A -- Absent

Invisible Fairy Party

If my camera took photos of what I really saw, there would be about fifteen fairies in this picture.  When the morning chores were done, everyone got together at this itty bitty stream and played.  I had to pack up my things.  Really, all that included was the iPad which somehow was able to shrink to fun size along with me on my first day.  So, since I've been trying to capture my impressions with a photo or two every day, I snapped this one.  If any of the fairies actually appeared in the photo, Thumbelina would be on the far right making a monster face I showed her how to do -- like I taught my little sister at age four.

I didn't really expect that the fairies would show up in the photo.  They never have before.  Why would they now?

Then, suddenly, I realized something.

I'm still human -- although I may be temporarily very small.

Why not have someone take a photo of me with my fairy makeup and little wings?

Here's what Thumbelina got:

Self Portrait In Absentia

I'm hovering above the stream with a goofy smile on my face, and posed sort of like a star fish.  Like a big "Surprise!" type posture.  Only, as you can see . . . or rather, as you can't see -- I am about as invisible as any of the fairies.

I guess what I wrote before about fairies shrinking down to tiny sizes when humans are around was nothing but a outsider's beginning assumption.  We really can't see them.  At all.  Maybe they have been shrinking down only when I'm around and full-sized humans come into the area.  Or maybe It's just a safety precaution in case certain humans have a different kind of vision.  Who knows?

There's so much I learned about fairies in the last month, and at the same time, there are hundreds of questions still waiting for answers.  There are thousands of other questions I haven't even begun to imagine I could ask.  It's so disappointing I have to go back home tomorrow.  I'll never get the chance to think up those questions and ask them.

So, in case my iPad doesn't grow back to normal size, or in case I'm too busy to blog on the last day of June, here's my summary of the most important lessons fairies taught me:

• Being around someone new is great fun.  You don't have to try so hard to impress a fairy because she has probably already decided to like you.

• Getting the work done doesn't have to feel painful.  Fairies get up and do their chores because that's what life is built of.  They enjoy the part of their life I call "work" as much as the part I call "play."

• Having something to look forward to (or something to dread) keeps life interesting.  Still, the future events I anticipate are totally separate from the happiness of a normal moment along the way.

Now, here are some of the less important things I learned:

• Lightening:  it's good for fairies, bad for people. (See D for Drool entry.)
• Badgers can't really hurt a fairy, but seeing an ill-tempered badger scared out of his wits is about the funniest thing they can imagine.  (Also D - day.)
• Fairies think lame human jokes are hilarious.  (S - day.)
• An orb is the best sleeping arrangement in the universe.  Better than a bed.  Better than a hammock.  Better than any sleeping bag, futon, or yoga mat.  (See Y- day.  I think.)
• Watching another person disintegrate seems a lot less traumatic when you figure out the change isn't permanent.  (U - day.)
• Fairy makeup is permanent, but fairy hairdos aren't.  My own hair will probably never be the same, but I'm going to keep all the makeup I've got right where it is.
• Fairies hardly eat anything because their most commonly seen "fun size" form is not their real body size.  Intrinsically, fairies are the size of a bean.  I was the biggest glutton in the grove even though I never blogged about it.  Maybe back at home, I can fill in a few more details.
• Hummingbirds may be fast, but Thumbelina's really going to kick some birdy tail when she has her big race next month. (H - day post.)
• Size is relative.  Shape is unimportant.

This is about the best vacation ever.  Making new friends, learning new attitudes, helping out around the grove, and enjoying the natural setting did more for me than a good laugh does for Thumbelina.  I'll probably feel great for a whole year just because of my fairy vacation.

And, since I know how much it means to my buddy, here's a little message:

"Thumbelina, I'll be eternally grateful for all the fun we've had together.  Thanks for being my friend."

-- Sabrina

I had a great time being your guide.  Who knows?  If I keep reading magazines in the doctors offices I visit, maybe I'll figure out a way to make vacations like this into a fairy industry -- sort of like a miniature eco-tourism package.  I doubt the queen would ever go for that.  Still, it's fun to think about.


May your aster always amaze you.


-- Fresh


PS.  Forget Me Not

B -- Bark

When fairies are giving each other directions, they have to know the same concepts.  Me?  I just tell people an address and they use maquest -- or I give them a few cross streets, say right or left a few times, and they find me pretty easily.  

When you're in a grove, things are totally different.

Remember how people always used to talk about Eskimos having different names for the kinds of snow and the condition of the snow?  It helps them describe places.

Fairies have about a billion words for bark.  The describe it by color, height on the plant, condition, age, and amount of sap.  Probably other things also.  But they have a single word for any kind of bark.  Like, the smooth white bark on the white tree in the photo below would have one word for the main part of the trunk at five feet high, and a different word for the same kind of bark thirty feet up.  A third word would describe the bark on a hornizontal branch on the same tree.  A fourth word describes the bark on the roots that you can see.  There's also words for the bark below ground.  The dark colored bark in the photo has different words altogether.

It's totally bewildering.  

Maybe Bewildering should have been my B word today.

The only reason I mention it is I waited around for maybe an hour because I thought Thumbelina told me to meet her at the tree with the rough bark horizontally oriented near ground level (schplutzitch.)  The tree I found is below.

What Thumbelina really said was to meet her at the mottled bark oriented vertically about six feet up with new leaves sprouting (schpluschich.)

She was late for her olympic training (or at least, that's why I call it.)  Thumbelina waited for an hour at the tree shown above before she figured out my mistake and came to find me.

I'm so bummed.  (That's also a great B word.)

When you add in the fact that many trees have proper names, and their bark has to be modified with an -ip suffix followed by the name ("Schpluschich-ip Steve" for example) you can see how confusing it gets.  A novice would spend a lot of time getting lost.

I've only got two more days to help Thumbelina train for her hummingbird races (see H post.)  After that, she's on her own again.  I doubt I'll even find out the results of her race once I'm among humans again.  I mean, it's not too likely to be televised or shown on a live internet feed.  So, on the day of midsummer's games, I'll just be thinking of her.  It's about as bad as the days when people had to wait for letters in the mail to find anything out.  Actually it's worse.  I don't even get to keep in touch by mail.

