Special Places

I have been fortunate to have had many special places in my life. Places that took me away from whatever stress or drama there was in my life and allowing me to be fully present with myself.

My first special place was an apple tree in the backyard of the small farm where my family lived when I was in grade school. It had the perfect branch onto which I could climb and lay back, read a book or look up through the leaves at the blue sky above. The sunlight would sparkle through the leaves and the breeze would lightly blow across my face. On early summer days I could smell the strawberries from the patch nearby. I remember watching clouds pass over head and the sensation of the earth spinning beneath me. Those were my first days connecting with nature.

We eventually moved into town and my special place was anywhere I could find on my bicycle. As it is with so many teenagers, adolescence was not kind to me and I struggled with a whirlwind of emotions and hormones as I came of age in a small town on the edge of Lake Superior. I would get on my bike and peddle as hard and as fast as I could along US Hwy 2. The highway ran along the southern edge of Chequamegon Bay past the old ore docks and the paper mill and further on to the Bad River Indian Reservation. There were times I did not want to turn back.

During the spring of my freshmen year at the University of Wisconsin in Superior, I left class late on a Friday morning and told a friend that I was heading out on my bicycle and that if I wasn’t back in a couple of hours that I had probably decided to go all the way to Iron River – 50 miles away – where my parents lived. And that is what I did. Riding along US 2 on an April day in 1975 I was passed by big rigs and felt their pull against my wheels. The sky was clear and I rode past dairy farms and pastures. I can still remember the rush I felt as I went mile after mile. When I reached Iron River I went into my Uncle Tiny’s bar and announced that I had just arrived by bicycle from Superior and that I really would appreciate a ride the last four miles to my parent’s home. I had reached my limit and knew the hilly terrain between town and their cabin would probably undo me.

When I arrived, my mother went white as a sheet and my father was uncharacteristically speechless. I didn’t realize until a few years later that all three of them, my uncle and my parents, were all remembering how my Uncle Elroy had died on that same highway two years earlier while riding his bicycle. What I had done had been thoughtless and ill conceived but I still remember the freedom I felt as I moved through the northern Wisconsin landscape.

Over the next few years my life changed drastically and my next special place was a rocking chair. This was the place where I would sit in the middle of the night while holding my son. I would rock quietly and hum while running my hand softly over his face and eyes. His eyes would close and then slowly open again in rhythm with the rocking of the chair and as I passed my hands over his face one last time he would drift off to sleep.

I lost myself in my twenties as my marriage ended and I was left on my own in Norfolk, VA. If there was a special place during those years it would have been O’Hara’s Bar on Ocean View Avenue. I only call it special in that there was little else in my life then. I will leave that story for another time and move on to a place that is still special in my heart.

Norfolk, Virginia has a spectacular botanical garden. It is placed near the airport and is surrounded by brackish inlets that eventually lead out through Little Creek Naval Station to the Chesapeake Bay. In late March and April the garden is full of blooming azaleas in a variety of sizes and colors, in May the rose garden is the site of many weddings and in June and July there are hydrangeas around every corner. Geese, ducks, heron, and a pair of bald eagles make their homes in the garden and spring brings a parade of goslings around every corner.

There are walking paths all through the garden and at any time of day you may find families with strollers or exercise enthusiasts out for a run. There are plenty of places to stop and sit, an herb garden, a duck pond with a fountain, a bench along the water, but my favorite spot was on a bench next to an old oak tree near the waterway where the paddle boat would take visitors out to the larger lake. This tremendous oak sits at the foot of an old stone bridge made from cobblestones from the streets of Norfolk and is estimated to be over 250 years old.

While sitting on the bench beneath the tree I could watch the sunlight dance on the water, feel the breeze across my face and sway in my seat with the movement of the willow tree across the water. There was little that could break the peace of the moments underneath my oak tree.

I am fortunate to have spent much time sitting under that tree with a number of people who have meant the most to me, my best friends, a goddaughter, and a lover. I could feel the energy of the tree surrounding us all, moving through us in a healing and loving way. I would always bow to the old oak as I left and thank it for the time and energy it had given, and for the peace of mind that I felt during the time sitting beneath its outstretched branches. I was blessed when I left Norfolk with a picture of that special spot as seen from across the water. From my living room couch I can see the bench, the bridge, the willow and the welcoming arms of the old oak tree and remember the moments alone and with others.

I continue to find and create special places in my life, alone or with others. These places create the map of my life and remind me of loved ones come and gone. I encourage everyone to find and remember their special places.