Rose Swanson Mountain | A Sleep Story

Let your mind and body relax to drift off into your deepest sleep as we journey together on a serene hike through Rose Swanson Mountain, a beautiful mountain trail in the Okanagan Valley of British Columbia. Follow along as I walk with my dog through a peaceful forest trail with towering trees and wildflowers to reach the vista at the mountain summit.

This story is infused with soothing imagery and mindful pauses, designed to quiet a busy mind and help you feel grounded for sleep.

Music credit: Liborio Conti

Transcript

Hi there,

Thank you for joining me for this bedtime story.

Tonight,

To help you drift off to sleep,

I'm going to take you on a peaceful hike through Rose Swanson Mountain.

My name is Susan Guttridge,

And I love writing about the trails I explore.

I have long felt that spending time in nature just has a way of calming the mind and soothing the soul.

The gentle rustling of leaves,

The rhythmic crunch of footsteps on a dirt trail,

The soft hum of crickets or song of birds combine to create a peacefulness that's hard to find elsewhere.

That's why for tonight's story,

I'll be leading you through the quiet beauty of a mountain hike.

As we journey together,

I invite you to let the worries of the day melt away,

To let your body relax and your mind drift off into a peaceful slumber.

If you find that your mind wanders away from the story while you're listening,

Just remind yourself with a gentle,

There I go again,

And then return to my voice,

Return to your breath,

And picture in your mind's eye the mountainside unfolding around you.

Alright,

Get comfortable in your bed,

Adjust your sheets or your blankets just right.

Relax your head onto your pillow.

Maybe give your neck a gentle shift from side to side,

Noticing as your neck muscles relax and soften ever so slightly more than even a moment ago.

Shifting your body as you need for the tension to come off your shoulders.

Relaxing your whole body,

Settling into the support of your mattress.

And if it feels okay for you,

Let your eyes drift shut.

Inhaling in slowly,

Exhaling out just at your own pace.

I find the breath to be a beautiful somatic way to mark our transition from one activity into another.

For us together here now,

We are marking the end of your day and the beginning of your rest time.

With your breath slow and deep,

Let's begin our story.

Rose Swanson Mountain is tucked away in the peaceful countryside of Spalmachine,

Nestled between the cities of Vernon and Armstrong in the Okanagan Valley,

Which is in the western Canadian province of British Columbia.

Surrounded by farmland and forests,

This hidden gem offers a tranquil escape into nature.

I woke one sunny morning with my dog Nella begging to go outside and my own body desiring a good trail walk.

It was a short drive to the parking lot at the trailhead of Rose Swanson.

I couldn't resist smiling when the paved road ended and a winding dirt road began.

With my dog leaning out the window as far as her seatbelt harness would allow,

To take in all the wonderful scents in the air that I am sure only a dog perceives.

I navigated my jeep along the meandering countryside,

Enjoying the adventure a dirt road always seems to add.

The parking lot came into view as the road narrowed and the trees grew denser.

It was nestled at the edge of a forest,

Framed by patches of woodland forget-me-nots.

These delicate wildflowers,

With their tiny star-shaped blooms of vivid blue and cheerful yellow centers,

Seemed to welcome visitors into the forest,

Their slender stems swaying slightly in the breeze.

Nestled among the moss and fallen leaves,

These patches of color added a touch of magic to the scene before me,

Kind of like mother nature's way of saying,

Wait until you see what else I have in store for you.

I rolled into a parking spot,

Careful not to disturb any of the plants.

Then I let my dog out as I put my backpack securely on my shoulders,

And took a moment to get my bearings.

I am notorious for reading maps wrong and taking turns that cause my hikes to be much longer than planned.

To my relief,

The trailhead was clearly marked.

There was a map indicating two trails one could start from at this point,

Centennial on the right and Aspen on the left.

Both trails would lead up to the summit,

Creating about a 5 kilometer loop from the parking lot to the top of the mountain and back down again,

And I could see from the map that there were shorter trails for those not looking for such a long trek to the top.

I took a photo of the map just in case.

If I didn't need to look at it,

Then at least I'd have a souvenir from the excursion.

Nella had already been exploring the beginnings of the Aspen trail,

Running up and then back toward me.

I felt as though she were trying to tell me to hurry up and get on with this.

