Freeeeeddddooooommm!

This is the story of a castle in Kusel. And a dog. And a deeply terraced hill.

We were stationed at Ramstein Air Force Base, the NATO headquarters for Germany, and had lived near there for almost a year when we found a castle around the bend from our village of Katzenbach. The place filled my twelve year-old mind with dreams of chivalry, captured maids, and armored battles. Romance sluiced from its walls and paths like Niagara.  It was ancient, lichen-studded, and built of weathered stone whose mortar looked like it might survive the apocalypse. Unlike many of the other old fortresses around us, this one still  had an intact outer wall and an operating chapel in the courtyard. Siege, war, and time had not destroyed it. The Keep, the Baileys, and all of the towers stood ready to shelter villagers like they had since the thirteenth century. What a place! I could have perched on a wall for a week, doing nothing but drawing and writing. Settled on the crown of a hill overlooking the rolling, forested village below, Burg Lichtenberg was the perfect place to create.  And a great place to learn a lesson.

We had gone to Kusel to visit the castle. I'd spent the afternoon exploring nooks and crannies, looking for water-sprites in the well, sitting in dank cellar rooms weaving straw into gold, darting up tower stairs to look out at the valley and lower my long golden hair to the charming prince below (except it was long auburn hair). I'd run from the Galerie leaving my glass slipper behind, watched a foreign princess get married in the chapel (which is true. Except for the bit about her being a princess. Maybe), and had taken time to slay a dragon in front of the Keep before lunch. I was exhausted and could not continue. It was time to head home to my own white-stuccoed cinderblock castle in Katzenbach.

As I stood outside the gatehouse on the crowded grounds waiting for the rest of my family to emerge, I noticed a little kerfuffle on the hill next to me. There was a dog–a terrier, judging by its size, excitability, and high opinion of itself–yapping and dancing all over the top of the little rise. He wanted our attention and he didn't stop until we were all looking. The hill he was on ended in a five foot wall. Then there was the road to the castle, and another five foot wall. Below that, a strip of grass and yet another five foot stone wall. And finally, well below us, the last of the terraced walls.

Sir Terrier stood at attention, and when everything was quiet, he took a running leap and flew like a gazelle over that wall, yapping for joy and legs splayed wide. He hit the ground running and leapt off of the next terrace. Airborne again! Utter ecstasy. He wanted everyone to see. Another check to make sure his audience was rapt, and he took the next leap. And finally the last–with an exulting bark, "Look at me! Look at me! Look at meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

The last hill was a fifteen foot drop. And the little dude disappeared like a rock off  a cliff. It was kind of startling and brought me back to the 20th century as I wondered if Sir Dog had offed-himself. The Germans around me murmured and leaned out over the terraces. But there was no trace of the little guy.

Then finally, up the road came our aerial friend, looking stiff-legged and humiliated. He didn't make eye-contact with anyone. Just skulked back up to his starting point and sat in dejection for awhile. People laughed quietly and relived the event in gestured conversation. Then they moved on.

My family came out and we were just about to go, when something came bounding like a canon-shot down the hill. A leap, a bark, a splay, and WOOHAH! Dog was catching some air again. Never seen such commitment and joy. The little creature should have been one of Arthur's knights. Or at least one of Kusel's. Most important of all, he was teachable. He ran and flew with reckless abandon all the way down to the last terrace. But this time he stopped, turned to the side, and gingerly picked his way down a side path to the bottom. He arrived at his destination as planned, flying every inch of the way even when he walked, and yipping with pride. He had learned, made adjustments, and not let a failure or embarrassment stop him.

Flinging ourselves whole heartedly into the imagination of creating is a wonderful thing. Exploring castles, running and leaping, shouting for everyone to see. We just need to  make sure we know what is at the bottom.

Unless we don't care.

Then it's just a matter of getting back up and trying again.