Those Who Forget the Past by Connie Berry

A Journey Into Our Past

One of my favorite days this summer was a visit to Mount Vernon, George Washington’s home on the banks of the Potomac. My guide was Grace Topping, a good friend and fellow WWK blogger. I’d been in Alexandria for an author event, and since I had a late flight back to Ohio, I phoned Grace to see if we might have lunch and catch up. My last-minute thought turned into a memorable day.

I’d visited Mount Vernon as a child. My mother, a former elementary school teacher with a passion for history, made sure family vacations included lessons from the past—lots of them. We literally never passed a historical marker. Now, as an adult, I saw eighteenth-century America with new eyes.

Lessons From the Past

Washington’s decision to forfeit power and return to private life impressed me, as did the foresight of the Mount Vernon Ladies Association who, in 1860, purchased the near-decrepit house and opened it to the public. The day was beastly hot, and I pondered again how people lived without the comforts we take for granted—central heating, air conditioning, refrigeration, electricity, indoor plumbing. More than that, I thought about the many enslaved people whose job it was to make life as pleasant as possible for the Washington family while their own lives were considered unimportant—if they were considered at all.

With my mind very much on the past, we headed back to Grace’s car. On the way, we encountered a woman and a young boy, perhaps fourteen or fifteen, who were arriving for their visit. As we passed them, we heard the boy ask, “Does George Washington still live here?”

What?? 

Do we still teach history in our schools or had this boy simply not been paying attention?

Have We Forgotten Our Past?

“Those who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it.” The quote has been attributed to a number of people, including the Irish economist Edmund Burke, the Spanish philosopher George Santayana, and Winston Churchill. How do we reconcile that statement with Thomas Jefferson’s quote about history being written by the victors?

The lesson I learned at Mount Vernon is that history must tell the whole truth, the unvarnished truth, or it isn’t history.

Using the Past in Fiction

Which brings me to fiction-writing. A few years ago I wrote a blog with my top ten tips for creating memorable characters. I talked about creating fully realized characters with skills and  abilities, disabilities and struggles, strengths and weaknesses, fears, failings, and flaws. The characters we create should also have a past—a personal history some call “the rich, full life” with secrets, regrets, successes, failures, and families who have shaped them for better or for worse. Much of our characters’ past histories will never make it onto the page—authors know a lot more than they tell—but our characters’ past lives are what motivate and enrich their present actions, thoughts, feelings, and responses. Giving our characters a personal and cultural history puts their lives in context and helps us reveal their uniqueness as human beings.

We're Not Doomed to Repeat the Past--Neither Must We Forget It

What lessons from the past, personal or cultural, have shaped your life?

How have you used the history of a fictional character to add depth and complexity?

If Trees Could Talk by Connie Berry

Twenty-one years ago when my husband and I bought our virgin forest land in rural Ohio, we fell in love with this huge old oak tree on the property. Because we didn’t want the construction of our house to damage the tree, we hired an arborist to make recommendations. He measured the trunk’s girth and told us our tree was approximately 250 years old. Think of the history that tree has witnessed during its long life. If it could talk, what tales would it tell?

We’re taking good care of the tree in hopes it will see another century or two. It’s certainly possible.

In 1700, the poet John Dryden published Palamon and Arcite, based on The Knight’s Tale by Geoffrey Chaucer. In that poem, Dryden wrote this:

 The monarch oak, the patriarch of the trees, Shoots rising up, and spreads by slow degrees. Three centuries he grows; and three he stays, Supreme in state; and in three more decays.

A nine-hundred-year lifespan is impressive.

Britain is rightly famous for its ancient oaks. The largest native tree, the oak has come to symbolize the very essence of Great Britain. Oaks can reach almost 150 feet—equal to a fifteen-story building—and can attain a girth of more than 45 feet. Unfortunately, oaks are prone to fungal rot which creates hollow cavities. Here’s a photo of me taken several years ago near Lower Slaughter in the Cotswolds. This oak was a relative youngster. The giant Cowthorpe Oak in Yorkshire was already venerable in 1600 when William Shakespeare described it in As You Like It:

An oak whose boughs were mossed with age, And high top bald with dry antiquity. 

The Cowthorpe Oak (now gone) was said to once have held seventy people within its hollow cavity, including children perched on shoulders. Now all that remains is a stump, but acorns from that tree have been planted all over Britain and in such far-away places as New Zealand.

So far, ancient trees have played no part in the Kate Hamilton Mysteries. I really think that should change! Now all I have to do is come up with a plot.

Have you ever planted a tree? An old Chinese proverb says, “The best time to plant a tree is twenty years ago. The second best time is now.”

Do you have a favorite tree in your personal history—maybe a climbing tree in your childhood or one of the giant redwoods? Tell us about it.

I Want To Know Everything by Connie Berry

 

I love information. It’s the only reason I would ever join an organized tour while on vacation.

My husband and I were married three months before he was scheduled to report for duty in the Air Force. Rather than doing something sensible like getting temporary jobs and saving money, we pooled every cent we had and headed for Europe. In the interest of full disclosure, my contribution to “everything we had” was two hundred dollars I’d received when my Irish grandfather died; my husband supplied the rest—literally every penny he’d ever earned, starting with his paper route when he was eleven. Yes, he’s a saver. 

The reason I mention it is because we were on a strict budget. To make our money last for three months, we could spend only so much a day. That meant when we got to Pompeii, a dream-come-true for this ancient history lover, we couldn’t afford the tour. Instead we wandered around on our own, wondering what we were looking at. He still owes me a trip back to Pompeii—this time with a tour. 

As a writer, my love of information is a blessing and a curse. Research is a joy for me. In my current WIP, I got to research bee venom, Early Netherlandish painting, Victorian lunatic asylums (yes, that’s what they were called then), British holidays camps of the 1950s, and Steamship Moderne architecture, a form of Art Deco (picture several of the “modern” houses in the Hercule Poirot television series). 

Unfortunately, I don’t always end up where I intended to go. I get distracted by information. Last week I was supposed to be researching the Gypsy fairs in rural England (another element in my WIP). But I soon found myself reading about San Francisco’s hidden cisterns, Queen Elizabeth the First’s real cause of death, and the Cave of the Swimmers in the desert region of southwest Egypt, so named because of the petroglyphs which appear to show people swimming. Cool! 

I clearly need more discipline. 

Does anyone else fall into the black hole of research? I’ll meet you there—we can share information.