I smiled down at her,

So grateful to have her company,

And I drew in a deep breath.

When I'm about to start out on a trail,

I always feel a sort of bubbling,

Eager anticipation building within,

The embodied excitement that comes with exploring.

As I took my first step onto the trail,

I felt the ground beneath my feet,

A rocky dirt path,

The warm sun on my skin,

And I reveled in the rich earthy scent of all things nature.

Here,

In this moment,

I felt so grateful to live in this province,

To have access to beautiful,

Well-maintained trails,

To be healthy in my body to get out and explore them.

The trail I was on was set to a constant incline,

Gentle in some places,

Steep in others.

The edges of the path were framed by moss and shrubs.

I noticed the creamy white clusters of flowers and bright green branches of the ocean spray,

And Saskatoon berry bushes,

With their telltale green berries that would soon ripen to a deep bluish purple,

And their tiny star-shaped white flowers,

Which I've always felt make the shrub look as though it were dusted in snow.

My gaze shifted from the trail edges to notice the slender trees stretching upwards,

Far above me to create a beautiful canopy shading hikers from the heat of the June sun.

I spotted a squirrel scampering along a branch,

And I wondered how many creatures might I spot during this hike.

Glancing from tree to tree,

I noticed the quaking aspen,

Perhaps the namesake for the trail I was walking along.

These trees were easily recognizable by their smooth white bark,

And rounded leaves that seemed to tremble in the breeze,

Creating a soft whisper,

Nature's own version of a gentle lullaby.

The towering western red cedar,

Interestingly not named for its foliage which is green,

But rather for the reddish hue of its bark.

I remember reading once that the wood and bark of these cedars were used to craft canoes,

Baskets,

And even form shelters.

Walking beneath these majestic trees,

I felt so small,

Their historical significance making them a vital part of both the forest and our human history.

I drew in a deep breath,

Catching the cedar's faint aroma in the air,

A fresh earthy scent,

And I felt the calm of the forest enveloping me.

The further into the forest I walked,

The more the far-off sounds of the world seemed to fade away.

It's amazing how stepping into a forest does that,

Making the outside world feel remote,

And whatever worry had been on your mind,

Irrelevant.

Time seems to slow,

And the simple beauty unfolding invites a pause,

To notice,

To breathe.

My dog happily bounded along beside me,

At times diverting from the path to run among the greenery,

Sniffing as she explored,

And I think that if dogs could smile,

That would most certainly be a smile on her furry little face.

I watched as she darted to the right,

And when I drew closer,

I realized this was where Cougar Canyon Connector intersected with Aspen,

Another trail that curved across the hillside to join Centennial,

Offering a shortcut for those not aiming for the summit.

I called Nella back to my side,

For we were in this hike for the long haul.

As she bounded back onto Aspen,

Her paws kicked up the soft earth,

Sending a cloud of dust around my ankles before she ran ahead once more.

Here I was,

Walking slowly,

Taking in the details of nature around me,

And in Nella's own way,

So too was she.

I knew,

Despite her quick pace,

Nella wasn't rushing through the trail without pause.

Each step was an opportunity to gather something new,

A fleeting scent of some woodland creature on the wind,

The rustle of something hidden in the bushes,

A faint trace left on the earth beneath her paws.

She moved with purpose,

Savoring every sensation it would seem,

Running in one direction and then pivoting,

Leaping to explore something else that captured her attention.

In our own way,

And at our own pace,

We were both fully immersed in the cadence of the trail.

I walked on,

Savoring the fresh scent of nature drifting on the breeze and tickling my nostrils.

The trail steepened,

And I came upon a section where a carefully constructed wooden walkway with a sturdy handrail spanned the ground.

Beneath it,

A small pool of water had collected,

Most likely runoff from the melting mountain snow.

I'm sure the water had once rushed down the hillside in a lively spring stream carving its path through the earth,

And of course Nella found it.

She splashed through the shallow water,

Sending droplets spiraling through the air,

Her paws sinking into the cool,

Muddy earth.

When she did step out of the water,

She shook herself off with wild abandon,

Water and mud flying in all directions.

I had to leap sideways to avoid the spray.

Oh,

Nella,

She looked so proud of herself for finding a swimming hole.

