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A quote: “There is a harmony in autumn, and a luster in its sky, which through the summer is not heard or seen, as if it could not be, as if it had not been!” ~~ Percy Bysshe Shelley
I’ll start with a story …
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Jacob fast became gran-gran’s favorite. Eyes that danced with intelligence but blessed with old-soul patience, he walked everywhere with her, listening with quiet attention to tales of the old country and growing up near Fae places.
When autumn and mushroom hunting were at their height, he learned how to pick the best, leaving the proper offerings for the local Fae.
Jacob grew, gran-gran faded. She seemed to shrink, growing as colorless as a pond of water in the fog. But Jacob loved her fierce and kept the promise … carrying her into the forest to be laid among the ferns.
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Now, it’s your turn.
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. featured image, cropped, Adobe Stock standard license.
Cameron says: “What’s this one?” I asked.
“Wood ear!” he said proudly.
“Can you eat that?”
“Yes. Momma puts them in salads.”
“Right. And what’s that one?”
“Red Claw!”
“Can you eat that?”
“No!”
We came across a cluster of small white mushrooms a few minutes later. He crouched down and stared with a look of deep concentration.
“And?” I prompted.
He stood back and shook his head. “Fae marker. No touch.”
“Good boy.” Teaching kids to be safe in these woods was something you did very early. As we walked away, I waved at the sylph watching us from the trees.
I always loved visiting Grandma. She was an avid gardener and had built a little fairy garden under the arching branches of the rhododendrons.
As soon as we’d get to Grandma’s house, I’d run down to the fairy garden to see what new things she’d added. Would the pale porcelain mushrooms still be there, or had the spring windstorms cast branches onto them and smashed them? The little fairy houses were made of cast acrylic resin, so they were less likely to break, but if they did, they shattered.
Cousin Deb was the one who taught me the trick of squinting until I could imagine the tiny fairy figurines coming to life and flitting about. She also encouraged me to write down the stories of their doings after the adults shushed me for “going on and on” about the fairies.
The visits became fewer and further between after my parents had to move us across the country for a new job. Soon a wide variety of school and community activities began to occupy my time, so I didn’t long to go back quite as much.
Now I’m coming back to the old home place one last time, after Grandma’s funeral. Part of me wants to run and see the old fairy garden, and the rest is afraid of what I might find after all these years. In some ways, finding it abandoned or in ruins would be almost worse than discovering that someone had removed it and put the area to other uses.
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