On Grounding in the Lakes Region
A Meditation from our Barefoot Goddess Andrea
There is a version of me that only exists in the summer.
She is barefoot more often than not. A little sun-kissed. A little untamed. Completely at ease.
It is not uncommon for me to pull into a store parking lot somewhere in the Lakes Region, turn off the car, and realize — I have no shoes. None. Not in the passenger seat. Not in the back. Just bare feet and a quiet laugh at myself.
So now I keep a pair of flip-flops in my car at all times during the warmer months. A small concession to society. A backup plan for a barefoot goddess who forgets she occasionally needs to enter a grocery store.
But the truth is — I prefer the ground.
There is something about feeling the earth directly beneath my feet that helps me decompress in a way nothing else does. The sand, the grass, the warm dock boards, the smooth stones along the shoreline. That physical connection quiets the noise inside me.
When the world feels overstimulating — and lately it often does — I go to the water.
A river. A quiet cove. The edge of a lake.
I sit down and place my feet into the cool water. I close my eyes. I imagine any negative energy, any anxiety, any tension I’ve been carrying flowing down through my body, into my feet, and out into the water — carried away, transmuted into love.
It may sound simple. Maybe even silly to some.
But it works.
I breathe deeply. Slow inhales. Long exhales. I let my nervous system soften. I remember that I am not meant to live in constant urgency. I remember who I am beneath the emails and the notifications and the endless to-do lists.
Sitting among the trees, all you can hear is the steady rush of water moving over rocks and the occasional bird calling to another in the distance. No engines. No chatter. No rush.
Just rhythm.
Just presence.
It is just as restorative to me as a massage — maybe more so — because it costs nothing and asks only that I be still.
We are so fortunate here in the Lakes Region. There are countless quiet spots where you can pull over for ten minutes and sit in silence. Places where the world feels simpler. Kinder. Slower. Places where you can reconnect — not only with nature — but with yourself.
Of course, as you can imagine, this becomes more challenging in the winter months.
The frozen ground. The snow. The ice.
The barefoot goddess has to adapt.
In the colder seasons, I find other ways to return to balance. A dear friend of mine lives directly across from the Saco River, near a dam where the water rushes hard and steady year-round. I’ll go there and just listen. Even without my feet in the water, the sound alone brings back that summer feeling — the memory of release.
At home, I stand in a hot shower and visualize the negative energy washing down the drain. I still walk barefoot inside, grounding myself on hardwood floors. Sometimes I’ll even step out onto my porch barefoot for a few moments — just long enough to feel the sharp, revitalizing chill of winter against my skin.
It wakes me up.
It reminds me that I am alive.
Balance, I’ve learned, is not about perfect conditions. It’s about intention. About remembering that we can return to ourselves in small, quiet ways.
Summer simply makes it easier for me.
But the practice — the grounding, the breathing, the listening — that can happen in any season.
If you see me out and about this summer in the Lakes Region, chances are I’ll have shoes somewhere nearby.
But I might not be wearing them.
Here’s to life between the lakes and mountains (preferably barefoot).
Andrea (& Jenn)
Keys to the Lakes
