June 9, 2014 - Rude Frogs

I almost missed this little guy.  Although he was small, he had a voice like Pavarotti.  Unmistakable.  There were two ponds, you see.  He was in one, and I had just come from the other, which was only a few yards away.  He asked me rather abruptly and loudly (one might say rudely) whether there were any good flies in the other pond.  I told him there were some but that he was probably better off where he was as his pond was shadier and had all manner of juicy insects.  In a manner of speaking, that is.  And that was when he accused me of trying to keep all the good flies for my own.  I defended myself, of course, but the more I defended, the louder he became until he was croaking at a ferocious rate.  But what do you expect from pond frogs of the decidedly unroyal kind?  They are certainly not known for their good manners, and I've a good mind to go back to that pond with some sticky fly tape and show him who's boss.  You can't allow frogs to push you around, after all, or you'll never hear the end of it from the toads.

June 8, 2014 - Upturned Tree

Well, as you can see, I caught the fairies red-handed!  I heard them scuffling around a bit, but they managed to stay just ahead of me.  A bit of sparkle was all I saw, a tinkle of a bell was all I heard, but it was enough to know that the fairies were oot and aboot.  I pursued them hotly, but as I said, they were able to stay just ahead of me, partly because they're quick but also because they put a glamour on my shoes that made them feel very sticky on the bottom.  In any event, I finally came to this upturned tree.  They had flung it backward and jumped down into one of their compounds.  I'm sure they tried to pull it back upright, but as you can see, a large rock got stuck in the roots on the left side.  I think it was too heavy for the last few fairies to pull down, and so they had no choice but to leave the tree upright and hightail it out of there.  Of course, I wasn't foolish enough to go down after them as I know they would have tripped me and stuffed wet onions down my socks.  Regardless--this is a fabulous find, and I must come up with some way to mark it before they're able to pull the tree back down.  Oh, fairies, you can run but you can't hide forever!

June 7, 2014 - The Elusive Lady Slipper

I suppose I ought to tell you the tale of how the lady slipper flower came to be.  There once was an old cobbler and his wife who had tried to have a baby for a very long time, but luck never seemed to shine on them.  Finally, when the woman was much older and thought beyond childbearing, she learned she would have a child.  She and her husband were beside themselves with happiness.  Now this all took place in a part of the world where people were exceedingly poor, but even so this man and woman were always known for their kindness and generosity toward others.  Not only did they freely give to their neighbors, but the woman always made sure that fresh milk was left out for the fairies, even if she and her husband had to do without.

And so it came about that she had the child, and never were parents more delighted.  But the baby girl soon fell very ill, and there was nothing the midwife could do.  On an evening that looked like it might be her last, she was kissed by her mother and father and placed in her cradle.  When her father left the room, her mother took the pair of old iron scissors that had been placed beneath the cradle and buried them deep within a drawer.  She never told her husband, for she knew how angry he would be.  Sure enough, during the night, the fairies came and took the child and left a changeling in her place.  Back in their world, they had magic medicines that could cure the human child, but because they loved the woman so much for her kindness and could not bear to see her sorrow, they left her one of their own children in her child's place.  This, of course, the woman knew and it is why she removed the scissors in the first place, for fairies will not leave a changeling where iron scissors have been left in the open.

In the morning, the tiny fairy baby delighted her parents with her health, and though the man thought her appearance to be a bit odd, he never said a word to his wife for she seemed so happy.  The child grew quickly and was the love of her parents' life, but oddly enough, she would never leave the cottage where they lived.  One day her father insisted, but when he brought her outdoors and set her in the grass, she let out a terrible howl and ran back into the house.  Upon examination, burns were found all over her tiny feet.  Her father was terribly distressed and apologized profusely, and she kissed him so sweetly that he determined he would make special shoes that would fit her tiny little feet so that she could run in the grass without getting any burns.  So he set to work and made beautiful pink little slippers for her, which she wore everywhere with joy and pride, and now her days were filled with the wonder and beauty of the outdoors.  Her father's eyes filled with tears as he watched her playing in the fields.

But time marched on as time will do, and soon her parents were very old.  Because she was a fairy, she was still just a young child, and this worried the other villagers until they shunned the man and woman, afraid of the fairy changeling.  One night, the men all came with pitchforks to drive the old couple and the fairy away.  They came so quickly upon the house that the man and woman and their fairy child had no time to think but had to flee immediately.  They left without the changeling's slippers and fled into the forest while the villagers burned their house down.  Soon the changeling could go no further due to severe burns on her feet.  She kissed the tears from the faces of her loving parents and disappeared into a wisp of smoke, never to be seen again.

