September 4, 2017
When I was a little girl I believed in fairies with all of
my heart. I saw them everywhere – not whole, full-on images, but corners of
them; glimpses of shining golden or red hair, a sparkle of fairy dust, the
sliver of a glinting piece of a fairy's dress. I can't remember particular
story titles, and don't remember my mother or grandmothers actually reading
fairy stories to us, but I know they must have. Mine and my sisters' passion
for books and stories I know we got from my mother and grandmothers. I know,
without doubt that they read to us, hours on end sometimes. I wish I could
remember. What I do remember is the feeling, the awe, the wonder of stories and
the fuel for my imagination. My great-grandmother was a first generation
Irish-American, born to parents born in County Cork; there were fairy stories
told to her, to be sure. One of her daughters was my grandmother, and of course
she passed a love of stories and books down to her daughter, who in turn passed
it down to her own daughters; both my aunt and my mother passed that joy down
to us, my sisters and I. I have no daughters to pass it on to, but I share my
love and passion and my belief in fairies and magic with everyone I can,
especially in the imaginations of the children I teach, and to the children of
my friends.
When I was in Ireland close to ten years ago my friend Edel
rented an 18th century customs house for us to stay in. Friends from
Florida came and went before I got there, but Edel's sister and her family visited
from Greece, along with Edel's own family, some friends from Dublin, and
myself. It was a grand adventure – verbiage that sounds so Irish, as I hear
Edel's words echo in my head. The house is in County Cork a tiny coastal town
called Castletownshend. Castletownshend is famous for having on display at the Church of St Barrahane an oar rescued
from the Lusitania, the ship sunk prior to World War 1 by German U-boats. Our
customs house was on the main street of the town, down at the end of the hill,
not far from the castle and across from the well-known restaurant Mary Ann's.
The house, long since retired from service, is rented out as a vacation home for tourists. It's full of lovely, wonderful windows, several stories
of bedrooms and sitting rooms, along with a small-ish kitchen and a completely
fabulous walled secret garden. I was thoroughly enchanted with the garden, the
house, the country. My imagination ran rampant as I walked the beautiful roads
and countryside. I wanted to pack my belongings and move there, lock stock and
barrel. Except it was really a vacation, and in reality, what would I do for a
living in the long run? The town is in western County Cork, and the closest villages are Skibbereen, Leap, Rosscarbery,
Clonakilty or Drimoleague – none exactly hotspots for an American with a
library degree. Still. I loved it immensely. There was something comforting
about the village, about Ireland itself. Dublin was a bit too much for me; although it is deemed as a small city; city life is not for me. Visiting Ireland was
like going home in a way; all soft and rounded, old, green, familiar,
like a comfortable quilt. There is an air everywhere of magic and imagination,
and yet, somehow the Irish people are very practical in nature. Quite a divergence of thinking, really. This land renowned for a belief
in fairies and leprechauns and magical thinking, yet inhabited by so much
practicality and no-nonsense ways of living.
During our stay
at the old customs house I was always the first to rise. The sun, in the
summer, comes up early so far north, and it sets long into the evening creating
16 hours of daylight. The bright sunshine always enticed me to get up and head
into that wonderful walled garden. The dazzling sun and the heavy dew enchanted
me, casting rainbows and glimmers all over the yard. Miniscule spiders spun
webs in the night to catch unsuspecting tiny creatures, but in the luminous
light of day, heavy with dew, these tiny webs became lovely pieces of
iridescent artwork. I remembered reading that where fairies walked they left
rainbows in dewdrops – that is how one knew fairies had been there. It was
enchanting, even to my adult mind. A few times Edel and Sinead, then around 12,
would join me early mornings in the garden. I told Sinead about the shining
rainbows being the evidence of the fairy's ball the night before; that the glittering
grass was a trail of a fairy's footprints. Her beautiful, young eyes shone with the
joy of belief and possibility. We tried so very hard to sit immobile and see if
they would come back and let us glimpse them, but even when we sat as still as
possible, we never could quite catch sight of them. I loved those early
mornings of quiet in that beautiful, wild secret garden in County Cork,
Ireland, and I love the memory of those special moments with Edel and Sinead.
It was as if I became a part of traditions being passed on and experienced by
my ancestors, and I felt such a sense of belonging.
We walked
everywhere, those few days I was in Castletownshend. Edel's brother-in-law did
rent a car, but it was tiny and not nearly enough room for all of us to ride
in. We walked to the old crumbling Roman wall that overlooked a branch of the
Celtic Sea called Castle Haven, and during our walks it was a bit like stepping
back in time. We walked to the cliffs overlooking the same branch of the sea
and it was breathtaking to be so high up, to see the power of that cold; even
in July; deep, dark sea crashing onto the rocks as it has for century upon
century. We walked through the village, to the pubs, to the shop up the hill.
We did nothing special, yet everything was wonderful with a hint of magic to
it. Ireland is surely a magical place.
This summer I
visited the Hoh Rain Forest in the Olympic National Park in Washington state.
There is something about the forests of the northwest. They, too, are magical
in their feeling. It is still wild and rugged there, but it is more; it is the
wetness of the climate and the growth of moss, and the air of age and mystery
that surrounds the park, and that whole part of the country. It is not to be
found or experienced in hotter climates or even colder, or those with less rain. There is
just something about the right combination of rain and elevation – neither
Ireland or the Hoh get the same kind of continual freezing temperatures or
snowfall as is common in other parts of country. In the rain forest we walked
the Trail of Mosses and it was fantastic. A long walk, in the heat (because
even rain forests get hot in the summer), and it was crowded with many people.
Still, I loved it. I loved the silence of letting others go by, and sitting on
a bench looking at the roots pushing trees up into the air, how little caves
and openings were underneath. In reality, this is Mother Nature's doing I know;
tree's use each other's life and death to survive. Where one tree falls,
other's take root on the downed old friend. As the newer trees grow, the old tree slowly crumbles into soil and it leaves the roots of the newer tree
exposed. But to me, this is where fairies and gnomes live; they are fairy
trails and paths. It makes the world more magical and so much less serious. It
was one of the most captivating and fun adventures, imagining such folk running
through the forest just out of sight, giggling behind hands as they played
hide-n-seek with me.
It occurs to me
that this is part of the romance of reading for me, this escape into my
imagination, into other worlds with unlimited possibilities. This is why I
became a librarian, I think, unknowingly. In order to share that love and
passion with others. My original goal was to work in a museum because I love
art of all kinds. I love that creative process and I love knowing what the
meaning is in art work, and I love the process of learning about the reasons
others create. In library school I took a course in children' literature which
was intended for those planning to become school librarians. My professor saw
something in me and encouraged me to take that path, and I did. The road less traveled, and for me, it has
made all the difference.
Worlds await us
in books. But even more, our world awaits us when we broaden our minds with
books. Through reading and exploring we can see so much more than with just our
eyes. We can see with our hearts, our imaginations, and the world becomes such
a larger place full of wonder and opportunities.
I believe in
fairies. I believe in a world just beneath ours, just beneath our realistic
knowledge. When I catch a glimmer from the corner of my eye, or a flash of a
rainbow in the sky; in a dew drop, I know that the fairies have been here just
before me, and I hold on to the hope that my belief in them will continue to
open the door of opportunity for me into the beautiful world of imagination,
hope, and possibility. 