I sat down on a giant oak tree root. I was very still and quiet. I sat patiently for a long time. I didn’t mind waiting because I had my imagination with me. I pretended all sorts of wonderful things in my mind while my eyes stayed focused on the bluet patch. After several hours I was rewarded for my diligence. There among the small flowers I saw movement—three fairies appeared and began to pick bluets, placing them in little baskets. These fairies appeared to be females, and they were dressed in pastel colors. The fairy colors are difficult to describe, like the pale pearl gray in the ring around the moon or the peachy purple streak of a setting sun. They were beautiful.
I didn’t approach them. I sat and studied them from my root seat. I knew they saw me, for every now and again they would glance over at me. When their baskets were filled with flowers, they spread iridescent wings that were like the rainbow sheen of a bubble and flew away.
After observing fairies doing all sorts of marvelous simple things, I realized that I was what the old Irish tales called fey, or “fairy aware.” Not everyone is fey; you are born with this gift as some are born to be musicians or artists. I love music and art, but I cannot create it the way gifted musicians and artists can. Similarly, many people love fairies and enchanting stories, but they just can’t see them.
Being fey, I was able to discern enchantment. This meant that as I was walking along a path or wandering through a wood, I could detect fairy glamour. I would feel the enchantment wash over my face like a cool breeze. My eyes would automatically search out a spot where the fairies might live, work or play. Because of this, I began to see more fairies than I could have ever imagined. Sometimes I would glimpse them out of the corner of my eye. Or sometimes I would focus on them in that “in between” space, like when you look at one thing, letting your eyes relax, and then you see everything.
If you are fey, you will know what I mean. If you aren’t, you can pretend to be fey simply by using your imagination! Some people say that every child is born fey, but they lose faith in the unseen world as they grow older. I thought it was rare to find fey adults, but there are many more of us than I ever dreamed!
I love to wander in the mountains and to hike the deep canyons of the Cumberland Gap and Appalachian Mountains. Many tumbling rivers have created enchanted gorges full of boulders, endangered species . . . and myths and legends.
One of my favorite legends is that of the Little People who were called Yunwi Tsunsdi (pronounced Yun-wee Joon-stee) by the Cherokee Indians who first populated this region. These Little People are “nature spirits.” They can render themselves invisible but usually manifest as small, child-like humans. When threatened or angry, they sprout thick rough hair all over their faces and their teeth become long and sharp. They live in rock caves along the river, and their purpose is to defend the waters to keep them safe for creatures who live there.
The Little People are tricksters. Many hikers become lost in the forest because the Little People have placed an enchantment on them or have altered the trails. It is said the Little People can read human intent very easily. Therefore, if you are a kind person, they will treat you kindly. But if you are an unkind person, they will trick you and lead you astray.
I have never met a Yunwi Tsunsdi face to face. But I have been hiking along the river and heard splashing water. When I investigated, there was no one to be seen, but there were child-sized wet footprints all over the boulders and in one spot, water dripping from an invisible source about twelve inches high. When I laughed and said, “Osiho Dohitsu,” which means “Hello, how are you?” in Cherokee, there was a mischievous laugh in response and I was splashed from all around by invisible tiny hands. This sparkling-laughing-splashing of water traveled across the river away from me and disappeared into the forest.
My Scotch-Cherokee father told me that when he was a young boy he became lost in the woods late one evening. He wasn’t frightened, but he knew his mother would worry if he wasn’t home by dark. He built a small fire on a sandy spot of soil, careful to clear any debris away first. He spread out on a big green leaf by the fire a few crackers that he had in his pocket.
He closed his eyes and sang a song that his grandfather had taught him to sing when one needs help in the forest. When he finished singing, he opened his eyes. The crackers were gone and there, by the fire, a map was drawn in the sand. The Little People understood his song. They knew he was a good person, accepted his meal offering, and directed him home.
“Just living is not enough” said the butterfly fairy,
“One must have sunshine, freedom and a little flower.”
— Hans Christian Andersen
Believe in the Fairies
Who make dreams come true.
Believe in the wonder,
The stars and the moon.
Believe in the magic,
From Fairies above.
They dance on the flowers,
And sing songs of love.
And if you just believe,
And always stay true,
The Fairies will be there,
To watch over you!
— Author unknown
3
Fairy Houses
I realized that once fairy folk are discovered they are swift to move on to hide themselves from humans. The chipmunk den where I had seen the little brown fairy—my first—was vacated soon after my encounter with him. I knew this from paying close attention and observing the area. The entrance became overgrown with unkempt weeds. A spider built her web over the opening and this let me know that there was no coming to or going from that place.
Nonnie said they wouldn’t have moved very far from that location; just far enough to become invisible again. She said that the best thing we could do was to build some fairy houses in the area to let them know that we were friends and not invaders. She also warned me not to bring too many other humans around the area. Fairies tend to leave if too many humans are aware of a natural space and less desirable creatures like trolls and gnurls (gnomes gone bad) show up, causing all sorts of chaos.
I learned that fairy houses are traditional in Ireland, Scotland, and England. In Cottingley, England, two young girls (Elsie Wright and Frances Griffiths) built fairy houses and photographed their fairy friends in a secret forest near their home. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (you may remember him as the author of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes) believed Elsie’s and Frances’s stories. He wrote an article for The Strand newspaper in November 1920, with two of the fairy photos printed for the world to view.
Some believed in these fairies and others did not. I have heard that too many human visitors explored the area searching for evidence. This offended the fairies who departed on wing, foot, and leaf boats. The enchanted forest became “just another woodland” until the fairies felt it was safe to return.
This has been on my mind as I write this book. What if too many people read it and cause problems for the fairies? But I plan to seek permission from the Prince of Fairies before I publish this manuscript. I truly believe that he will place just enough fairy glamour on this book to ensure that only the RIGHT kind of people read it—those who will have respect for the enchanted world and who will not cause any problems for the fairy folk.
Besides, the Prince has told me countless times that the fairies need more fairy houses . . . many of them. The natural places are not as abundant as they once were, so restful little dens of habitation make life