How they sometimes come to along

 

I never unpick, I never remake, I never rub out, I never ever dispose of a little being’s form once it has started to become.

To correct or get rid of a partly created little cloth body would, to me, be akin to sending a message to the magical wisps of inspiration, to the fairy folk all around, that their influence and enlivening presence is no longer welcome to guide my stitching hands, it would be like saying that I know best about the way they should appear, it would be a gross act of self-importance on my part.

Often though, I start to sew, to gather a little bundle of cloth and fold and mould, without having much awareness as to what I am doing, and then I look at what is in my hands and wonder how this one fits with what I thought I was doing. And sometimes I put that little one down, sometimes unfinished, and often then they disappear, in the muddle of my scraps of silks and patterns and wools, and I forget all about them.

Until I come across them again, and wonder when and how they began.

 

This is how it happened with this wee one

Last week she reappeared at the edge of my pretty plate of tiny bits showing me a scrap of white silk veil and asking for her bonnet. 

 

Then as I painted her peeking out face, she told me that she was ready to show me where she lives and introduce me to her friends.

How lucky I feel to have held them

 

 

The Lammas Queen and the young farmer - A Harvest Story

 

Long ago in this beautiful land there lived a farmer and his wife, they loved the land and the land loved them, their little granddaughter lived with them and she played every day about the farm.

Every year the earth gave a glorious plentiful harvest and the farmer reaped all that he needed for his family. Those in need from the village were always welcome to take a share and the edges of the fields were always left for the creatures of the hedgerows, the birds, the field mice and the squirrels all gathered grain for the winter stores and the gnomes of the forest enjoyed a feast too. Every year the farmer and his wife saved enough grain to sow again in the spring, just as their ancestors had done for all the time that the farm had stood on this land. And every year in gratitude the family would bake two wonderful harvest loaves, they would bless both and eat one loaf in celebration, the second loaf would be left in the field in offering the Lammas Queen.  Between the late setting of the summer sun and the early morning, whilst the little girl slept, the harvest Queen would pass over the fields blessing them with her love, as she gathered the loaf which the little girl had left for her. Year followed year and the farmer and his wife grew older and their granddaughter grew to be not so little any more. With each passing year she became more and more able to help her grandparents, and they were grateful’

 

Then it happened one year in the early spring, just before sowing time, that the elderly farmer fell and hurt his leg. How would the seed be sown this year? All night the farmer worried, but in the morning his granddaughter said to him. ‘Have no fear, I am a farmer now too, I will sow our fields.’

 

And with all her heart and will the young farming girl set to work. She had helped her grandfather many a time and knew what to do, but though she knew, she was not yet practiced and though many came from the village to offer help, they did not know this land as well as the old farmer. The grain was sown with all will and heart, but in somewhat higgledy piggledy ways.

 

Nevertheless, the seeds waited patiently in the earth, and the gnomes sang songs through the ground, songs of green sprouts, sounds of growth, songs of the golden harvest that the seedlings would become. But that spring the rain and the sun did not come in the ways that they usually did to help the seedlings grow, the rain came late and then too much, the sun shone hot and then not enough, the wheat grew huddly and muddly. And the elderly couple worried for the harvest, though they tried hard to have faith and not show their granddaughter their concern.

 

On the day before the beginning of the harvest the old farmer stood at the edge of his field and hoped that somehow this scraggly crop would be enough. That night the Lammas Queen moved over the field, and as she passed the wheat seemed move with her beneath the starry sky, and it seemed as if it doubled in size and strength. The next morning the old farmer was joined by his wife and granddaughter and many from the village to harvest the grain. And what a harvest it was, as glorious and plentiful as ever, with as much bounty as anyone might need and plenty of seed to save for the following year.

 

After their celebratory meal, the young farmer carried the loaf of gratitude to the edge of the field, and waited, long into the starry filled night, for this year she was determined to speak her heartfelt thanks to the Lammas Queen.