A Tree Grows in Scotland - Allegedly

 So, apparently, there's a tree in Scotland with my name on it -- Wathen.

Not in a sweet, metaphorical “legacy” kind of way. I mean literally—I paid (well, my friend paid) for a tiny patch of dirt in the Highlands, and with that came a tiny tree that is allegedly growing on it. Somewhere. Probably being gnawed on by a rogue sheep or used as a scratching post by a disgruntled red deer.  Speaking of The Highlands, my son wrote a book of the same name, so go check it out on Amazon here.

I like to imagine it's thriving and distinguished -- maybe it's the only oak in a crowd of pines. Maybe it's already taller than some members of Congress. And maybe it's dead. Who knows! All I have is a certificate and a strong sense of landowner pride, based on nothing but marketing.

Still, that hasn’t stopped me from updating my email signature to include Lord Wathen, Tree Owner and Land in Scotland. Nor has it prevented me from planning an entirely imaginary trip to visit my estate—complete with a walking stick and a kilt I have no business wearing.  What a crazy visual!

My reign has so far included zero peasants, no tax income, and precisely no actual governing, which makes me about as effective as half the British royal family.  Ouch!

But I do have a blog -- and now two posts. So really, the empire is expanding.

Yours in fictional feudalism,
Lord Wathen
Guardian of the Wathen Sapling, Baron of Blogging

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Monarchy Industrial Complex -- And Why I’m Not Impressed

 Let’s be honest: the modern monarchy serves roughly the same purpose as a wax museum—expensive, strangely outdated, and somehow still a tourist attraction. But people eat it up. Ceremonies. Crowns. Carefully staged balcony waves. All while the real power sits with unelected bureaucrats and bored hedge fund managers. Now, as a certified Lord (thank you, novelty title certificate), I’m technically part of this bloated charade. But unlike the Windsors, I didn’t inherit my title from centuries of conquest and cousin-marriage. I "earned" mine via a birthday gift, and boom—aristocracy. And yet, I’m no less qualified to speak on the absurdity of it all. We’re supposed to believe that divine right still matters in 2025? That bloodlines make someone more fit to open hospitals or wave solemnly at orphans? Spare me. The only thing royal blood guarantees anymore is media coverage when you screw up -- and a bunch of it. Here’s a revolutionary idea: let’s judge leaders on competence, ...
Read more

Estate Management Is Hard, Okay?

Let's be honest: when I first became a Lord, I didn’t expect the sheer burden of it all. I thought it would be mostly ceremonial—wave at the peasants, eat something roasted from a leather chair, occasionally sign decrees like “More bacon for breakfast” or “Let the dog decide foreign policy.” You know, the usual. But no. The responsibilities are endless for Lord Wathen I mean, has anyone checked on my tree lately? Is it still upright? Has it made friends? Is it being bullied by taller shrubbery? These are the kinds of questions that keep a Lord up at night. And don’t get me started on land disputes. Just last week, a falcon from the neighboring territory was seen violating my kingdom's airspace . No formal complaint has been filed with the United Nation yet, but let’s just say diplomacy is hanging by a twig. Then there’s the estate planning. Do I build a second tree? Install a miniature Stonehenge? Raise a tiny goat? The options are endless and the budget is, well… let’s j...
Read more

Noble Titles... and Other Useless Assets

Let’s talk about titles. In theory, I’m a Lord. On paper, I own land in Scotland—approximately the size of a pizza box—with a tree on it, probably planted by a guy named Angus who was paid in beer and passive aggression. It’s all very official. I have the certificate, the embossed seal, and the overwhelming sense that I’ve been part of a marketing campaign disguised as environmentalism. But let’s be clear: this title means absolutely nothing.  I'm not delusional. I can't use it to get a loan. I can’t park closer at my local Walmart. No one’s offering me diplomatic immunity or asking me to judge the Highland Games -- but that would be really cool. The closest I’ve come to royal treatment is getting spam emails that now start with “Dear Esteemed Lord Wathen.” I tried flashing my title at a restaurant once. The hostess blinked twice, called me “sir,” and continued to seat a family of four who came in after me -- after me! Apparently, Wathen nobility doesn’t override the Oli...
Read more