I guess I'm just a little blue (another great B word) because the vacation is ending soon, and I let my friend down.

I hope Thumbelina's poppies always pout perfectly.

-- Sabrina

I'm a little blue, too.  It's not the kind of thing a lightening bolt or a good laugh can fix, either.  I think having Sabrina in the grove made everything seem more interesting than any other summer.  She's fun to talk to.  I like teaching her different fairy skills.  Or, at least, the ones she can handle given that the transformation has limitations.  She's become a really good friend.  Maybe we can make her an honorary fairy and she can print out a little certificate for herself when she gets home.


May your pansies populate the planet.


-- Fresh

C -- Compensation

Thumbelina mentioned that gratitude is a major part of fairy life.  I was running out of letters and needed  a way to work that concept in.  So, during the morning opening of flowers, I interviewed her pretty thoroughly about why she wrote that.

Compensation is about the best way I could describe it (with the letters of the alphabet I still have left.)

Fairies don't work for money.  A few of them understand the human system of money, but none of them think it's any good.  Fairies do what they need to so that things can keep going -- and improving.  When there's something wrong in the natural world, they just step in and do something about it.  Sometimes it has to be organized by the queen -- like the addition of dust and helper yeasts for the slime mold in the area.  Sometimes, it's a small job -- like a fairy seeing that if a leaf fell a few inches to the left, it would provide fertilizer for the soil rather than falling on the sidewalk and doing no good at all.  She'll give her wings a flick in that direction, and the leaf falls as it should.  It's almost automatic.  No matter if the work is big or small, though, if a fairy is in the area, the world is going to be a better place.

The first question in a fairy's mind is, "How can I improve this?"

The question I asked her was, "But what do you get out of it?"

Thumbelina's answer?  Abundance.  That's the largest part of their satisfaction.  When a grove abounds.  When nature has a lot of fecundity (my new favorite word.)  That's what they live for.

Gratitude is the second part of it.

Creatures with the ability to be grateful show that they are glad the fairies came by -- even if they're not aware that it was a fairy that helped them.  To see a smile from a child, or a wag from a dog when things have gone right -- that's the other half of the fairy's paycheck.

When a fairy is feeling low she seeks gratitude.

Think about the stories you have heard.  The good-hearted human gets help from the fairy in disguise.  The human enjoys success beyond any of her expectations, and then shows huge amounts of gratitude.  That's how the fairy perks up.  Thumbelina explained that the energy of sincere gratitude is even better than a lightening blast for fixing up a drooping fairy.  

Abundance makes fairies happy

Gratitude rocks the fairies' world

It's only when gratitude fails that a fairy takes time to wreak havoc in a person's life.  For instance, there's that story about diamonds coming from one girl's mouth and toads coming from another girl's mouth.  The first girl was naturally inclined to be sweet -- and grateful.  She got lovely rewards.  The other was sarcastic and bitter.  She obviously got punished for having spent so much time punishing the world.  Plus, if the fairy needed a second dose of gratitude to feel completely well, and then got only negativity -- that would tend to sour a mood, now, wouldn't it?  


Well, my time as a tourist is going to end this week.  I don't even have to fake my gratitude.  Thumbelina has been such a good friend to me.  She has tried to understand my many hang-ups.  She helped me escape when I was too embarrassed to live with myself.  She helped me get the rest I needed when I was worn out.  She's fun to talk to, and she has a great sense of style.  I've had the time of my life here.


So, for the record:  even though I sounded crabby at first, getting to know Thumbelina is one of my favorite experiences of all time.

Thanks, Thumbelina (or should I write "Fresh") for being my friend.  You're awesome.

-- Sabrina


Aw . . . I'm going to cry.


I hope Sabrina's tulips always thrill her.



-- Fresh

D -- Drool

Guess what a side effect of nerve damage from a lightening blast is?  The ability to drool non-stop.  It has been a full day since my close call with the bolt of lightening, and I can almost hear normally.  The ringing in my ears is down to a low kind of background music.  It's the most annoying background music in the world. I'm thinking it will go away pretty soon, though.

The drool?

I have no idea when that will go away.

I woke up in the miserable nook I have used as my bedroom, and the first thing I saw was a dark stain all the way down the rock wall.  I must have been drooling all night.  I was totally dehydrated from it, too.  When I woke up, stretched, flexed my wings, and adjusted my sizzled hair, I also had to wipe off my cheek to prepare for the work of the morning.  I had to chug about a tablespoon of water.  And as you know, for a person who is fun sized, that's really saying something.

Then, all day long, I had to keep wiping off my chin.

This is totally un cool.

Back at the office, I'd be sent home -- and then people would be laughing behind my back for about a month.  I'd probably get a nickname out of it, too.

"You remember Sabrina, don't you?  The one who drooled?  We called her Grendel."

On a day like this, I can just be glad I'm not at work.  There's something to be said for being on vacation when you have your most embarrassing moments.

-- Sabrina

We encountered the same badger Sabrina mentioned in one of her earlier posts.  This one has always been foul-natured.  He always raises his hackles, and charges at anyone who comes close.  It's really not a problem for fairies.  We can fly, you know.  It was only a problem for Sabrina that one day when her wing muscles were too sore to fly, and I had to distract the badger so it wouldn't chomp her down in one gulp.  Sabrina wasn't thinking so clearly that day, and didn't remember she could still chose any size she liked.  Even the angriest badger in the world isn't going to attack a person the size of an elephant, right?  

This hollow log is next to the badger's
hole.  He's got a personality disorder.
Most fairies think it's best to leave him alone.

Well, back to the encounter today.  Since Sabrina wasn't flying quite straight in the morning, she decided to walk out and meet me at the flower opening assignment we had first.  The badger found her.  She actually wasn't walking too straight either.  Plus, her hair looked -- well, strange.  


Sabrina wasn't in any mood to be pestered by a badger, no matter how aggressive he tries to be.  She turned around and yelled right back at him.  With the frizzly hair, the copious drool, and the staggering around, the badger actually got spooked.  He's old enough to have seen rabies a few times.  Sabrina showed all the classic signs.  


