Write about a family with a long-standing tradition, whose members all have conflicting origin stories from it.
Phew, that was really hot and tiring! Never underestimate the weight of wood, or the heat of the fire. Even after so many years, I still get exhausted. What did you think of that ritual? It's a family tradition—we've been doing it since forever. It only happens once a year, so I guess you got lucky to see it, as a guest. It is quite beautiful and all. Do you want to know the origin story of this tradition? I can tell you what I've heard from my grandparents when I was young.
They told me that this tree represents our family—and it's true, it's on our crest—which is why we have it out in the yard for all to see. So nearing the end of every year, we let it burn in the bonfire, to celebrate the success of the year. But we chop it off first to keep the roots: our history mustn't be forgotten. And we replant it in the winter cold to remind ourselves that like a seed growing through winter, we've got to persevere so that we can continue to create successes every year!
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They're all done outside? All well? Good…good. I don't stand for long, nor will I stand that terrible smoke—it makes my lungs weak, and they are already. But the ritual must be done. Let me tell you about the ritual, hear an old lady talk, will you? Good…good… Now listen up! I'll only say it once—it's too tiring to have to repeat myself to you young'uns.
That tree, the very one in our courtyard, 'tis a gift from the gods themselves. Not many believe me, but it is true—I have seen it with my own eyes, in my dreams! But the earth, it is tainted with foul impurities. Vile energy turns the oak branches black, and makes them droop to the poisoned dirt—droop with the weight of our wrongdoings. So when the time is right, before the seasons change, we chop the thing down! Then we gather the still-holy seeds, and plant them to again purify our lands. Aye, that is our divined fate—I have spoken. Now, begone. Leave me to rest.
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Ah, oh, hello. Why have you come to the library? It is rather rare to see someone else here—not to say that you are prohibited, of course. Oh, could it be… You want to find out about that ritual, do you? The winter tree ritual…ah, well…although I was married into the line, I do have theories about the ritual. If you are truly curious, then I will share the conclusion that I have come to.
The family observes many, but this is the most distinct, and its origins are unknown. The ritual itself seems simple: we cut the tree down and burn its wood. Then we gather the seeds and plant them back in the same patch of dirt. The question, of course, is why? I've always believed that the simplest answer is often the right one. Most likely the ancestors of the family did this to survive, to get firewood for the winter, and then it became a practice that was repeated to honour the ingenuity of the ancestors. So, ah, I've been saying a lot. What do you think?
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
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Hey! Hey hey! You're the friend person, right? You must be so bored. Come to my room and play with me! Wait…why aren't you coming? Oh! You want to hear a story? The one about that tree? Come to my playroom and I'll tell you on the way. I know aaaaall about the story. This way! This way!
Like I was saying, that big big tree has a tree spirit in it. A real kind and powerful tree spirit. It's our guardian spirit, since a long time ago. But…there is one thing that can harm the tree spirit. That's right, it's the North Wind! He always wants to sneak in, get the better of our tree spirit, and get away with it too. But we know better. So every year, when winter's coming around, we've got to hide the tree spirit deep in the earth. So the wood that we chop down gets burnt so Mister North Wind gets scared off and away! And this story is absolutely true, I'm sure of it. After all, my storybook said so!
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Heh… So the guest came outta the house. Fitting. Well, if you're looking for someone, there's only lil' old me. But if you're looking for something else, a smoke? No? The tree, then? Don't think I haven't seen ya snooping all 'round the mansion. Not that I care. So… What did those ol' hokeys tell ya? Must be pretty unsatisfying if you're still looking. No, don't say a word. I'll just tell ya what I think about this tree, free of charge. You up? Great.
So, y'know, trees can symbolise family, right? And this tree represents ours—it's on the crest. When winter comes, we chop it down, burn it up, leave no trace of the thing. Just to give ourselves a clean slate, ya get what I mean? Just a blank white background to prepare the new year. Then we plant the seeds back in the soil so they can sprout when spring comes. And y'know what that means? Well, obviously, it symbolises renewal and change and stuff, right? All kinds of nice poetic stuff that those ol' farts wouldn't get. So, uh…yeah, ya wanna smoke, or anything?
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Dear Reader,
I am the progenitor of our great and noble line, the rightful child of these lands of our mansion, and the owner of this little diary.
Within these thin pages, you will find the secrets behind our family practices, of which there are a considerable number. They may seem eccentric and perhaps occult, but the bold upholding of these rituals across time shall prove a testament to the family's faith in the forefather. Foremost and most famed of these is the yearly reincarnation of the ancient oak. Upon the first frost, when winter chills seek to infiltrate and invade, we cut that great black oak in the courtyard—bring it down to its roots, and set the dark wood aflame in a grand conflagration to touch the heavens. And later, in that growth-riddled soil, let the seeds fall, so the tree may slowly germinate through the bitter cold, and prepare for its renewal in the coming spring.
Our members, my heirs and theirs, have raised many thoughts on its nature. Let them babble. In truth, there is no inherent meaning to such a fathomless ritual: the following of its motions are what keeps it alive. But it is the thoughts of these descendants, my heirs and theirs, that can raise the ritual out of the fathoms, illuminate what I have shrouded in darkness. And in this way, the ritual will persist still through the ages. So let them babble. It is the meaning they make out of it all that shall keep my glorious family line alive.