A glorious winter morning in Maine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A day when Fairy Folk might come out into the gardens to dance and play.

Heaven on Earth with sky so blue.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Spring is just around the corner…

 

Attached to our barn we have a pit greenhouse.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Our so called Pit House is a greenhouse buried 8 feet deep into the earth with a southern facing glass roof.

 

 

 

 

A wonderful haven where magic happens all year long.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Brunhilde Toad and her sister Trixie winter here, it is their version of the tropics.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Amaryllis flowers blossom among large pots of  Rosemary and  Scented Geraniums.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The earth banked sides retain solar warmth collected from the glass roof on sunny winter days.

 

 

 

Fairy Folk visit with me as I tend  herbs on the warmest of the winter days. They sprinkle fairy dust about which encourages the plants to continue to sprout, blossom and grow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Some of my favorite children visit with the fairies as they help water the herbs sparingly during the long cold winter months.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Spending an hour or two in this green and flowering little haven is truly magical, especially on a cold Maine winter day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I come from a long line of gardeners who were friends with the fairy folk, and many of them had pithouses as well as above ground glass greenhouses.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Each generation in my family there have been individuals who were friends with the Fairy Folk.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And each generation has had their own Memory Keeper. I am the Memory Keeper for my generation. I am known as Seamstress to the Fairies.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I make fairy clothing for the wee folk as well as enchanted wearable gardens for human believers of the Fae.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I‘ve also been known to write a fairy tale or two.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the winter when my gardens are asleep I enjoy spending quiet moments in my pit house enjoying the greenery and scent of herb flowers and warm rich earth on a snowy white day.

 

 

 

 

Cinnamon is a fairy happy bunny who spends the winter residing in the warmth and flora of our pit house along with his pal Toast.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cinnamon and Toast are fairy small rabbits and very friendly, they tend to the winter pruning of my rather large Rosemary plants.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A little nibble here and a little nibble there, they keep these shrubs tidy and tame.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They also like to munch on tender little weeds who poke up through the sand and gravel floor.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rosemary sparkled with fairy dust.

 

 

 

 

Here are some images of other pit greenhouses. They come in all sizes, but the concept is the same, each is a glass roofed structure nested snug into the warmth of Earth’s soil.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Spring is right around the corner.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Once a long, long time ago

I knew a little girl

who lived in a little house

in a little wood.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The little girl lived with a fairy horse and two tame wolf dogs deep within an enchanted forest in a clearing by a stream.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Each day the little girl would walk with the animals through the forest learning from nature.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As the years passed the little girl learned how to listen to all of the inhabitants of the forest and in time she spoke their languages.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

By listening and looking closely the little girl discovered the diversity of other beings and how integral those differences are to the well being of all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As the little girl grew she witnessed the brotherhood of every living thing.

 

Glossary:

integral:      essential

essential:    absolutely necessary

diversity:   of many different elements or types

brotherhood:  a feeling of closeness that exists between a group which chooses to live or work together

 

 

Our vintage 120 year old glass greenhouse has become a magnificent backdrop for a talented artist.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A playful prankster who finds great fun in nipping noses, ears and fingers as well as an enormous amount of satisfaction and delight in painting ice patterns on lucky window panes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jack Frost is believed by some to be the mischievous son of the Frost King. He is known as King of The Winter Spirits and is a member of the Fairy Kingdom. A talented traveling artist we consider ourselves fortunate to be the recipient of such fine artistry.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jack Frost is said to have the power to freeze shadows and he paints the beautiful fern like whirls you see frozen on window panes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When a glass window pane is exposed to outside air that is extremely cold and inside air that is warmer and moist, water vapor condenses on the glass forming (Jack Frost) patterns. Imperfections and scratches or dust particles on the glass influence the types of patterns Jack Frost can create. Often called fern frost or ice flowers because of the patterns created.

 

Children have been asking this question for generations.

A wonderful book of poems called “Beyond The Mountain” by Sarah Stokes Halkett published in 1917 asks this same question.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Here in Maine on the north side of a small mountain I am Seamstress to a troop of Home Place Fairies.

I sew and weave a very elaborate assortment of clothing for these fairies to suit their needs.

I also create with the fairies assistance what I like to call, “wearable gardens” for human children.

The Home Place Fairies in turn help the Wizard and I care for the orchards on our farm as well as assist bees pollinating flower and vegetable gardens and fields of organic blueberries.

Old Horse is Guardian of the Home Place Fairies and has lived here at the farm as long as anyone can remember.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Long ago enchanted by the Fairies, he ages though he never grows old.

So where do the fairies go when it snows ….

Old Horse knows , but he’s not saying.

This sweet poem from “Beyond The Mountain” was asking that same question in 1917 and well, it’s still being asked today.

 

The Snowdrops

Where do the pretty fairies go

When the world is white with snow?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I asked the sun, he did not know,

He never saw the fairies go.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Where do the gentle fairies stay

When all the world is cold and gray?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I asked the moon, he could not say;

He too wonders where the fairies stay.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Where do the pretty fairies hide

When on the snow we slip and slide?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I asked the stars, they only sighed;

It’s lonely when the fairies hide.

Where do the pretty fairies go?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I think perhaps the flowers know

I’ll wait until the snowdrops grow,

And ask them where the fairies go.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fairies are mysterious little beings and maybe we as humans are not meant to know the answer to every little thing.

Possibly real magic rests in faith and believing in possibilities which you cannot always see;

Maybe magic is the same as dreaming and wishing upon stars .