You should have seen the old fellow.  He closed his yap, turned straight around and ran back down his hole as if the forest was on fire.


I laughed until I was blue.


-- Fresh


PS.  May your periwinkle tickle you pink.

It's later.  The drooling has tapered off some.  As long as I remember to swallow every few seconds, I look a lot closer to normal.  Having that crotchety badger scurry off like that was actually one of the happiest moments of this whole vacation.  I also laughed until I was blue.

-- Sabrina

E -- Electricity

Lightning.

Sizzle, Zip, BOOM.

Thunder comes with it.

When you're fun sized, the entire experience can be terrifying.  Who am I kidding?  It's terrifying at any size.

The home tree never gets hit by lightning.

The one next to it wasn't so lucky.

I was about fifty feet away from the blast.  My ears are still ringing.  For one brief moment, I saw everything in ultraviolet.  Thumbelina's dramatic UV make-up, the markings on flowers.  Even a faint glow where a passing fox marked a tree this morning.  I can't say having a single moment of ultra violet vision was worth it for the bone-rattling I got.

If I ever thought my hair would go back to normal, I'm going to just have to abandon that hope.  It's not only puffy, like a fairy's.  Now it's frizzy and a little smelly from being singed.

Thumbelina disagrees.

Of course.

She says the lightning blast was just what she needed.  I don't know what for.  About the time she started to explain, my ears took on a melody all their own.  A lot like a fifty-foot wine glass being rubbed by a giant finger.  Rinnnnnnng.  It's continuous.  It probably won't stop until next week.

My fingers can still type, but that's about it.

This was NOT a good day.

-- Sabrina

Afternoon thunder storms are a pleasure for the fairies.  I'm so sad Sabrina had a different reaction.  I'll let her rest up for now.  Maybe she'll feel better tomorrow.


May your moon flower open majestically.


-- Fresh

F -- Fungus

Here's a shout out to all those things we wish we could keep far far away from our human homes.

Spores
Molds
Fungus
Bacteria
Yeasts

Thumbelina took me to see the slime mold in the grove.  It was absolutely disgusting -- at least from a human point of view.  Really.  It's slimy and it's moldy.  What could be more disgusting than that?

So, Thumbelina was smiling and fluttering around the slime mold like it was a long lost friend.  She talked only in fairy to it -- or something else completely.  Whatever language she used, it was absolutely foreign to me.  The other unusual thing was the length of time her conversation took.  Not that she said a lot.  Just that she talked sooooooo s s l l l l l l ooooooooowwww.  Really slowly.  There was plenty of listening, too.  I guess fairy ears pick up slime mold discussions either above or below my range of hearing.

She kept going from patch to patch of mold, and smiling.

I would have called the looney bin.  Only she had prepared me.  She said, "This could take all morning.  You won't understand a word of what I say, either.  Don't worry.  I'll fill you in on everything once I'm done."

So, as we flew away, Thumbelina summarized.  The slime mold was working on a project to fertilize the entire grove, and was on schedule to have nutrients equally distributed before the first frost.  This was good for the grove because it meant more fecundity in spring.  (Yes, I did have to look up 'fecundity' later.  It means the state of being fertile.)  Thumbelina had offered to place rotting fruit in key spots to help the slime mold achieve its goals.  It mentioned that helper yeasts would also be appreciated.  She promised to try, but she has to speak to the queen about that.

"So, we go to the home tree next?" I asked.

"Of course not.  We have some other fungus to speak to.  I have to give a complete report."

So, although a slime mold might be considered fungus-like, (it reproduces partly by spores, and partly by being gooey,)  we had a conference with normal looking mushrooms.

Thumbelina didn't actually speak.  She felt things, and inspected the under sides of the caps of the mushrooms.  She sat down on one, and sang a song I had never heard before.  Then, she closed her eyes and waited.

I sat on a smaller mushroom, nearby, and tried to be very "at one" with nature.  All I got was warm eyelids from having the sun shine on them while my eyes were closed.

When I opened my eyes, Thumbelina was staring at me.

"What?" I asked.

"Are you ready to go?"

"Yep."

"Good.  You're really bothering that mushroom, and it's too polite to mention it directly."

Bothering it?

Oh man.  I didn't know if I really wanted to ask.  But I had to.

"What about me was bothering the mushroom?" I asked as we flew away.

"Oh, the blood flow of a human is pretty loud.  The mushroom couldn't hear the discussion I was having with the rest of the group.  For that particular mushroom, it was like it had an iPod set to bagpipe music on full blast during an important political summit."

Thumbelina really has a way of putting things in terms I can understand.

Of course, understanding it, and feeling good about it are two different things.  I have a grating type of pulse in my backside, I guess.  I had better keep that in mind the next time I'm involved in a political summit.

"What did you find out about these mushrooms?" I asked.

"Conditions have been less than optimal for them this year.  We might not have as many fairy rings if they can't get the bacterial support they need."

"And what will it take to get bacterial support?"

"Oh, more moisture to decay the leaves.  Maybe a little more dust in the air.  I'll talk it over with the queen.  She knows how to handle these things.  She's been doing it since before I was born.  Really, I'm just a messenger."

"So, now do we go back to the tree?"

"It's not a complete report unless I have all the non-limbed life forms in my census."

That was a new concept.  A tree or a bush has limbs, just like a human or a fairy.  Thumbelina was interviewing ALL non-limbed life forms in the grove today?  This could take a while.

"Are you going to shrink down and talk to bacteria colonies?"

Thumbelina giggled.  "No.  I talk to bacterias all the time.  They're the easy ones.  All fairies are in more or less continual contact with our bacterias.  It's like you're aware of the birds around you.  It doesn't take a huge effort to watch them and know what they're up to -- they'll either sing it or show it minute by minute."

Actually, I don't pay that much attention to birds in my normal life  I might start, though.

"So, next we visit?"  I prodded.

"Well, there are five separate kinds of yeasts.  I have to get some equipment for that.  Then, I just make sure I have a sample of each kind.  In a forest this size, all the yeasts are going to say more or less the same things."