I couldn't resist petting her despite my hand coming away wet and grimy.

As the trail meandered upwards,

The thick,

Densely-treed forest began to thin,

And we found ourselves in a clearing.

Here the sun shone warmly on my skin,

Sure to dry Nella's fur in no time.

Here the vista stretched before me as though a jewel box had opened up,

Showing off rolling hills,

Acres and acres of farmland-like patchwork.

Here the rocks and trees were decorated with moths and lichens,

And all along the trail,

Brightly-colored wildflowers now became the stars of the show,

Their petals dancing in a gentle breeze.

The bright yellow sunflower-like petals of the arrow-leaf balsam roots,

The striking red of the tall Indian paintbrush flower,

And Lupin,

The purple trumpet-shaped flowers alive with a flurry of tiny butterflies.

I called Nella closer when I caught sight of a garter snake sunning itself on a rock,

Just so that she wouldn't disturb the creature or its nearby habitat.

We walked together in comfortable silence,

Taking in the soft song of birds.

I decided to let my ears guide my attention,

Turning my head and my gaze in the direction of each joy-filled chirp.

There nestled among the branches of a shrub was a western tanager,

Bright yellow and red plumage blending in with the flowering thicket.

To my left,

Perched atop a spindly tree,

The stunning blue of a mountain bluebird uttering a soft warbling,

I did freeze mid-step,

Taking in the beauty of its bright turquoise-blue feathers,

The lighter shade of its underbelly,

Its shining black eyes.

What a special moment to spot such a gorgeous bird singing its song,

And my dog and I forming its audience.

I felt Nella tug restlessly on her leash and resumed walking.

Following the sound of a new shrill chirping,

My gaze searched for the source.

This was certainly a chatty bird.

Looking from treetop to treetop until I spotted it,

A northern flicker high above me in a lodgepole pine tree,

Almost hidden by the pine needles and cones.

These birds are easily recognizable by their spotted feathers and the bright red patch of color at the back of their heads,

And true to its woodpecker nature,

This one was periodically taking breaks from chirping to drum with its beak on the tree trunk.

I have long been acquainted with the northern flicker,

As they frequent the ponderosa pine trees in my backyard and surrounding neighborhood.

When I first moved into my house,

I hadn't understood why they would drum on the metal top of my chimney.

I had wondered how on earth this species would confuse the tin for a tree trunk.

Being as how I have an inquisitive nature,

I did some research at our local nature center and discovered that woodpeckers would engage in this drumming to establish their territory and to attract a mate.

The louder they were,

The more attractive they were,

And my house had thus become a famous singing post among them.

Chuckling at the memory,

I returned my attention to the trail surrounding me.

Here and there,

The trees became denser and then would thin out again.

It sparked a curiosity with each turn of the trail as I wondered what I might see next.

How would the trail keep surprising me?

And then at last,

I reached the summit.

There were rocky bluffs amid the trees and wild rose bushes.

I chose one rocky outcrop that looked perfect for a rest.

I took off my backpack and sat down.

How wonderful it felt to sit,

To feel the warmth of the rock beneath me,

The weight of the pack off my shoulders.

And what a reward this summit had to offer.

Stretching out before me was a panoramic view of the north Okanagan valley,

The town of Armstrong,

The sprawling Spalimshine valley and the rolling hills beyond,

The city of Vernon,

The beautiful blues of Okanagan Lake,

Swan Lake,

And Otter Lake,

The water glittering in the sun like diamonds.

A sense of peacefulness,

Of accomplishment washed over me as I inhaled in and slowly exhaled out.

I felt a tremendous sense of gratitude to those that maintained these trails,

Keeping them accessible,

Unobstructed,

And well marked.

How lucky was I,

Living in a city yet still so close to the natural beauty of the mountains.

I enjoyed the warmth of the sun on my face and arms,

The gentle breeze rustling my hair,

The quiet sounds of the mountain,

And for a moment I was simply part of this peaceful world.

In the not-so-far-off distance,

I spotted a red-tailed hawk soaring effortlessly high above the landscape,

Its broad wings stretched wide,

Catching the currents of wind as it glided with apparent ease,

Its eyes scanning the world below.

The bird's flight seemed so purposeful,

So easy,

An embodiment of grace and of freedom.

