Pixie Dust

The mind of a five-year-old is a wonderful place to be.

I have a secret garden, a place I have kept, somewhat intentionally, to myself, a beautiful old place of stone walls, fountains cascading from the wall of a tiny tea house, marble statues greening with moss, ancient perennials tumbling right to the lake's shore. I love this place, its beautiful solitude. In reality, it is open to the public, but so few people seem to know about it or visit, it is easy to imagine it is my spot alone.

Today I decide to share it with my children. I have hinted at it off and on all summer, promising them a visit to a magical place, but the visit never happened until today. Alex has been under the weather for a few days now and we have been laying low, but today was a gorgeous late summer day, the skies crystal blue, the air warm without a touch of humidity, the song of the cicadas a constant chorus in the trees around the house. Days like these aren't many. I struggled to think of something to do... something to get us to the lake that wasn't the beach or a picnic. It was my garden.

"Would you like to visit a magical place?" I asked.

Even the grumpiest of children can't resist an offer like this. And we were off.

The garden is situated well off the main road, down a long, narrow drive shared by a small sailing club. The road itself set the scene for mystery and magic.

"This isn't really a magic garden," Alex said as we parked, but his voice begged to be told otherwise, and so I did. Without a thought, I spun a tale of fairies flying everywhere in the garden after the sun has set at night. We were here to build a fairy house, I said, so they might have a fun surprise as the skited about tonight.

"But fairies aren't usually real, Mom. Tell the truth... Anyway, how do we build the fairy house?"

And we were off. Vibrant red flowers turn to a dragon's fiery breath under the starlight. Plants with broad leaves towering offer a place for fairies to sit and chat when their wings grow weary. Statues come to life offering midnight concerts with their marble instruments. Alex was hooked. We gathered fallen crab apples so the fairies might have a snack, sticks and twigs and flowers and rose hips that lay upon the ground became our building materials. We travelled round and round the garden, up paths and over the bridge and back gathering just the right materials, seeking just the right spot.

Alex settled on a small clearing in the flowers, a spot with a view of the lake, close to a stone pond filled with koi, upon which the marble boy playing the flute perched. This, he concluded, was the place the fairies would most like to be. Carefully we erected our small structure, a tripod of twigs, cut grass roof, rose hips impaled on sticks marking the way. We set our offering of crab apples under the tiny roof, but still, Alex said, we needed more. We walked each pathway again, until we found a perfect fallen begonia, its orange still brilliant. Back to the fairy house. After deep thought, trial and error, my little architect decided to place it beside the stick structure, the giant flower head to serve as a beautiful garden for the fairies. But still, he wasn't done. It wasn't beautiful enough. On our final round, we found a scattering of red petals behind an old stone wall. These he arranged like a Chinese character, and then our work was complete. We tiptoed from the garden before the evening settled.

We pulled away without doubt. Fairies are usually true. As luck would have it, a ray of the late afternoon sun hit a cluster of tiny swarming bugs, just, just enough to see that they were there, but not enough to see their details. Alex recognized them instantly. Fairy children. Naughty, adventurous little children who sneaked out while their mamas were distracted, to play out in the sun instead of waiting for night to fall.

All the way home, I heard of his adventures. It turns out, he too, has sneaked out when his mama isn't looking. He has traveled 280 miles, across many creeks and through poisonous ivy to build houses for his fairy friends. In return, they make sure he doesn't itch. He has sought the help of 280 magical toads and they have given him the magic. At the moment, the magic is all trapped in his left leg, just below the knee. He knows because he feels it swirling there, but sometimes, the magic swirls throughout his entire body, right to the tips of his fingers, and then he can fly. He flies with his fairy friends all 280 miles across the creeks and forests and then he makes them soup. They don't care if the water is clean or dirty. They like both kinds and they love his soup. He makes it with a special bug called "ahu." This is their favorite. And, they get their cereal from nature too.

Alex is asleep now. The fairies, feasting on crab apples and singing with joy inside their colorful, carefully created house.

The mind of a five-year-old is a wonderful place to be.