I ‘m viscerally back in the woods every time I recall this memory.

I was three – or maybe four-years-old; I could already read. My daily woods explorations were not unusual in mid 20th Century rural America.

My Brooklyn-born mother had a terrific enthusiasm for her work in the chicken coop and the garden. But the woods were my domain. I am grateful I was a child at that time in history. I do feel a tremendous debt of cosmic gratitude.

I remember the day Mom stood in the yard calling me to come home for dinner.

Typically, I ran home when I heard her voice. But on this day, I was busy and not ready to relinquish my time in the woods.

I don’t know where the epiphany came from. In an instant I understood that I knew exactly where Mom was and she had no clue where I was or if I could actually hear her. I also knew Mom was sufficiently afraid of the woods that she would not willingly come looking for me by herself.

This event set the tone for our very challenging relationship.

I don’t know how long I sat in silence. I just know that this discovery was empowering. It wasn’t just the moment – it was my ability to play the incident, like a musical instrument. I sat still long enough to register that somehow I was no longer the same person who had entered the woods. I had power and knowledge that a larger, stronger person did not have.

I was smart enough to emerge from the woods before Mom rallied the neighbors or the police.

Maybe this marked the beginning of my love affair with nature. I instinctively knew that what I needed to survive was not anchored in Mom and Dad, but in my ability to turn resources into tools to meet my needs.

A few months ago I thought about this from a mother’s point of view. If my pre-schooler went missing, I’d be distressed, especially if I had no clue where to look.

A few weeks ago, after reading my mentor’s answer to my question (With your level of skill, why do you just not live off the grid?), this memory took on another dimension, as I realize that Homo sapiens are designed to live as part of a group. It’s a major oversimplification but, each of us has innate abilities and skills. If we pool resources with others, then the result of that group effort is a better quality of life for the individuals as a group than if we attempted to do it all alone. There is a tipping point – 150 people – when that hits diminishing returns. But I’ve heard too many horror stories about the solo survivor to wish that for myself.

Determining my balance between alone time and other people time is an ongoing task. It changes as my needs change. But clearly I need both in order to learn important lessons.