If these trees could talk

I’ve had the wonderful opportunity of spending a bit of time at one of my favourite places recently - Blenheim Palace. I’ve been ramping up my Actifit steps by running around the parklands of Blenheim whilst visiting my Mum who lives close by. Ever since I was a child Blenheim has held a place in my heart and even now, 30 odd years later, I always have a longing to go there when I’m in the area.

One of the best things about Blenheim is the trees. Some of the parkland has been left wild as it would have been hundreds of years ago with dense forest and several ancient Oak trees. In these parts it’s interesting to imagine how England would have looked before we chopped all the forests down. Some of the Oaks have stood for hundred of years, probably long before the Palace was built in 1705.

In Blenheim I learnt how to ride my first bike, I collected conquers every autumn with my siblings and I played hide and seek amongst the whispering beech trees. At Blenheim I fell in love, more than once, I picnicked with close friends and it was the place I missed most about home whilst on my Gap year in Asia. I dreamt of the Autumnal leaves falling from the tree's and fantasised about coming home to walk in Blenheim. I remember Blenheim was the place I so desperately wanted to take my first newborn for her first walk in her pram. As I tucked the soft blanket under her chin I remember the feeling of immense comfort I felt. The early summer sun was shining down on her face as she purred in her sleep and I hoped she would grow up to love this place as much as I do.

My late father took us on a picnic in Blenheim shortly before he died. He brought homemade scotch eggs and we drank red wine out of plastic cups sitting on a woollen rug overlooking the lake. All of a sudden an almighty thunderstorm interrupted the mid-summer heat and so we ran for the trees giggling... a memory I shall cherish forever.

As I ponder the significance of my memories at Blenheim I can’t help but wonder if my kids will ever really appreciate Blenheim in the way I do. They will find their own Blenheim somewhere else. Our memories are futile. How can a memory or emotion attached to it bear so much significance to us yet when we are gone no-one will ever know of it? Very important events such as wars are always recorded and remembered for generations to come. But personal things that happen to us… no matter how important they are, get lost after a generation or even earlier.

It’s hard to understand why the Universe has made us appreciate and long for familiar places and why it provides us with overwhelming emotions of attachment. What purpose do these feelings have when very soon the slate will be wiped clean? What was once a very poignant place to an individual will just be another stately home to the next person that walks in that park.

The ancient Oaks are the only witness' to the past and maybe that's why we are drawn to them and find them so enchanting. We know they will carry our secrets longer than we ever can.