Aside from an aspirin or two for relieving aches and pains resulting from prolonged paddling or keeping pace with a bird dog, I go to the medicine cabinet about as often as I watch Oprah Winfrey. That’s not to say, however, that I don’t realize and appreciate that drugs are merciful, indeed miraculous, in saving lives and controlling pain. Regarding the latter, a years-ago kidney stone convinced me that Demerol was a godsend and the nurse who gave it to me was my guardian angel.

Allowing that we’re all beholden to medical science for its pharmaceutical marvels, bear with me in saying that I’m puzzled by the fact that anti-depressants are the most widely used drugs. So as not to seem insensitive or unsympathetic to the problems of others, let me explain by saying that I know of an anti-depressant that will rid them of the demons of depression. Surprisingly, it’s free for the taking, the supply is unlimited, and there are no injections or pills involved. Instead, this drug is simply absorbed. Better yet, there are no restrictions on dosage or refills.

The reference, of course, is to the drug labeled collectively and generically as the outdoors. And, in all probability, you got hooked on it while suffering growing pains. Accordingly, I became addicted to the drug after my grandfather introduced me to it by taking me smelting at an age when there were fewer than 10 candles on my birthday cake. Thereafter, my habit was fed by a gang of older, notorious outdoors addicts who, in spite of my assumption that they would live forever, have since departed on their trips into eternity.

To young sportsmen, hunting and fishing are, of course, the headiest forms of the anti-depressants available in the outdoors. Age, however, brings not only a more circumspect appreciation of nature and wildlife but also realization of the feelings of peace and contentment that come from days spent afield and afloat – no matter if creels and game bags are empty.

Assuming, then, that the BDN is your breakfast paper and hoping that you’re reading this column, pour yourself another cup of coffee and peruse a few of the reasons why I take advantage of every opportunity to overdose on the outdoors. Perhaps you’ll find we’re on the same page, as they say nowadays. First off, in times when grab-and-get, hooray-for-me-and-to-hell-with-you attitudes are the norm nationwide, it’s quieting to know that truth and honesty prevail in the outdoors. No schemes, scams, or con games are played in nature. What you see is what you get. No excuses. No apologies. Take it or leave it, pure and simple.

Nevertheless, the constant cold winds and lashing rains – sleet and snow in some areas – that made this year’s spring fishing more punishment than pleasure left a lot of anglers feeling somewhat down in the dumps. Personally, I’ve given up trolling in winds that work whitecaps in the bait bucket, let alone squinting through rain that stings like spent shot. So, to lift my spirits, I took early morning and late-night doses of the anti-depressants known as fiddleheads and smelts, both of which arrived ahead of schedule in spite of the unseasonable weather.

Admittedly, I was feeling high when, in the rain-smudged wee hours, I dipped smelts swarming into a brook feeling full of itself. Likewise, picking fiddleheads produced feelings of euphoria, even though the black flies swirled like smoke. To use a term common to the unfortunates addicted to drugs such as cocaine and heroin, a feed of fried smelts and fiddleheads is a “fix.” So much so that anyone who isn’t addicted to it has my sympathy.

As an alternative to anti-depressants, which, of course, can be habit-forming, many doctors recommend outdoors recreations to patients who say they are feeling fed up with it all. For the most part, it’s safe to say those doctors are sportsmen who have firsthand knowledge of the healing qualities of opiates known otherwise as fauna and flora.

Let’s face it, now and then we all deal with depression, be it slight or severe. Therefore, it’s surprising that more people don’t realize the outdoors offers relief that is much quicker, longer lasting, and far less pricey than prescription drugs. And who wouldn’t prefer a canoe to a doctor’s office or a counselor’s couch? Think about it: Resting the paddle to listen to the laughter of loons or the baritone chanting of bullfrogs is palliative to say the least. As is pausing to admire aquatic gardens of pond lilies, arrowroot, and pickerel weed.

Then there’s music and the wonders it works on troubled minds. But for times when I feel like I’m pulling against the tide, the music I find most relaxing includes the wind songs hummed by pines and spruces, the medleys of bird choirs, the chiming wing beats of whistlers and, of course, the melodious notes of migrating geese. And after a long and lingering winter there’s no better rhythm, beat or tempo for relieving the depression of “cabin fever” than the drumming of a partridge announcing spring’s debut.

It’s no secret that, in addition to being informational and educational, reading is also effective in releasing the mind from the pressures of today’s fast-paced, changing world. If you’re aware of that, it’s likely that the stories you find most interesting were written by the likes of Ernest Hemingway, Robert Ruark, Nash Buckingham, Gene Hill, and, closer to home, Bill Geagan. The last, in my opinion, was the finest outdoors writer this state ever produced. Although their writings have been my Bible, so to speak, the stories that I read the most religiously, and that are the most uplifting to my mind and spirit, are those that Mother Nature writes on the snowy pages of forests and fields.

Mention of the Bible reminds that religion and faith in God have lifted many people from the depths of depression. But without disparaging any denomination, I’ll say that whenever I begin wondering if I’m losing it, as they say – when a painting doesn’t work or a story doesn’t stick together – I find more comfort and reassurance in sylvan cathedrals topped with steeples of spruce and fir than I do in man-made churches. ‘Nuff said on that subject.

Owing to the age of electronics, news events now are broadcast worldwide almost as quickly as they occur. It’s unfortunate, however, that the brilliance of that technology is sullied by news that, for the most part, is downright depressing. Fortunate, then, are we who are addicted to the outdoors. For in these disturbing, unstable times there is solace in observing the stability of nature’s order and rhythms. Accordingly, the interactions of wildlife are inspiring: Muskrats cultivate marshlands by cutting channels that create new habitats for waterfowl and other wildlife; pileated woodpeckers drill holes that provide cavities for tree-nesting ducks such as hooded mergansers, whistlers, and wood ducks; porcupines open canopies of hemlock with cuttings that not only leave feed for wintering deer, but allow sunlight to enter and nurture new growth.

Call it a sedative, tonic, stimulant, whatever, the outdoors is a potent anti-depressant drug. Available in many forms, it can be taken as often as needed. Moreover, it doesn’t react with other drugs, women can take it while pregnant, and the only possible side effects are sunburn, increased appetite, drowsiness, and, depending on your age, an annoying ache or pain that can be relieved with a couple of aspirin.

Tom Hennessey’s columns and artwork can be accessed at www.bangornews.com. E-mail: thennessey@bangordailynews.net. Web site: www.tomhennessey.com.