Today, Emil, Mum and I are going to Saeul, a small village Mum often tells us about.

“Saeul is the smallest municipality in Luxembourg, and it has a huge ancient tree,” she says. “There is also an old washhouse where the village women used to wash their clothes.” I am immediately curious.

As we drive into Saeul, I can already see the tree from far away. It is so large that its branches stretch high into the sky. The trunk is so thick that the three of us could not wrap our arms around it. Its bark is rough and full of patterns, as if it had many stories to tell.

“It looks like a tree from a fairy tale,” whispers Emil as he looks up.

Near the tree, there is a small walking path that passes a little pond and leads to an old washhouse. We walk there together. The water in the washhouse is slightly cloudy and glimmers mysteriously in the sunlight shining through the windows and doors. I kneel down, dip my fingertips into the cold water and get an idea.

“Emil, did you hear that?” I ask mysteriously.

Emil comes closer, bends over the water and listens carefully.

I scoop up a handful of water and splash him.

“Uhhh… cold… Mia, that’s mean!”

We both burst out laughing and run back outside to Mum, who is sitting on a bench. We sit beside her, eat our picnic and listen to the sounds of nature. The sun warms our faces and the leaves rustle in the wind. I imagine how people used to gather here beneath the tree, telling stories, talking and laughing while the tree watched over them.

I look across the meadow and know: this tree is something special. A witness to stories from the past. If only it could speak!