Once upon a place.

The most important character in your story may not be a person.

When I first started working to bring Tell Me About Your Apple Festival into the world, I wrote an alternate version of the story.

In that version, I never mentioned Murphysboro.

Partly because I wasn't sure if naming a small Southern Illinois town would make the story feel too specific for readers beyond our community. Partly because, more practically, I didn't yet know if I'd receive the blessing of the Apple Festival Board.

So I wrote a version set in a generic apple festival.

And you know what?

I realized Murphysboro wasn't simply where the story happened.

Murphysboro was one of the main characters.

The specificity of our place didn't make the story too niche.

It was the heart of the story.

It made me wonder if some stories begin not with once upon a time...

...but once upon a place.

In Tell Me About Your Apple Festival, I explore the importance of traditions.

And like the traditions we practice, the places where we practice them have a way of connecting generations.

Because a place seeps into your pores.

You can feel it.

You can smell it.

After a lifetime of returning to the same places and the same traditions, they become part of who you are.

The seasons change there in a very specific way that's as familiar as your favorite song.

The story opens with the sunset burning out over the grandstand. That's the best way I know how to describe it. Because that sunset has become part of me.

Whether you're an author or not—whether you're writing a story or building a life—don't overlook the importance of place.

The dining room where little feet sprint around the table before you spread the nice tablecloth and fold your hands to bless the Sunday meal. The one with the marker stains and the chips from little hands tapping forks.

The park down the road where your children memorize every edge of the climbing frame.

The auditorium with the worn teal green leather seats where generations of young people found the courage to take the stage.

The shade in the backyard where the wind rustles through the trees in a way that makes the whole world feel quieter.

The top of the Ferris wheel where you can see every edge of town.

The water tower that watched over your childhood as it unfolded below.

The saved spot on Walnut Street where your family has watched the parade for three quarters of a century.

These places shape us.

Our stories don't exist without them.

If your story is anything like mine, that place just might be one of the main characters.

So set out the good dishes.

Iron the tablecloth.

Spread the picnic blanket.

Pull out the lawn chairs.

It doesn't have to be perfect but the spaces we thoughtfully create together become the backdrop of our lives.

Over time, that familiar backdrop becomes a beloved friend.

Blessed be the place makers.