rain beating against the hot pavement is positively intoxicating. Never mind how comforting hard rain on the roof and rolling thunder sound in the wee hours of the night.

I’m pretty sure my kids have inherited my penchant for thunderstorms too, although when they were small, they were frightened by the deafening cracks and low rumbles that shook the house. We huddled together, as I remember, reading books on the couch in lieu of watching TV since we usually lost power if the storm was especially damaging. The dogs cowered, desperately searching for a place to hunker down in order to escape the rolling thunder that seemed to envelop us all. I’ll never forget one of the cats hiding behind our washing machine for the duration of one storm—a place I never once considered a refuge before.

At any rate, I am intrigued by an approaching storm, as the leaves of nearby trees show their undersides—especially the silver maples. Apparently, it has something to do with increasing humidity. And the more the wind intensifies, the more noticeable the silvery backsides of the leaves become, almost as if the trees are signaling a warning. And somehow the green colors deepen to an even greener hue during downpours (or maybe that’s just my imagination) as I watch the leaves drip onto the thirsty ground below.

What follows the storm is almost as satisfying to witness, as the clouds break and the sun finally reappears. The air has a newness about it, as the steam rises from asphalt, concrete and grassy spaces, warm puddles all around—so inviting to bare feet. The heat returns with a vengeance as the searing sun beats down upon the land.

Even still, a distant rumble of thunder can be heard, which makes my heart happy.

Welcome to my world. It’s where I live (anxiously awaiting the next thunderstorm). Visit me there at www.melindawentzel.com. Signed books are available on Etsy at PlanetMomMarket.

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Filed under "N" is for Nostalgia, A Tree is Nice, Endless Summer, Gratitude, Love and Other Drugs, Unplugged

Tagged as love, summer, weather, nature, storms, thunderstorms, thunder, summer showers, clouds, thunderheads

June 23, 2026 · 12:00 pm

Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost

The title of this column, which is a renowned line from J.R.R. Tolkien’s novel, The Fellowship of the Ring, certainly rings true for me—although I have been known to become somewhat disoriented while wandering, especially in the woods.

At any rate, one of my favorite activities is to try to get my steps in—usually walking around my neighborhood, but I’ll walk practically anywhere if it’s not too hilly. Typically, the weather dictates specifically where I’ll go and since I acknowledge that I can no longer stand the heat, I refrain from walking outdoors when the temperature is akin to the surface of the sun. That goes for the dead of winter, too, when it’s windy or icy or unbearably cold. Instead, my husband and I opt for doing laps around the indoor track at Lycoming College—a wonderful facility that we are so fortunate to be able to use. As an added bonus, we get to interact with delightful college students and faculty as we cruise around the oval together, overlooking an enormous gymnasium below. They even pipe in music that permeates the entire space, although we usually bring our own tunes.

Naturally, the college kids lap me (usually running like the wind) which I take in stride because I have them by several decades, never mind their superior flexibility and lung capacity. But they never lord it over me, which I appreciate greatly. They smile and sometimes even offer words of encouragement or a friendly “hello.”

But sometimes it’s even too hot to walk there, as the outdoor heat tends to seep inside, especially on sunny days. And let us not forget my wretched hot flashes. I know I haven’t. I suppose I could join a gym, where it’s likely air-conditioned, and use a treadmill to my heart’s content. But I know myself. I signed up for a gym membership years ago, fully intending to frequent said facility and never once did so. I don’t know why exactly; I only know that. So, for me, that would be a total waste of money.

Instead, I do what I never once imagined I would do—I hike the vast acreage (i.e. the innumerable aisles) contained within in our local grocery stores. Needless to say, the temperatures are cool and comfortable, and the terrain is flat. There’s music, too. Not surprisingly, I’ll occasionally encounter a bottleneck of people and carts on my path, but that’s easy enough to navigate. What’s more, sometimes I’ll stumble upon someone I know and enjoy catching up with them, or I’ll notice a ridiculous sale on Milano cookies and feel compelled to gather an armload, which I’ll reluctantly haul around the rest of the store. Aside from that, it’s a perfect place to trek on pretty much any day of the week.

