Stories of Place

Some places stay with us long after we’ve left them.

It might be the smell of cedar after rain, the sound of gulls over the harbour, or the way light filters through old windows in the house where you grew up. Every place has its legends, if we are willing to listen.

Landscape itself tells stories — in stones, in rivers, in trees. Some stories are whispered in the wind; others are carved into the land by generations who came before us. On the West Coast, the ocean tells stories of both arrival and departure, of courage and loss, of hands that built and hearts that stayed.

The more I listen to the land I call home, the more I hear its layered voices. The human stories are only one part of it. There are the stories of the salmon returning each year, of the forest reclaiming what was once cut, of the tides repeating their ancient rhythm.

A place becomes home when its stories become yours. You begin to see yourself not as separate from it, but as a small, continuing thread in its unfolding narrative.

“If you don’t know the trees you may be lost in the forest, but if you don’t know the stories you may be lost in life.” — Siberian Proverb

“Place is a story we tell ourselves, over and over.” — Unknown

When we tell stories of place, we are not just describing a setting — we are remembering a relationship.

Question for you:
💭 What story connects you most to the place you call home?