Funny how both of us,

In that moment,

Shared a similar high vantage point,

Suspended above the world,

Able to take in the full sweeping view of the land below,

Kind of like being able to see the whole picture,

Unbroken and vast.

Sitting there atop Rose Swanson Mountain,

My mind wandered to the O.

G.

Rose Swanson,

The early settler for whom the mountain was named.

I wondered about her life,

The stories she had left behind,

And I wondered what was it about Rose Swanson's significance in the area that a mountain came to serve as a tribute to her.

But for now,

At the summit of her mountain,

I stood,

And I stretched my body.

I picked up my backpack and adjusted the straps on my shoulders,

And as I navigated my way back to the trail,

I thought of Rose Swanson.

I felt each step I took connecting me to the past while yet anchored fully in the present,

To this scenic mountainside.

Movement by a pink rose bush drew in my attention,

And I watched as a bumblebee diligently gathered nectar,

Humming while it worked.

Wild roses decorated this mountainside with their blooming pink blossoms.

I even saw some wild strawberries growing,

And wondered what critters might dine on their berries later,

When the trail was less busy with humans and dogs.

Nella and I followed the winding centennial trail for our descent down the mountain,

The open alpine meadow transitioning once again to the thick forest,

With its canopy above us now creating the perfect shade from the heat of the noon-hour sun,

And carrying with us on our descent the feeling of peace and calm.

At one point,

I slowed to follow the graceful dance of a butterfly as it flitted from flower to flower,

Its dark brown wings edged in yellow.

I paused at an old tree stump,

Its weathered edges and gnarled texture forming the unmistakable shape of a heart.

The once mighty tree had long since fallen,

But nature had left behind this striking reminder of life's cycles.

Soft moss clung to the dark bark,

Its vibrant green a contrast against the rich brown of the wood,

And feathery ferns had begun to take root in the hollowed-out center.

The heart shape was clear and profound,

As if the forest itself had carved it deliberately.

It struck me how often nature seemed to mirror our emotions,

Offering us symbols of love and connection in the most unexpected places.

It's as though the earth in its infinite wisdom leaves us little heart-shaped gifts,

Reminders that beauty and love can be found in the quietest corners of the natural world.

That sense of connection and love put a bit of a bounce in my step,

Not quite matching that of Nella's as I smiled down at her,

Where she was walking happily beside me.

I felt myself walking with intention,

Fully present in the moment,

Yet also a little bit hungry and ready for a snack.

The wide trail guided us downward,

The forest whispering its farewell,

And then I was back in the parking lot,

Where the beautiful blue forget-me-nots grew,

Their delicate petals now shaded from the sun.

How fitting their names seemed now,

A small reminder to remember this hike,

To cherish each step,

To hold on to the peace and serenity found here.

Like these flowers,

The memory of this hike would stay with me,

Blooming in my mind whenever I needed to feel its grounding power.

Back at my jeep,

Nella and I both enjoyed a drink of water,

Me from my water bottle and Nella from her travel bowl.

Then I buckled her into the backseat and turned on the ignition,

My jeep springing to life with a purr of the engine.

Before driving away,

I looked back to where we had walked,

Uttering a thank you,

Unsure to who exactly,

But I had felt the need to say the words.

With it,

I was acknowledging the gifts of nature I'd been given,

The trail,

The forest with its fauna and flora,

The views at the summit,

Rose Swanson,

And of course,

The sense of calm contentment I was certainly leaving with.

Inhaling in,

And slowly exhaling out when ready.

I hope this story has assisted you in connecting with that same sense of contentment.

Feeling comfy,

Cozy in your bed,

The sheets or blankets pulled up around you like a gentle,

Reassuring hug.

You are safe,

Comfortable,

Peacefully tired and ready for sleep.

Should you awaken in the night,

Bring the imagery from this beautiful hike on Rose Swanson Mountain to mind,

Or turn the story back on.

After all,

Sleeping is not the time for thinking,

And you deserve this night of peaceful slumber.

I hope you can get out and explore the wilderness around you as it's safe to do so.

But for now,

Take a deep breath in,

Drawing in peace and happiness,

And as you breathe out,

Allow yourself to drift into a restful sleep.

And sweet dreams to you.