"Fascinating," I said.  Inwardly, though, my head was starting to spin.

"I've also got the true molds left and a few microbes you wouldn't know the names for."

"Is there any way I can help?" I asked.

"Not really."

This was pretty aggravating.  I'd be following a fairy around, listening to or watching stuff I could never understand or help with.  Thumbelina must have sensed my frustration.

"If you have a blog entry to write, I could meet you back at the nook before training," she offered.

"I guess that would work," I replied.  "If I can help, just let me know, though."

"Don't worry about it," she said.

Without another syllable, she was off to fetch her yeast equipment.

Maybe I should have followed.  Instead, I flew to a nearby town, grew into human size, and spent the rest of the morning at the library.  I researched slime molds.  It's tantalizing to find out what humans actually do know about them.  I found some awesome articles, and a couple of funny YouTube clips.  If we could get a few scientists together with a fairy census worker, I bet the advances would be impressive.  The inter-connectedness of the micro-world with the plants in a grove, and the fairies that coordinate everything is a kind of cooperation we humans could really learn from.  My internet search led me to a YouTube clip where slime molds actually re-created a map of the Canadian Highway system.  So, here's links to the best of what I found.  Link #3 is the time-lapse movie of the slime mold highway.

http://www.smithsonianmag.com/science-nature/phenom_mar01.html
http://blogs.smithsonianmag.com/science/2012/05/if-the-interstate-system-were-designed-by-a-slime-mold/
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n4jRr7YAzfI&feature=player_embedded

How did I explain my fancy fairy outfit to the librarian?  Easy.  I was on break from a preschool play day -- where the teachers were working on a theme of A Midsummer Night's Dream.  Nobody batted an eye.

I can't guarantee that when I get back home I won't bleach my bathrooms into sterile submission.  I will, however, try to keep an open mind about the microscopic world.  Who knows?  Eventually, my blood stream might be the kind of music a fungus would want to hear.

-- Sabrina

Since Sabrina seems so interested in results, I'll give you a run down of what I told the queen. The slime molds of this grove are actually part of a larger organism stretching ten miles one direction and maybe eight miles in another -- but don't get the impression a slime mold would ever assume the shape of a square.  Those are just the farthest reaches of it.  It is pleased with the year's distribution of nutrients, and it is making sure these nutrients are distributed well.  We're lucky it moved in.  Before our grove had slime molds, the fecundity of the grove wasn't nearly as good.  The yeasts all say movement is easy with the current air currents, and most mammals and reptiles seem to be in good health.  The only "blip" they notice is a patch of tar which causes localized problems for plants and animals.  We already knew about that.  One of the nearby highways is being resurfaced.  Wet tar is something of a sticky issue for a grove.  The bacteria, of course, multiply as needed, and decompose whatever they can get moisture enough to decompose.  The true molds are struggling a little this season.  They prefer a much wetter summer.  The large fungus population seems well able to adapt to this slightly dry summer.  They'll go ahead and make spores once the fairy ring season is over.


Now, I've got to get back to training.  I hope to be able to win the hummingbird races on behalf of this grove at the games.  Then, for next year, I'll suggest to the queen back in my own grove that human friends are a great boost for training.  Maybe she'll consider it and maybe she won't.  Nobody wants to throw the balance of fairy and humming bird relations too far out of balance.


May your heather happily wave.


-- Fresh

G -- Grove

I know for a long time, I've been talking about the grove.  It's about time I fill in what I've learned from a lot of listening over the last three weeks.

A grove can be big or little.  It doesn't actually have to be filled with trees.  There are city groves with no trees at all.  There are arctic groves, too.  Only, I've never asked what kind of chores a fairy colony would do in a spot where it's so cold.  Desert groves, ocean groves, and even manufacturing groves.  Ecologists would talk about biomes or ecosystems, maybe.  Fairies have a different way of thinking.  A grove is big or little, depending on the amount of work needed.  There's a central location where the queen lives.  She focuses the work of a collection of females.  I suspect they also shelter infants of both male and female fairies in the central spot, but that's hardly something they'd want to talk about with an outsider.  The fairies are organized, given work in the support of whatever life forms exist in the grove.

In a grove, fairies make things abound.  (See my last post.  Abound is a pretty important fairy word.)

Here's my grove.  Watch it abound.

Once I even heard someone mention she had been a toaster fairy in Cleveland for a while.

Really?

I know when I go home, I'll appreciate my toast so much more, knowing such things are possible.  I'm sure it gives a fairy huge satisfaction to make toast abound.

The queen allots the chores by age and ability.  She also watches out for the health of each individual, and the development of their skills.  She's like the best mother anyone could want.  At least, the queen in our grove reminds me of an excellent mother.

There are other positions with a standardized title, but they don't really make sense unless you see the fairy doing her job.  For instance:  the scrub, the plotz, and the wracker make up a team of fairies.  The words for the job titles are standard from grove to grove.  Humans would need a huge job description sheet if we applied to be scrub, plotz, or wracker.  Fairies just know what these do.  Scrub identifies blemishes to the surface of any living object (and doesn't actually scrub at these blemishes -- just points them out.)  Plotz determines which action should be taken with regard to blemishes (and many times the choice of no action is the decision.)  Wracker makes recommendations about work party allotments.  It's kind of a like a quality control team.

Makes me wonder if during my teen years, the scrub was lax about locating my zits, or the plots just didn't think it was important to make them go away.  Or, the wracker may have recommended a battalion of fairies visit me in my sleep, but the queen decided that the drooping houseplants were a more worthy need in the grove of my suburban neighborhood.  Whatever was going on, I think the quality control team should have tried a little harder to get me the help I needed.

Those quality control ladies are only an example.  The point, though, is that fairies know there's order in their universe.  Their skills are used.  They do their work happily.  They know what they're doing is important.

I kind of wish my world made as much sense to me.

-- Sabrina

Reading what Sabrina wrote, I'm perplexed.  She sounds sort of wistful.  Is her problem that she doesn't have work in her human world?  Or possibly that it's not a work of cooperation and growth?  Does she feel as though her skills are not being developed?  Perhaps that she can't see the end of her labors?  Is being human really an isolated thing, of is that Sabrina only?  So many questions I have, now.  Maybe I'll have to be a human tourist sometime soon.

