“Old Man’s Cave is part of the Hocking Hills State Park near Logan, Ohio…According to legend, Richard Rowe lived at least briefly in the cave beginning in 1796…He eventually settled in the Hocking Hills, and he is purportedly buried in the cave. As a result of Rowe’s occupancy of the cave, locals named the structure ‘Old Man’s Cave.’ “ – Ohio History Connection, ohiohistorycentral.org
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All over the world, there are stories associated with mountains, hills, lakes, rock formations, rivers, caves, etc. For example, there are basalt columns in Northern Ireland known as The Giant’s Causeway. Folk traditions and stories are associated with these formations. In Ireland, place names, stories of place, and lore associated with specific features of the local landscapes are known as Dindsenchas.
These mythic and folkloric elements of the land are mirrored in our personal histories of place and story. When we return to the neighborhoods that we once knew, memories unwittingly arise.
There are now four-way stops at almost every intersection in the town where I grew up, Struthers, Ohio. As you drive, you must stop, go, and stop again. On each corner, in every block, everywhere, I find memory, story. “That’s where Joey lived. I remember what he told me that night after I dropped the rest of the guys off. Joe was the quiet one. He never said anything when we all got into those deep, philosophical discussions. That night, as he stepped out of the car, he looked at me – one seventeen-year-old to another – and said, ‘When I talk, I talk to God’… And how many years ago is it now since Joey has died?”
In my hometown, memories constantly fly towards me. Places exude story. Sometimes the memories are general: “We played a lot of kickball and kick-the-can there in the Greco’s backyard.” Sometimes the general leads to the specific: “That place was a candy shop. It was called Dee’s Market. We walked down there all the time. Once, Mitch, Dan and I were walking home when, all of a sudden, there was this big lightning storm and …” Sometimes the memories are recent: “That’s the hill where the kids and I went sledding last winter. All three of them loved it, so did I. We made a chain with the sleds. I laid on my stomach, then…”
Through these little tales, our children have learned that places contain stories. As we revisit familiar family spots on trips and outings, it is lovely to now listen as our children share their memories that the land evokes from them, “Hey, Dad, remember the last time we were here and…”
I lived in Boston when I was in my 20s. When we visit New England, forgotten memories come unbidden. I tell stories. There are so many stories that are a part of us, and a part of the land.
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Why not ask a friend, a loved one, an elder to show you around the neighborhood where they once lived? Why not listen to their stories of the land, to their stories of the neighborhood? Why not invite a family member or friend to one of the places that hold your stories? Why not walk with them and show them where some of your stories reside?
Dindsenchas: Sacred stories of the land …and neighborhood.
And a blessing wish: In the days and months and years ahead, may you soak the land with many worthy stories.
(Music: Courtesy of Adrian Von Ziegler, “Sacred Earth.” )