 

 

 

 

Somewhere far away in New England on the north side of a mountain in a village of hope, a small troop of Home Place Fairies gather together in the deepest hours of twilight. On this evening each year they have the ability to shape shift, increasing their size to that of mortal children. In order to do so they must shed their wings and leave them behind closeted deep within their chambers of an old oak tree.

While a human child slumbers in a farmhouse nearby the fairies happily gather stardust to grind into powder, precious and fine.

Filling finely woven willow baskets the fairies look high and they look low.  Sensing the sleeping child they enter her dream. All the while an old horse stands watching , he’s waited many years for this day.

They are the Wand Makers and this is their hour . These fairies have no time to waste as they march across the meadow through the forest to the Stream of Dreams.

Here stands La Rosa, she is the Wand Keeper .

It is during these twilight hours of enchantment that stars reflections drop from the sky. Floating down the Stream of Dreams they are captured by the fairies on twigs of apple, ash and oak, creating powerful wands.

The Wand Makers must work together in tandem capturing enough starlight to empower all of their wands for one full year. Only on this day early each spring, before the buds turn green can they work this magic.

The Fairies work hard and in silence, with great concentration. They must not miss one starlight’s reflection as each represents a mortal child ‘s dream.

“Old Horse is waiting and time is running short. ” La Rosa tells the Wand Makers .

Nightingale and Lula Belle join Old Horse who has been watching and waiting near by.

Old Horse follows Nightingale. He’s been through this before and he knows what must be done.

To the edge of the meadow where the ancient orchard grows they take him, while in the farmhouse a girl child lays dreaming of starlight, and wands.

Old Horse bows his head as the fairies work their magic. He is re-enchanted with everlasting time. Though he ages he never grows old.

Into the little girl’s dream the fairies enter. “Come with us.” they whisper to the sleeping child.

And so the girl follows the fairies and Old Horse follows them, deeper into her dream they go.

As darkness begins to fade and dawn is on the rise the fairies gather their wands and stardust. Quickly they must head back to their chambers. At the entrance they will shape shift back to their wee size, adorn their wings and into the garden take flight.

In the morning when the little girl awakens, she walks  far into the meadow where the orchard grows.  She sees an old horse standing, waiting and she knows he is there for her; she recognizes him from her dreams. Together they walk as she leads him out of his past and into their future.

 

 

The following is such a beautiful story of one man’s generosity , one I thought worth repeating.

It is a mere a sketch of a story, as it really is Ryan’s story and therefore his for the telling.

Every once in a while you meet someone who’s living their dreams.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ryan is such a person, and on the day he arrived in my gardens with Lady Katherine I could not help but notice how the birds sang louder; how flowers appeared more colorful and how the Fairy Folk instead of hiding fluttered freely as if welcoming one of their own. Even shy Luna the Enchanted Puppet showed herself, happily welcoming these guests.

A world traveler Ryan had just returned from South America, Thailand, India and Nepal.

Enchanted by the sound of an ancient Indian violin Ryan had traveled all the way to India in  hopes of finding a teacher and learning to play.

An amazing journey.

Below is a short video tale of what happened the day Ryan found his way into my garden.

The Traveler, The Camel and The Hand Pan

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The background music is mbira, as the Fairies themselves have whispered I play.

Greetings from the endless garden of the mind…where color and flowers are always in bloom.

Follow your heart; and live your own great story out loud.

 

 

 

 

Ours is a glorious world filled with all sorts of surprises.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Those who seek experience the extra ordinary possibilities found in unexpected places.

Happy New Year from the Seamstress to the Fairies!

 

 

 

 

“It’s not about what you look at that matters, it’s about what you see.”

Henry David Thoreau

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the north side of a small mountain in Maine,

The Home Place Fairies

 

 

 

 

 

 

Along with a Wizard and the Seamstress to the Fairies Welcome in the New Year.

Good tidings to each and every one of you!

 

Christmas is a powerful time in the Fairy Kingdom, the Elves and Gnomes are particularly busy.

Human children far and wide are writing lists of wishes, wants and desires.

The Home Place Fairies cheerfully depart from their cozy winter chambers waving wands, busily casting enchantments upon any childhood wish that happens to linger, determining the integrity of each wish by the weight of a child’s sincerity as opposed to desire.

The magic of all your believing begins with a wish.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Christmas is the perfect occasion for creating your own great story.

Imagine walking out your  front door into the world of your imagination.

How wonderful, how utterly fantastical that could be.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Here atop Blue Fairy Hill a little girl dances alone with her Teddy in new fallen snow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She dances the dance of the hopeful.

A dance of youth, promise and infinite possibilities.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Later she will return home to her sister and family.

She will carefully place the last ornament on their fir tree, wishing for kindness, for fresh food on their table, for family unity, love and understanding…. a game maybe and a new soft toy or two.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

At the end of the day she will fall asleep with her fuzzy in a box by the fire.

The Fairies will linger watching over the child, taking into account all of her dreams and desires, her past and present behaviors and the depth of her heart.

If they determine her worthy, which they do….they will weave together all of her wishes, hopes and desires into an invisible but potent shroud…

And they will cover the sleeping child with this shroud, instilling upon her the courage to strive and move forward, to believe in her own character…to have the bravery to live her own great story out loud.

Later this Christmas evening the child will not awaken when her Father gently carries her, tucks her in gently to her warm soft bed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the morning this little girl will waken and will wonder if she only dreamed of all the fairies that danced the night before in the snow and around her bed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Merry Christmas

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

From Old Horse and the slumbering Fairies

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Merry Christmas

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

From The Seamstress to the Fairies and Santa!