Sabrina should have chosen GRATITUDE for her "g" word.  It's vital in fairy life.  Maybe down the road, she'll find time to include the concept.

May your forsythia flourish.

-- Fresh

H -- Hummingbird Races

Thumbelina's schedule is getting packed pretty tightly.

From just before dawn until just after noon, there's a lot of chores to do.  That's not to say, fairies don't have fun along the way.  The grove just wouldn't be as good unless all the chores got done.  As they put it, "Our work makes the grove abound."

Now, for me, if you're using the word 'abound' there's got to be something else.  Abound in chocolate, for instance.  Abound in laughter.  Maybe even Abound in sunshine.

Not for them.

Abound conveys exactly what the fairy world wants to say.  Plain.  On its own.

So, we make the grove abound all morning. We used to nap or just hang around talking for the hottest part of the day.  Not any more.  There's training, now, all afternoon.  After training, there are practices for midsummer eve.  (This is not the solstice, by the way.  It's the high temperature day of summer -- usually in July or August.)  Then, once practices are done, a few evening and twilight chores are finished before fairies curl up to sleep.

So, I assumed the midsummer celebration was going to be nothing but a talent show.  Apparently there's much more to it.

There will be races of all kinds.  Nimbleness contests.  Formation flights.  Probably a lot more, too.

Thumbelina is going to be in the hummingbird races.  Not riding a humming bird.  Racing against them.  Five fairies and five hummingbirds will hover in a line over the meadow.  Then, in straight-line flight -- no tricks needed -- they zoom to the border of the next grove, circle the entire perimeter of this grove, and whoever comes back to the center point first wins the primacy of speed award.  Humming birds want this because it means the fairies have to devote an entire flock of fairies to the enhancement of nectar in the blooms the humming birds specify.  Fairies want this award because it means the humming birds have to devote five mated pairs of birds to ventilation of certain home tree chambers.  (I wanted to ask which chambers, and what better ventilation does for them, but Thumbelina was too busy to answer many questions today.)

Training for humming bird races is intense.  I just held a snapdragon filled with dew for Thumbelina for each time she made a lap around the home tree.  Eventually, her laps will expand to include different markers.  This week, though, she's drawing strength from the tree itself to give her a boost in her endurance.

She really needs the dew in the snap dragon.

By the time she has raced one lap, she's pretty dehydrated.  I don't think anyone ever told Thumbelina about pacing herself.  The four other fairies training with her always come in several seconds behind.

I predict by the end of the week, Thumbelina will be able to lap all of them.

Why does that make me proud?  I only hold her dewy flower.  I really have nothing to do with her amazing speed.  All I can say is being part of anybody's winning team -- even an itty bitty part of it -- is a thrill.

Do other groves care so deeply about their summer games?  It's like Olympic training around here.  Every fairy is preparing for something important.  There won't be cameras and long interviews with the winners.  Still, winning contests will do important things for the fairies in this grove.  Maybe Thumbelina is wishing she could compete on behalf of her home grove.  I'm starting to feel even more guilty for throwing a fit and making her leave.

I sort of wish I could come back and watch when Thumbelina finally competes.

-- Sabrina

I'm too tired to say much today.  I'm just really grateful for the extra-full snap dragon Sabrina gives me when I need it.  This year is the first time anyone offered to help with my training.  I think the extra energy is why I'm so much faster.  It's good to have a friend.


May your snap dragon always slurp deliciously.


-- Fresh

I -- Incredible

There are so many "I" words to choose from today.

Invigorating
Interesting
Impressive
Important
Illuminating
Irritating
Imbecilic
Impolite

I had my second conversation with the queen.  From the first meeting, I had no idea she ever got out and did any normal fairy work.  I had this impression of her sitting there inside the tree, giving orders and being waited on like Queen Elizabeth.  Well, that's not exactly right.  The queen of England does a lot of work all over the world.  Maybe I assumed the fairy queen was more like a queen bee.  She has wings, after all.

I was helping Thumbelina with the daily flower opening.  There's no rushing that job.  You open them in the right order for the day of the year and the needs of the different animals that use them.  I'm getting so much patience from doing this job every day, I'll probably never yell at anyone in traffic again.  As I worked on a patch of morning glories, I ran into the queen.

More specifically, I backed into the queen.  Bum to bum.  We bumped.

It was a little awkward.

But the queen just chuckled about it.  She doesn't seem to be the kind of lady who gets riled too easily.

Being a writer, I had billions of questions to ask her.  She was available.  The work was easy.  She seemed quite happy to talk.  I learned all kinds of things about her lifetime, the reasons she became queen, and how she manages the administration of a grove of diverse fairies.  That conversation, in itself, would be an encyclopedia-sized piece of work.  A queen fairy is able to convey a lot more information than just through words.  I could actually see what she was talking about as she said it.

Sorry, I'm not going to write that encyclopedia.  Just my blog.

I was really impressed when the queen told me that she considers every fairy in her grove a queen in training.  That's an unusual attitude -- especially for me.  I'm used to the work place where top dog is the only top dog.  End of story.

The queen said, "Any one of my ladies could easily be trained to replace me."

Being an idiot (another good "I" word) I tossed off the comment, "Oh, I guess anyone can become pudgy and sweet if they wait long enough."

Thumbelina looked at me as if I had just sprouted a horn in the middle of my forehead.

There are moments in life when you wish your words were a long string extending from your mouth, and you could chase down the worst of them, snip them off with scissors before they reached anyone's ears, and stuff them deep in the nastiest corner of a trash can, to decompose with the worst of the garbage.

That was the kind of moment I was having.

Did I just insult the queen twice in one sentence -- or was it three times?

The queen wasn't even offended.  

She chuckled the way she had when we bumped into each other.  "Well, my ladies can be any shape they like.  Each has such potential to make a difference in the world.  I was just expressing my admiration."

I stood corrected.