Her parents, old though they were, built a tiny cottage in the forest away from the cruel villagers, and there they stayed for the remainder of their days.  Shortly before the woman died, she took an old pair of iron scissors and buried them at the base of a pine tree.  She never told her husband of this.  In the Spring, lo and behold, little pink flowers grew and spread through the forest, favoring only pine trees.  Each flower looked like a tiny little slipper, and her father cried with joy and longing when he saw them.  After he died and the years passed, the pink slipper flowers grew and spread everywhere, always under pine trees.  To this day, you will find them under pines, although now they are almost as elusive as fairies themselves.  If you are lucky enough to find them, you may still hear the fairy child laughing and delighting in the forest.

(The lady slipper flower is a protected flower in many areas.  Once common, it is now rare due to loss of habitat.)

June 6, 2014 - Bridge To The Multiverse

Which way will you take the bridge?  Will you hop from the land and disappear into the tree?  Will you come from the tree world and enter the land?  Here is yet another example of a fairy bridge, and this one is particularly bold.  Some of the others I have shown you could possibly be passed off as "normal" bridges even though they traversed nothing and were clearly unnecessary.  But this bridge, this bridge is a typical example of the exasperation and yet wonderment one feels when sharing the land with fairies.  On the left the bridge may look as though it stops directly at the tree, but what is the point of that?  On the right the bridge hovers in a patch of sparkling unidentified vegetation but does not touch the ground, and what is the point of that?  In either case, it makes no sense to humans who see no point whatsoever, but it makes perfect sense to the denizens of Fairy.  They come and go as they please and throw bridges out before me to create a whirlwind of temptation.  If I were to cross the bridge in either direction, it is highly likely I would never be seen again, at least not in this century.  People disappear all the time.  Someday I will cross the bridge, but today is not that day.

June 5, 2014 - Drink Raw Milk

There once was an old witch who lived up in the northern woods of Maine.  She had moved farther and farther north because people have become afraid of witches these last several hundred years, and she felt it was best to stay out of their way.  But it happened that she had moved so far north that she was too isolated to get the things she needed for daily life, and this did not suit her well at all.  So she contrived a disguise one day, and anyone who lives here can tell you it was pretty clever.  Simply put, she would transfigure herself into a cow and wander into a town to get the things she needed.  No one pays much attention to a cow, after all, and this worked well for her for many years.

One day she wandered into a town to pick up some flour to make her pies and bread.  A greedy farmer on the edge of town saw her and decided he would steal her add her to his herd.  So he poked and prodded and whipped her until she ran into the corral with his other cows.  Once she was secure within, he laughed and went indoors for supper.  The old witch was very sad, but when she conferred with the other cows and learned of the farmer’s mistreatment of them all, she became furious.  That night she cast a spell on the whole herd so that all the milk would be as sour as vinegar.  When people came to buy their milk the next morning, they all returned it shortly thereafter because it was so horrible!  That day the farmer made no money at all.  The following day, the same thing happened, and then the day after that and the day after that still.

The farmer finally realized that it had all begun after he brought the new cow into the herd, so he went out to get her and slaughter her.  When he arrived, she transfigured herself back into an old woman and ran at him with eyes ablaze.  He fell to his knees and begged her forgiveness, but she would hear none of it.  Right on the spot, she put a curse on him saying that if ever he mistreated his cows again, the milk would be sour as vinegar but that if he treated his cows well, the milk would flow and be sweet as honey.  Then she left and took what little money he had in his pocket so she could go and buy her flour.

Of course, the farmer did not believe her and he mistreated his cows again for many weeks, whereupon immediately all the milk was soured and remained so.  Then, beside himself with the fear of poverty and ruin, he brought the cows sweet grain, grass, and silage to eat and a beautiful pasture in which to eat it, whereupon the milk immediately flowed bounteous and as sweet as honey.  Soon his customers came back, drawn by the sweet scent of fresh milk.  They praised the farmer and paid him well and his pockets were full of money once again.

To this day, when the milk sours and tastes bad, you can bet an old witch is out and about teaching a naughty farmer a lesson.  When the milk is good, you can bet that the farmer has learned his lesson, fed his cows well, given them green pasture, and housed them in a nice, clean barn.  And if you want to be certain of good, sweet milk, you must buy it straight from the farmer and not from a store, where any kind of reverse magic may have been done to it.  This is why the people of Maine drink fresh raw milk straight from the farm and why they thank the old witch every morning when they have their fair share.

June 4, 2014 - Duck, Duck, Goose!

Floating on a pond in the middle of nowhere is a group of 12 ducks and geese.  No one cares for them and no one brings them food.  This year there are more ducks than geese.  Some years it’s the other way around.  But they always manage to find this pond, and they always manage to somehow live splendidly.  I don’t know where they sleep, but they manage to keep clear of the foxes.  Every year sometime in June, I see a few babies as well.  There are always more babies in the beginning of the summer than the end as they don’t all make it.  I have been watching this pond long enough to see several generations come and go.  They are now part of my yearly routine.

