The ground at my feet is strewn with acorns from a magnificent oak tree in Dunderry, Co. Meath. I am relishing the landscape of tall trees and rich farmland, so different to Connemara. Judging by the width of the trunk, this tree is not particularly old in oak terms. But I have to lean backwards to see its crown as it reaches for the sky, growing vigorously with companions of beech and ash.
I have met this tree before, and it has offspring in Brigit's Garden. Fifteen years ago I collected acorns from this path, buried them in a seed bed and then planted out the young trees as part of our new native woodland. They are growing well around our driveway, bringing a touch of the sacred landscape of the Boyne Valley to the West.
The oak has always felt like a symbol for the Garden. It too started as a tiny acorn, the germ of an idea, which has grown into a young tree and which I hope, in time, will develop into a mature oak. It is a potent metaphor. The tiniest beginnings can grow and blossom into something wonderful.
Everything is possible - all we have to do is plant the seed.
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