Our sequoia is also special to me because we share an origin story - we are both originally American. There were sequoias in Europe until the last ice age, but all Giant Sequoias today are native to North America, more specifically to the Sierra Nevada in California; the first ones planted in Europe were planted in the 1850s. There are times, especially when I’m working in the vines and look up to see the sequoia standing before the east façade of the house, that the tree becomes a portal into the past: I imagine it being planted, and hear the clattering of horse-drawn carriages pulling up in the courtyard below, and the generations of workers and inhabitants strolling by, the builders, farmers, gardeners, growers, winemakers. The first part of the house was built over 400 years ago, in the early 1600s, with the largest section added in 1766. In moments like this, when its history becomes palpable to me, I am reminded that nobody is really the owner of this place. We are just temporary stewards. And like all those others, I will always be part of this place too. This feeling, of being both temporary and permanent, has become part of my everyday life, and it largely defines how I see myself and comprehend what I’m doing here.
I know this feeling; I’ve felt it here in my 119 year old house. It’s the feeling of being part of some small but important story. Within that feeling, the house becomes a presence and I am aware of the trust I’ve been given.