Write what you see. Write what you feel. Write where you go.
In celebration of places that inspire and the moments that we write.
#tbt to that time my youngest guy and I fell in love with the most spectacular tree in Ireland–The King Oak. Charleville Castle, Tullamore.
Places are my inspiration. Places imbue my life with meaning. And so, I write of them, in them and with them.
Write where you go today. Write where you went on Sunday. Write that place that made an indelible impression on your memory twenty-two years ago.
You can see the theme of place in my posts. It is in my yearning for more kilometres this year, my Squeeee! noise when I captured a pic of my favourite chair with the fox pillow a few days ago. Places are multi-sensory. Places evoke feelings and senses. They provoke memories of old and create sensations for new ones.
Places inspire storytelling.
On this day, the afternoon in Tullamore pictured, my son Justin was still truly a little boy. Rain drops speckled the camera lens and neither of us had a coat, but we trudged up to this monarch. I remember my horror when he climbed on the limbs of the King Oak, like he would any tree, like any kid would on any gorgeous tree that had craned its spine so as to lay its mammoth branches nearly on the ground, just go little animals could scurry up their length and breadth.
I recall my apprehension when he scurried up. How I coaxed Justin in a whisper to get down. How I invented rules that didn’t exist, and got a terse tone with him when he simply asked me, “Why?” did he have to come down.
There were no signs, no guards, no fences, postings or rules.
In fact, engaging with the King Oak is precisely why it thrives, in my mind. I took many photos of my little animal on the branches of this King of trees. I even managed to rest back onto the branch at the lower right. I was fearful about the legend…that if one of the branches breaks off a member of the family that holds title to the estate (and the tree I suppose) will die. But Justin reminded me that we are in experience with nature. He felt that tree, more than hugged this giant, and our afternoon was memorable because of that play, and the lessons that a brilliant little mop-headed lad taught his too-cautious Mama who had forgotten how much she loves trees, again.
Write your lessons, experiences with nature, moments with your child, someone else’s child or yourself as a wee lass or laddie in a tree. But write the places of your life.
OH– in the course of writing this little post, I looked up my facts about The King Oak. You should too– it was voted the European Tree of the Year once –it didn’t need the title to be spectacular. It is that place where I first learned that my youngest son will always teach me the subtle lessons of having a giggle when I’m long overdue.