I wanted to evaporate the way Thumbelina does when she's working under water.

I quickly agreed that the fairies I had met seemed to be capable, intelligent, and hard-working.  What I really wanted to say to the queen was that I admired her more than any other person I had met, and couldn't believe my own stupidity, sometimes.  Groveling is such an awful idea, though.

I found an excuse to flower-fly somewhere else.

I'm just going to curl up and die of shame.

-- Sabrina

Poor thing.  She doesn't know that her comment was no insult at all.  Plump or slim makes no difference to us.  If we show ourselves to humans, we usually chose a form they find pleasing, and in the last few hundred years, that has been a slim type shape.  Among ourselves though, a fairies size just is.  That's all.  You are what you are if you're a fairy.  Saying the queen was plump and sweet was like saying a morning glory is round and white.  It's just the truth.  And saying anyone could be queen was only echoing the sentiments of the queen herself.


Thinking like a human must be limiting.  Trying to watch your manners all the time must also get tiring.  It's adorable that Sabrina wants so badly to keep on everyone's good side.  She tries to hard at it.  Just wears herself out.  Maybe by the end of her vacation she'll realize that good sides are all we fairies have.  


We're happy to like her.  Even when people laughed at her singing, they still liked her.


Being embarrassed.  It's got to really hurt.  I'll see what I can do to cheer Sabrina up.


May your morning glory glow magnificently.


-- Fresh

J -- Jeans

I did get my field trip to the caves under ground.  Surprisingly enough, we went inside dressed as normal twenty-something humans.  Human size too, not fun size.

It was such a great feeling to put on jeans again.  My old green hoodie, my favorite pendant on a leather string around my neck, and my cell phone tucked in a back pocket.  It was abnormal to feel so normal.

I let Thumbelina borrow some clothes, too.

I asked her, "Why can't we fly?  We could zip around in there like bats."

"Because of the bats already in there.  We'd get in their way, and they'd get in ours."

"Don't you have echolocation?"

"No, and the bats couldn't bounce sound off a fairy even if they tried.  You're safe in your normal human form.  I'm only safe where your clothing covers my body.  That's why I needed a hoodie like yours.  A real one.  Made of fibers.  That way the bats won't bonk into me."

"Are fairies made that differently from humans?" I asked.

"Duh."

Well, a fairy is at least built of the same kind of sarcasm I 'm used to.  This whole vacation has been one reminder after another that fairies are built of some different kind of matter than me.  Sarcasm is the one thing we truly share.

"Let's go," I said, and switched on my flashlight.

I had kept a ton of things in the trunk of my car when I signed on for this dream vacation.  I didn't know if I would need camping gear or special clothing, so I packed a little of everything.  Flashlights were included -- including one arranged as a headlamp.  Now, I wish I had bought two.

I realized there was a black light on the hand-held flashlight I handed Thumbelina.  So, just when we got to the dark part of the cave, I switched off my headlamp, and asked Thumbelina to turn off the flashlight I had given her.  I switched it to the black light.  I had to get a better look at the ultraviolet make up I heard so much about on queen presentation day.  No matter where I looked, there were swirls and dots.  Flowers, leaves, trees, slashing lines.  Sort of a Disney meets surfboard designer effect.  It covered every inch of exposed skin.  Thumbelina's make up wasn't as busy-looking.  She probably didn't have as many people working on her when it was applied.  For all I know, she had to do the whole thing herself.  Her skin had swaths of ultraviolet alternating with cross-hatching and diagonal stripes.  It was strictly designs -- nothing representational there.  I was impressed, though.

"We both look so awesome," I said.

"Yeah, about that . . . " Thumbelina said.  "You will always have ultraviolet glowing on you -- even after you go back home."

This took a second to sink in.

"What?"

"Fairy make up is permanent.  Like really permanent.  Lifelong permanent."

"You mean I will be glowing my way through any haunted house I go to from now until I die?"  I was a little stunned.  Ok.  More than a little.  I was blown completely away.

"Yes.  It's in your contract, you know."

I turned the flashlight to it's full white beam -- the extra brilliant super nova setting -- and shone it right in Thumbelina's face.  "I didn't see any 'permanent UV' clause."

"It was part of the 'life changing' experiences paragraph."

"That paragraph was totally vague."

"Well, I was going to mention that there are options to modify the deigns.  Your skin has to be covered by the same amount of ultra violet, but it could be repositioned if you wanted it to be mostly in areas under your clothing."

I was starting to get used to the idea of being UV enhanced.  "Well, I have to check the face designs before I make any kind of decision, don't I?"

My make-up kit was back in the trunk of my car.  I stormed out of the cave, and found a little mirror.

Back under ground, I finally saw the ultraviolet makeup on my face.  What can I say?  Only the queen had a better set of designs.  Thumbelina's work on my eyes had so much delicacy, I wanted to take a photo and post it online right then and there.

Thumbelina was a little on edge.  "Well, how do you like it?"

"It's the best make up I've ever seen."

"Do you think you'll want to move some of your make up to less visible areas?"

I honestly didn't know about that.  I told Thumbelina I'd decide later.  So, switching off my UV flashlight, I got the normal light on from all the flashlights.

I told her,   "You're just lucky I think the designs everyone made are pretty -- otherwise there'd be a lawsuit.  The first cross-species lawsuit in the history of the planet."

I put my mirror into the pocket of my hoodie.  Then we had our tour.

The cave is so much cooler when seen with a fairy.  She knows the whole story.  Or at least, Thumbelina knew about two hundred years of the story from first-hand experience.  But she was aware of a lot more history because she listened to lots of stories when she was younger.

A flood that came right before a deep, hard freeze made the huge crack running all the way to the surface.  From that crack, ran a continual ooze of water -- down and around the sides of the cave and into a pool.  A single stalactite  hanging at the edge of the little pool dripped down -- maybe once a minute.  It had gone at that rate on dry days for the last seven hundred years at least.

The pool was home to a ton of critters that Thumbelina could see with no problems due to her expanded vision.  When I shone my UV light on the pool, I wanted to catch my breath.  There was just so much going on in there.

"Can we shrink down, and see these guys closer up?" I asked.