That said, I’ve become a glorified “mall walker,” the very group of people I used to silently judge because I couldn’t understand why they weren’t in a park or a neighborhood or slogging away on a treadmill somewhere. Now I get it. Only it’s grocery stores—not the mall.

Truth be told, I mostly prefer taking my daily jaunts through our neighborhood, in the fresh air and sunshine. As an added benefit, I run across friends, their kids and sometimes I even get to pet their dogs. If it’s after dusk, I enjoy seeing people’s windows aglow with warm, yellow light as I pass—especially in the winter. And because I’m a complete weirdo, I like to kick stones and step on dry leaves along my path, hearing a satisfying crunch beneath my feet. We always seem to have an abundance of leaves in our street so that’s a win for me. Thankfully, thick groves of old-growth trees envelop our neighborhood almost entirely, lush shrubbery and thickets lapping at the edges of the pavement. And there’s nothing that I love more than to be surrounded by woods in any season.

It’s true; not all those who wander are lost. Some are just trying to get their steps in, and along the way discover that the path they’ve chosen feels much like home.

Welcome to my world. It’s where I live (probably walking). Visit me there at www.facebook.com/NotesFromPlanetMom. Signed books are available on Etsy at PlanetMomMarket.

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Filed under A Tree is Nice, Gratitude, Me Myself and I, Me Time, Unplugged

Tagged as humor, fitness, exercise, outdoors, hobbies, walking

May 19, 2026 · 1:09 pm

Into the Woods

It’s no wonder the novel The Secret Garden resonated so deeply with me when I was around ten. I found myself identifying with the characters who became immersed within the natural world, inside a special, hidden-from-civilization plot of greenery that ended up healing them in some way. And since I grew up surrounded by woods and thickets, I became enveloped by endless groves of tall trees, season after season, never wanting to leave what seemed like home.

The scent of pine mingled deliciously with the tang of autumn, only to be overshadowed by the sweet aroma of blossoms each spring. And I can’t begin to describe what it felt like to be enshrouded by the lush vegetation come summer. I still remember how cool and smooth the maple leaves felt against my skin. Even winter, with fresh snow sitting atop tree branches, offered a special brand of awe in my secret garden.

Although much of the time I was alone in the woods, sometimes my brother or the neighborhood kids would join me. For hours on end, we’d wander through the trees and brush, turning over flat rocks to see what hid beneath them, transforming errant sticks into spears and knives and building all manner of forts over what seemed like limitless acreage of forest. Footpaths snaked through the woods, connecting each of those beloved forts.

The ravine where most of our time was spent was a challenge to climb as I recall, but we managed to make it to the top despite masses of leaves slipping underfoot. Of course, it was worth it because the view from the other side was spectacular. Besides, after reaching the summit, we’d discover multitudes of huge, moss-covered oaks that beckoned for us to sit and read a good book, if we remembered one, that is. I’m not sure there’s a reading nook quite so perfect, nestled on a spongy blanket of moss while leaning against an unyielding tree trunk, breathing in the intoxicating scent of the earth.

To say that I’m grateful to have had such a nature-immersed childhood is an understatement—chapters of my life that I won’t soon forget. I think all three of our kids had one, too. But I fear the majority of kids today aren’t being afforded a similar experience. Whether it’s due to trepidation regarding the safety of our charges while they’re unsupervised or because said charges are inextricably glued to screens.

Regardless of why, I still think scores of impressionable youths are missing out on connecting with their environment in a way that could positively impact their lives. That said, kids need to play in the woods. They need to breathe fresh air. They need to build forts. They need to work together with their friends toward a common goal (constructing something that won’t collapse right away) and get their hands dirty in the process. And they need to spend time in those forts—forts that are in a constant state of development and redesign, utilizing their creativity and making their brains work harder. Tree forts, I dare say, require even more critical thinking skills. I’ll never forget the one my friends and I attempted to erect using an enormous cardboard box and ladder, perilously fastened to a tree. It didn’t end well, but we all learned something valuable.

Thankfully, by the time our daughters were traipsing around in the woods with hammers in hand, we had enough sense to provide them with wood scraps and pallets, not cardboard. And the forts that were built out of them held up to the weather for years, although now there’s little trace that said forts ever existed.

