Fairy Land Trails and Tales

Fairy hiding

As a child growing up, I not only believed in fairies, I knew they existed for two reasons: One, a dime or nickel miraculously appeared under my pillow when I lost a tooth, and my parents who never lied told me that it came from the tooth fairy. Two, when we drove to Wichita, Kansas from Miami, Oklahoma to visit grandparents, we often drove through Augusta, Kansas late at night when the refineries would be filled with twinkling lights from the light bulbs once used to define the work space. Each time we drove by my mother would remind me or even wake me to show me where the fairies lived.

I only questioned those facts when I wished I had a fairy godmother, like Cinderella's godmother, or a playmate fairy like Thumbelina, but none would appear. After watching The Wizard of Oz each spring I decided I needed to be braver and wish for a Good Witch like Glenda. Clicking my heels together didn't seem to create magic unless I truly believed in my wish. 

Over the years, I told stories about finding fairies in the clover patches when we would spend the afternoons searching for magical four-leaf clovers, but, of course, those were imaginative stories, just like the story I told when I saw Santa fly over one night. I believed. Isn't that enough?

In my twenties I learned to "officially" tell stories at the public library for children, and on my own as a paid teller. In reflection, I realized that the very first story I learned was about a vain young man who was given three wishes by the devil, who disguised himself as a fairy godmother. Stories of wishes and tricksters became my trademark stories. 

Another decade passed and one day in 1983 Jack and I found ourselves standing in front of a quaint fairy shaped Wedding Chapel--The Little Church of the West, where my parents married in 1946.  As we approached the front door, nerves tingled on the back of our necks, or maybe it was the whisper of a fairy telling us our wishes for a happy successful marriage would be granted, only if we worked at it.  

Our children grew up. One by one they left home and created healthy happy homes of their own. (Some wishes and a whole lot of prayers do come true). 

 

One day, this spring of Covid 19, my daughter and I decided to meet for a clandestine picnic at Will Rogers Park. Oh, our secret meeting tickled me because we had not seen each other nor hugged in over six weeks. Dis ease or no disease we needed our hugs. We needed our love in person. We held our picnic in the amphitheater and shared our stories of the last few weeks of travels and fears. Then we walked. 

We walked up to the area covered by gardens. In the quiet undisturbed park we caught sight of the strangest tiny doors hidden under trees and some set aside like a community of fairy villages. On our knees we touched doors, took pictures, and whispered to the diminutive fairies inside. "Hello, you have visitors."

Romantic hideout for fairies.

Gnome homes

Giggling with our private time to tour  the "fairy land trails" we caught ourselves running like children from tree to tree looking for the next fairy tree house. We lost count of the fairy doors.

Toadstool cottage. 

Curiosity took over the day and we forgot for

a few hours about our fear the unknown, about a killer named Covid. 

 

Maybe fairies need a dentist, too?

Our biggest surprise came in the form of a giant chair, that could only fit the Giant who takes care of the park. That might take a late night tour, as I know that the giants and trolls in Norway only come out at night. I think we will choose to believe that  giants exists, and not go searching for them. 

Not having seen everything, we decided that we would return in two weeks when more flowers might be in bloom and more fairy land trails might be discovered.

For other stories about fairies please read:

Dream Fairies https://literallyletty.blogspot.com/2016/08/dream-fairies.html

A Glimpse of Hoar Frost  https://literallyletty.blogspot.com/2017/02/a-glimpse-of-hoar-frost.html