Thumbelina looked doubtful.  "I thought you didn't like going much lower than fun size."

"For this kind of show, I'd go microscopic," I answered.

"Well, there won't be any bats in the water.  I don't know of any humans in the cave or even within a mile of here," Thumbelina said.  She still hesitated.

"Is it against some rule for me to do this/"  I didn't want to get her in trouble.

"Not any rule I know about.  It's just not part of the original plan I discussed with the queen."

"Do we need to go back to get permission?"

Deep down, I really like rules.  I think most of them have solid reasoning behind them.  Being new to the whole fairy world, I didn't want to break any big taboos.  I also didn't want to get Thumbelina in trouble.  I was really starting to like her -- and that's only partly because of the sweet work on my eye makeup.

Thumbelina considered a second.  "Why don't we shrink to fly-size?  Then we can swim around without getting eaten by most of the critters in there."

"There aren't any fish?" I asked.

"Not the last time I checked.  We're pretty deep."

"Then, let's go!"

We had to take off my outfits and fold them neatly.  Then, unfurling wings, and hovering briefly over the pool, we shrunk to a size just below the common house fly.  Dipping into the water, I was glad my black light was still shining on the pool.  To swim among critters like this would have been terrifying if I couldn't see where they were.

Long millipede guys scuttled across the bottom of the pool.  Bubble bodied tiny guys with long antennae sort of floated wherever they wanted.  Things that looked like insects.  Things that looked like blobs.  Big and small and round or pointy.  There was so much living in that water, I wasn't sure I would ever think the same way about water that's marketed as "Mountain Pure."

Even if I wanted to speak under water, I couldn't.  Still too much like a human.

Thumbelina filled me in on fairy names for all the types.  She even knew the latin names in human language for four or five.  She showed me how to properly greet the biggest types (the millipedes, and a couple of bettle-like critters.)  Then, she told me about their lives.

It was so much better than hearing about life cycles.  She knew which individuals hatched in this pool and which had to crawl for many meters to get here.  She knew how often there were mass migrations, and why. She also knew which animals irritated the bejeebers out of each other, and how the fairies helped them get along.  It was like going to a cocktail party where accountants mingled with hard rock bands and fast food workers, apparently, if you wanted to live in that pool.  Different hours of activity.  Different goals.  Different ways of making a living.  Different attitudes.  There was an amazing amount of drama in that pool -- and in human meansurements, the thing was only three or four feet across.  I wouldn't have even gotten the tops of my shoes wet if I had stepped in as a human wearing my hiking boots.

Fairies ought to bring their brand of education to the science departments of this world.

We spent maybe an hour schmoozing with the locals in the pool.

Once we grew again, I'm the only one who had to dry off.  Human trait, that getting wet stuff.  It can be irritating to be limited like that.

Thumbelina and I put my clothes back on.

We visited the bats.  I got a bewildering life history of the entire colony.  My brain, by that point was too fried from hearing about he underwater bugs.  I only halfway listened about the bats' lives.

We saw tiny passages we could only navigate at sizes smaller than a mouse.  We stayed big and human-shaped, but Thumbelina explained what routes each one took, and the bearing it had on temperatures and what it did for migrations.  She explained each color of limestone formation not in scientific terms, but artistic words.  I loved it.

To say I was overwhelmed would be putting it mildly.

I spent the whole day in the cave, seeing the life forms, rocks and water in the same way a fairy sees them.

My contract mentioned 'life-changing experiences.'

I just had another one.

-- Sabrina

She went right to sleep after we exited the caves.  I actually let her sleep in her car -- still in human form.  I thought she was getting too dazzled by new thoughts, and her brain might need the extra space to make sense of it all.  She was snoring before I even tucked the last shoe into the plastic bags she had in her trunk.


Pretty good day for me too.


May your rhododendron rock your world.


-- Fresh

K -- Karst

The area all around my new grove is a karst landscape.  Thumbelina knows this because a geology professor took a bunch of students underground to study formations, but also pointed out features above ground.  He said, "This entire area is a karst landscape."

At the time, Thumbelina had been riding (invisibly) on the shoulder of a bookish young man.  She thought that term sounded mildly insulting, so she morphed into the form of another young man who had gone to the outhouse, and asked, "What does 'karst' mean?"

"It's simply a description of places where limestone rock beneath the soil produces some predictable formations.  All around us, we'll find springs, sink holes, and other evidence of the interaction of water with rock.  When we explore a little below ground, we'll find caves that were formed by water erosion -- maybe a few stalactites and stalagmites.  Karst just means limestone plays a key role in the way the land is arranged."

Thumbelina had wanted to say, "Well it's a stupid word to choose.  How about something with a little drama to it?  Like Water and Land Entwined?"

Being in the form of a boy who rarely asked questions, though, Thumbelina knew well enough to keep quiet. She also had to do a quick re-shuffle act when the kid came back from the latrine (otherwise known as the back side of a tree.)  Shuffling her way to the back of the group, she watched for him, and made sure to disappear before he saw himself.  What a sneak.  She still followed the geologist back to his campus and sat in on a few lectures.  Karst is the name of a place in Europe with a lot of limestone, and that's where the term came from.

She only found out one other thing for all the effort:  geologists just don't know how to spark drama in anything.

No wonder nobody wants to study geology, she concluded.

For the record:  I agree.  More people would study geology if the 7-year-olds of the world were allowed to name things.  "Volcano" was about the best word chosen for anything geologic, and I'm going to wager five Twix bars that it was named by a 7-year-old.

Now that I know about the limestone, though, I have a new idea.  Tomorrow I'm going to ask Thumbelina take me cave-flying -- or whatever else it is that fairies do around caves.  They either have chores there, or they have fun there.  I will probably like it, either way.

Can't wait.

-- Sabrina

I remember the geologist.  He was so satisfied knowing about the names of features, he never bothered to find out about interactions.  He was the same way with students.  He didn't know that Tiffany had a serious crush on Shawn, but thought since he was black there was no hope of a spark.  He didn't know that Sophia and Melanie had hated each other since 8th grade, and couldn't believe they were stuck on a field trip together.  Brent was aware of the feud, and did everything he could to make it worse, while Keisha tried to patch things up between the two.  If you knew what was at issue -- actually, a huge list of things at issue -- you'd really admire the pluck of that Keisha, by the way.


