Every morning, Bee and
I stand at the end of the
driveway waiting for her
bus and we look up into the
branches of the elm tree
that arches over the drive.
We started this little
ritual back in the spring,
when the first signs of new
leaves appeared like green
knuckles up and down the
long branches.
``Look,’’ I said to her.
``Soon the tree will be covered
with leaves, and we
won’t be able to see a bit of
sky through them.’’
Sure enough, bright
green leaves sprouted and
spread until the tree offered
a cool canopy. Peering up
through the branches was
like looking into a verdant
kaleidoscope, a mosaic of
greens and yellows and tiny
flecks of blue sky.
In summer, of course, we
found little reason to stand
at the foot of the driveway
for any length of time. Sure,
we might venture to the
mailbox or pass through
that general area on our
way to throw rocks into the
creek or walk to our neighbor’s
pond and listen to the
frog symphony. But we
never took the time to see
how summer had changed
the view upward through
the elm branches.
But then autumn came
around, and with it a new
school year and a new daily
opportunity to view the
world from the foot of an
elm tree.
In early September, the
tree already was giving us
a show — a bright yellow
leaf here, another leaf orange
and brown, and yet
another looking for all the
world like a green and red
holiday ornament.
Bee claimed she was collecting
autumn leaves, and
for many mornings, she
would find her favorite, and
give it to me to add to her
collection after she had gotten
on the bus.
``But wait there until the
bus is gone,’’ she told me.
``Don’t walk back to the
house until after the bus
leaves.’’
I promised.
The elm tree is one of
her favorites because, according
to Bee and her dad,
fairies live there. Or maybe
they’re faeries. However
they self-identify, Bee is
certain of their existence
because, on very, very cold
winter mornings when her
Papa takes her down to the
bus stop, the two of them
help the fairies keep warm
by blocking their knot-hole
doorway with a stick. Later
on in the day, when the
fairy house warms up, the
fairies push the stick out of
the doorway to the ground,
where Bee finds it the next
morning.
You should know that
our lawn is well-populated
by fairies. In the summertime,
Bee and Posey and I
build them little garden
shelters. We make beds of
moss and set pine bark tables
with buttercup tea
sets. We always add some
signal or flag so the fairies
will know that we’ve created
a safe place for them
where they won’t be bothered
by cats or chickens or
dogs.
After we’ve built the
fairy shelters, we check
them over the next days
and weeks for signs of habitation.
Bee is particularly
adept at spotting fairy
magic — a sort of vapor
trail they leave in their
wake.
``They were here,’’ she
will declare. ``I can see their
magic.’’
This week, Bee and I
have stood under the elm
tree looking skyward, and
we have noticed how very
little there is standing between
us and the view beyond.
Not one leaf remains
on the tree. It seems Winter
does not ask permission
from me, or from Bee or
from the shivering fairies
before unpacking its bags
and settling in for a long,
long stay. It’s kind of a bully
and a boor, that Winter.
A difficult and expensive
house guest who comes unannounced
with no clear
plans for leaving.
I began to think of snow
tires and oil bills and evenings
that grow dark before
the end of a banker’s workday.
I sighed.
Next to me, Bee sighed
too, but hers was more wistful,
more like the sigh one
makes settling into a feather
bed or a bubble bath.
``Maybe Dad can make a
fire tonight,’’ she beamed
up at me with an excited
grin. I could tell that she
was thinking of mittens
and sledding and snowmen.
``That would be perfect,’’
I told her.
Okay, Winter. You can
come in. The guest room is
yours, and I’ve laid out extra
towels. Leave your
shoes by the front door and
don’t monkey with the thermostat
without asking.
Elizabeth Trever Buchinger
hopes you’re as cozy
and warm as the Elm Fairies.
You can connect with
her at www.moremindfulfamily.
wordpress.com.
This Wonderful Life
November 5, 2009
This Wonderful Life: A view through bare branches
- This Wonderful Life
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- This Wonderful Life: I can say No, but I prefer Yes If popular culture is any indication, it seems women suffer from an epidemic inability to refuse additional responsibilities. Magazines, self-help books and therapists nationwide offer heaps of advice on how to assert oneself, draw boundaries and generally say No when asked to sign on for those things for which we have little time and less interest.
- This Wonderful Life: I wish someone had told me Disclaimer: Because my son more or less demanded that I stop using him and his life as material for my column back when he was 12 or 13, I want to make it perfectly clear to all my readers (and any legal professionals who are now retained or may be retained at some future time by aforementioned son) that this column is not about him. It’s about me. The fact that he happened to turn 21 on Saturday is mere coincidence. So help me God.
- This Wonderful Life: A view through bare branches Every morning, Bee and I stand at the end of the driveway waiting for her bus and we look up into the branches of the elm tree that arches over the drive.
- This Wonderful Life: To Posey on her fourth So here we are, on the other side of 3-years-old, and it seems we both survived it intact. It wasn’t easy, but perhaps it made us both stronger.
- This Wonderful Life: A Posey by any other name... A few weeks ago, Posey gave us all new names. Or, to be more accurate, Posey gave us all one new name. Rose.
- This Wonderful Life: Are pork chops really that good? If it seems unlikely for a vegetarian (that would be me) to own a couple of table- bound pigs, it probably seems downright absurd that their names should be Tender and Delicious.
- This Wonderful Life: I sssssseeeeeee you there The first thing you should know is that I used to suffer from a snake phobia. The operative word there is phobia. It wasn’t just a matter of disliking snakes. It wasn’t a fear of being bitten. It wasn’t a simple reluctance to touch their impossibly dry, nimble bodies.
- This Wonderful Life: What’s so funny? My kids, I hope In my experience as a three-time parent, there is something absolutely, spiritually magical about the first time your child cracks a joke.
- This Wonderful Life: Who are these little girls? There are two children in my house who bear a striking resemblance to my daughters. They are adorable, smart and energetic.
- This Wonderful Life: A harvest that’s good for the soul Signs of harvest are all around. The afternoon sun glows amber over the fields and the farm stands are filled to overflowing with vegetables and fruit. We’re lucky to live in a place where we can have such an immediate connection to the food we eat.
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