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Every acre tells a story. Some are the stories of people who come to the forest when life feels heavy, complicated, or overwhelming.
For many, the trails at Cincinnati Nature Center have been a place to breathe again, to gather strength, and to feel held by something steady.
Jessica has known this truth since childhood. Growing up, the Nature Center was her refuge during difficult times. “The serenity of the forest allowed me to collect my thoughts and find strength,” she recalls. As a young adult facing a traumatic event, her instinct was to return to these woods. She sat by the creek and cried, releasing pain with every step she took along the trail. The sway of the trees, the birds calling to each other, the signs of new life emerging around her—all of it breathed new life into her. “It was transformational,” she says. Now in her 40s, she brings her own children here when they need clarity or calm. “The forest feels like a gentle hug from an old friend.”
For Debbie, the trails have been intertwined with love, partnership, and—recently—deep loss. She and her husband, Floyd, were high school sweethearts who celebrated 55 years of marriage this past June. Nature was their shared language, and hiking was the way they spoke it. They spent decades walking our trails together—breathing fresh air, watching the seasons shift, and discovering what each one revealed. Spring wildflowers, summer wildlife, the earthy scents and colors of fall, the quiet crunch of winter snow—each moment felt like a gift. “This was our sanctuary,” she says. Members for more than 25 years, they were drawn to the beauty of the land, the mission of conservation, and the friendships formed along the way. Just two months ago, Debbie lost Floyd. Now, when she walks these trails, she feels the steady presence of the place they loved together.
Chris found solace here during one of the most frightening chapters of her life. In 2020, while waiting for PET scan results after an ovarian cancer diagnosis, she stopped at the Nature Center to run the Mashburn Family Discovery Trail. “I was crying when I started,” she remembers. But soon she heard birdsong, saw squirrels darting through the trees, watched a tiny chipmunk cross her path. It was one of those cool, sunny days that feel like a promise. By the time she finished her run, she knew everything would be alright. Today, she is five years cancer-free.
These stories are deeply personal, yet they echo what so many visitors feel: nature heals. The trails do more than wind through the woods—they carry people through seasons of fear, transition, grief, and renewal. They offer a place to land when life feels unsteady, and a place to rise again when hope returns.