But they know they existed, and that has made all the difference.

Welcome to my world. It’s where I live (probably rereading The Secret Garden). Visit me there at www.facebook.com/NotesFromPlanetMom. Signed books are available on Etsy at PlanetMomMarket.

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Filed under A Tree is Nice, Bookish Stuff, Endless Summer, Gratitude, Love and Other Drugs, Lovers of All Things Rockish, Me Time, Unplugged

Tagged as childhood, childhood memories, love, nature, nature lover, outdoors, parenting, trees, Unplugged, woods

May 12, 2026 · 11:00 am

By the Book

I have what some would consider a small library in my home—which sounds more impressive than it actually is. It’s a tiny collection of books written by some of my favorite authors, situated on a shelf just above my desk. On occasion, I pull one down and reread it, recalling why I placed it among my beloved titles in the first place. Oddly enough, I sometimes get more out of a book on the second time around, enjoying it to an even greater extent, observing finer detail with each passage and page. If, for whatever reason, I decide not to reread a book, I give it to someone or donate it randomly by placing it inside the Little Free Library in our neighborhood that my friend, Christine, installed several years ago. It’s no secret that I appreciate it as much or more than the neighborhood kids do.

I also have a to-be-read pile (TBR) in my home, stacked in the order I intend to consume each literary gem. One of the tenets I hold dear is that my TBR pile can never be depleted to zero. I have to know there is always another book waiting for me. Otherwise, I get anxious when I’m about to finish one if another isn’t lined up, at the ready. Quirky, I know.

But I doubt I’m as quirky as my husband by comparison. That man has the books he intends to read scattered all over the house, a few stashed in almost every room—in case sudden inspiration strikes, I guess. What’s more, he reads more than one book at a time. He calls it multitasking, of course. I call it madness. I have no idea how he keeps the narratives straight in his head. Heaven forbid he misplaces his bookmarks.

And despite the loads of encouragement I give him, he rarely agrees to read a book I suggest—even if I know in my heart of hearts that he’ll love it. Further, it’s almost impossible for me to convince him that he’d enjoy a novel. He usually goes for nonfiction like biographies or autobiographies on the topics of history, war, music and politics. Truth be told, I probably prefer nonfiction, too, although I have a few favorite novelists whose styles I can’t resist. At any rate, I’m seldom able to sway him to read just one of those writers.

On a related note, again and again he reminds me NOT to buy him another book—for Christmas, for his birthday, for Father’s Day, etc. And I fail to listen. The fact that I purchase yet another title for him is a manifestation of a terrible compulsion I feel each time I enter a bookstore—much like buying for myself. Oh well, I could have worse habits.

Thankfully, the greater Williamsport area is home to six wonderful libraries, the James V. Brown Library in Williamsport, the Konkle Memorial Library in Montoursville, the Jersey Shore Public Library, the Montgomery Area Public Library, the Muncy Public Library and the Hughesville Area Public Library. That said, we can always rely on them to provide wonderful book-related services for people of all ages and stages of life.

When all is said and done, there’s at least one thing my husband and I share when it comes to books—we not only love them, but we have enough sense to bring a good one along when we know we’ll be holed up at jury duty or at a garage getting our cars inspected, et al. Without fail, we’ll be there for hours on end and scrolling on a phone or watching TV will only suffice for so long.

Speaking of books, don’t miss the Second Annual Storytellers Book Fair hosted by Lycoming Arts in the Pennington Lounge at Lycoming College on Friday, May 15th from 4-7pm! There will be basket raffles, local author and artist meet-and-greets, book sales, mystery wine pull, community book swap, a discussion about PJ Piccirillo’s featured book (The Indigo Scarf) and a session regarding the publishing industry and book promotion (by Otto Bookstore General Manager, John Shableski). All proceeds from guest passes and activities will support Lycoming Arts and its work to connect our community through the arts. I’ll be there with bells on, signing my books. Hope to see you there!

Welcome to my world. It’s where I live (probably reading a good book). Visit me there at www.facebook.com/NotesfromPlanetMom. Signed books are available on Etsy at PlanetMomMarket.