I've just spent a few days with my mum in Belgium. And I learned something about my dad I never quite realised before. If my dad had had the chance, if he hadn't had to give up all of his independence to Multiple Sclerosis, he would have been an organic fruit farmer.

The fruit farmer bit I knew about. The organic bit is news to me. I always thought that it was my uncle who got bitten by the organic gardening bug. He has a big food growing garden that has been organically flourishing for decades. Apparently it was my dad who introduced him to the idea.

How funny that I should be moving into a house in an orchard, that I intend to grow organic food on. I didn't realise I was following my dad's interests so closely. He would really have liked our ideas about Westacre. And even 13 years after his death, that makes me happy.

My dad's father, in turn, had the ambition of buying a big fruit farm in the south of Belgium that he would run with his four sons. Apparently, he found his farm, had arranged to buy it, and he got really close to clinching the deal when another buyer offered more money. They stayed where they were. If they had gone, my dad would probably not have fallen in love with the girl from across the street and I wouldn't be here.

I love these little coincidences of history, and how dreams and ambitions repeat themselves, slightly altered, through the generations. Who would have thought that this choice I am making, one that I believed to be rebellious and daring and unusual, would put me on the path of my ancestors?

As a druid, I have worked with my ancestry and seen the fierce love my father's fathers had for the land. Our ancestors are always with us. They live on in every single cell of us. If we are open, we can communicate with them and learn from them. And I intend to do exactly that. I will ask my dad what to do about that garden. I will honour my father's fathers as I work my land.

Another doorway opens. The adventure deepens in a new and unexpected way.