They don’t seem to mind me very much, when they pay any attention to me at all.  Now and then, though, they do come to check out the ugly featherless being who visits them regularly.  I imagine they think I am very peculiar, very clumsy, and very slow--not to mention my coloring is exceedingly dull and drab.  I was thinking just today that this might be a very accurate assessment of me or any land lubber, and then it suddenly occurred to me:  perhaps I’m not visiting and assessing the ducks and geese after all, perhaps they’re visiting and assessing me.  Perhaps the pond is just a big ducky science project and I am its focus of study.  Conceited, I know, but just in case, I think I will be sure to comb my hair upon my next visit.  It’s the least I can do, me being the object of study and all.

June 3, 2014 - Dandelion Tales

Of all the things living in this world, I would have to say that the dandelion is the most resilient.  No single plant is held in more disdain.  No single flower receives more disparaging glances.  Chemicals are poured on it.  Torches burn it.  Hands claw at it and pull it from its home.  Yet everywhere you look, the ubiquitous dandelion remains--unaffected, unscathed, and not remotely concerned.  The noble dandelion does not care what we think of it because it knows better.  It shines brilliantly like a tiny little sun in its own solar system, decidedly unfazed by our remarks.  The dandelion does not ask permission to grow; its confidence comes from within.  And it's a good thing, too, as it is surrounded by negativity.  Yet you would never know by looking at it, and it makes no sense when you consider all the gifts it has freely given.

Search your heart.  In early to mid-spring when you are hungry for growth and life after a long winter, there is nothing quite like driving by a green field completely peppered with brilliant dandelions.  Can you deny that a smile comes to your face?  Can you deny your soft intake of breath with a relaxed sigh?  Can you deny the feeling, if only for a fleeting moment, that all is well in the world and everything is as it should be?  All those brilliant, tiny, little suns shining their warmth and energy at you, asking nothing in return.  Search your childhood memories.  The dandelions are everywhere you look within, smiling at you as you played ball with your friends, giggling when you sneaked into a field for your first kiss, washing the landscape of your best days and creating memories that will always be there to lift you up in your time of need. 

And this is all done so casually, as if the dandelion didn't have a care in the world, which of course, it doesn't.

June 2, 2014 - Not Your Typical Slug

The fairy chronicles continue.  I thought I might go out for an early morning creep through the woods, on the off chance that I might catch some typical fairies doing some typical fairy mischief.  It's great fun to sneak up on them, and as the reader is already aware, I have been trying to make contact with at least one so I can begin formal relations between our kind.  Instead, I found this busy little slug making quite a meal of a fresh tree ear.  I continued on my way a step or two when I heard the words, "How rude!"  I immediately turned around, expecting to see a fairy or an ent, but saw nothing.  Just as I was about to chalk it up to typical fairy mischief, I heard, "My mother would have tanned my hide when I was young had I not even greeted a passerby in these woods, which after all are so friendly, or at least used to be."

I had to do a double-take.  Yes, it was the slug talking alright, and you will credit me for not pointing out that his hide was already tan.  I made my apologies and bowed low in my greeting.  "That's better," he said.  "Perhaps tomorrow if you remember your manners I will carry your message to the fairies."  I stood in amazement, wondering how he knew.  "You're not the first to make this journey," he said, rolling his eyes.  "Now be on your way, for I have much to do and must get it done before the sun reaches this place."  Being dismissed, I went on my way and thought of a million things I ought to have said and was determined I would say them on the way back, but when I got there he was nowhere to be found.  Slippery fellow.  The quest continues, but I am getting closer every day.

June 1, 2014 - Sheepish

I was watching these sheep in a field today, thinking that sheep have gotten quite an unfair and undeserved reputation.  Often when people use the term "sheep," they are referring to someone who is docile, complacent, afraid, and easily controlled.  It is a disparaging word when used to describe a person.  However, upon further reflection, I would like it known that I would be flattered if someone were to call me a sheep because, for me, it would mean so many wonderful things.  A sheep is gentle and kind, not because it is stupid but because it is born gentle and kind and knows no other way.  A sheep is friendly and calm.  A sheep is happy and appreciative of its surroundings, no matter what those surroundings might be.  A sheep is well-adapted to its environment, enjoying a rich coat of beautiful wool in the winter.  A sheep is generous, sharing its rich coat of wool with us in the summer, only to grow another that it might give yet again.  A sheep eats simply and has very few needs.  But above all--above all--a sheep is peaceful.  Serenity is its nature and its very being.  I should be very proud, indeed, if someone were to refer to me as a sheep.