Same thing with the land.  He didn't care that a sink hole in one place meant more moss and a completely different group of plants and animals than on a rocky ridge where the limestone was exposed.  A sinking stream wasn't a portal into a different world (the underground world -- don't think I'm being crazy, here.)  To him, the sinking stream was just evidence of more porus rock which had been eroded unevenly.   For a guy who studies rock and water interactions, his insights were dry.  I had to leave college after a week so I wouldn't turn to dust and be swept off on a passing wind.


I've got to talk things over with the queen before taking Sabrina anywhere underground.  The actual Thumbelina was originally lost because of a wander below ground before she was old enough to handle it.


May your orchid's odor never outrage you.


-- Fresh

L -- Leotard

Do you ever wonder why fairies are usually shown dressing like little ballerinas?  I know.

First:  sizing issues.  The leotard they wear is not any kind of fabric.  It's a form-fitting energy shield that performs all the same functions as clothing.  It keeps them warm, and covers up skin.  It can expand with any size the fairy decides to take, morph to look different if a fairy decides to take the disguise of an old beggar woman, like you've read in the stories.  More recently, Thumbelina's leotard took the shape of my jeans and t-shirt ensemble.  It even added the perfect accessories I had worn on the day I met her -- the little sneak.

Next:  adaptability.  So, because it's made of energy, the zipping in and out of water really does nothing permanent to the shield.  It doesn't get wet -- just exists anywhere the fairy wants to take it.  That could be a trip to the moon or to the bottom of the ocean.  (I'm speculating here.  I don't know if there are deep ocean trench jobs for fairies or not.)  Anyway -- fairies can fly through fire if needed and their clothes won't burst into flames for the same reason -- they're not made of flammable fibers.

The flowing skirts are pretty.  I'll grant the fairies that.  But they don't actually wear them for their prettiness.  It's definitely a form follows function issue here.  Aerodynamics.  Having a little drag in the center of their bodies actually stabilizes the fairies as they fly.  Know how a bird will fan its wing feathers one way or another?  The fairy skirt does the same things.  Helps with steering.  Keeps a fairy from wobbling or veering unexpectedly off course with a stray breeze.  It's a necessary part of flying.  Sort of like a kite usually needs a tail.  I didn't realize it at first, when I was learning to fly, but the skirt reacts to my flying intentions just as naturally as the hawks feathers adjust to make diving possible.  Since fairies are female, they usually want their skirts to be lovely colors.  I don't blame them.  I like my green skirt.

FYI:  The fairy males also wear flowing outfits which stabilize their flight, but they opt for a more tailored look -- at least that 's what the gals around here said, when I asked.  I won't be a tourist in this grove the next time males return.

Hair often changes to match the outfit, and that's a much easier process for a fairy than a human.  I have to go to a salon for a major makeover.  Not them.  Hair?  They can change their style just by thinking up something new.  When I found that out, I got totally jealous.  They took a long time to puff up my hair for my meeting with the queen, and it may never actually recover.  After all, I'm still just a tiny human with a few predictable limitations.  Not only is it puffy now, it's a funky shade of lime green to match my skirt.  It will take a real expert to return me to normal at the end of the month.  If I could do any color or style like they do, I'd experiment with something new three times a day.

Actually, frequent hair make overs wouldn't be much problem, at least for recognizing me.  Now that I'm all marked up in ultraviolet, they'd still know who I am.   (The most permanent distinguishing feature on a fairy is her ultraviolet makeup designs.)


Even if you came to this grove, you couldn't see me.  If you did, though, you'd either think I was nuts for going along with the new look.  Or you'd want to try it yourself.  Just depends how adventurous you are.  When I get back, I'll see if one of my photo shop expert friends will make a portrait of how I looked this month.


Oh.  One last thing about the fairy leotard.  No wedgies.  Gotta love that.


-- Sabrina


I actually had to look up "wedgie."  It's not in the human dictionary.  An online slang dictionary described something pretty unpleasant.  Oh, the silly lengths humans will go to in their quest to be more like fairies.  How I pity them.


May your venus fly trap viciously trap flies.


-- Fresh

M -- Moss

When you're big, you walk right past the moss.  You might think, "Oh look.  Moss."  Or if you want to get extra close to nature, you might run a finger over the surface.

Fairies have a completely different outlook.

Moss is a major factor in a fairy's life.  If it's lush, they don't have much work to do because everything in the ecosystem is going to be getting enough water.  When the moss dries out, though, hold onto your wingtips.  Fairies go into hyper active mode.  They get help from neighboring groves.  Everyone works until the moss is better -- or dead.

Here's the other thing moss brings up:  time.  When I'm at home, I have to ask someone what day of the week it is, or what day of the month it is.  Fairies could care less about that.  They ask about the phases of the moon.  A fairy who's nearby will look at a little patch of moss (even if it's daytime) and answer with the fairy names for moon phases.  Based on that, everyone knows what the ought to be doing.

Between new moons, everything needs to get done, before the whole group in a grove will reset everything, and start their chores again -- adding in different ones as the seasons progress, they tell me.

If so many of the chores didn't involve water, I'd probably want to stay.  I'm getting too pickled to really enjoy being a fairy.  From xylem clearing to water plant chores, and rain channeling, there's always going to be some new chore to keep me pruney.

Going to bed in my miserable little rock nook, now.  Maybe I'll dry out a little over night.

Thumbelina says she has night chores.  I'm going to leave it all to her.

-- Sabrina

Moss is more important than even Sabrina thinks.  We get raw materials for dyes and makeup.  We need certain nutrients in moss for our health.  We love to relax on a mossy rock and contemplate -- also important for fairy health.  It's about as important to us as, say, furniture to humans.  Yes, we could survive without it.  Moss just makes everything in life more comfortable and convenient.


My night ops are mushroom duties.  Also an M word.  So appropriate.


May you moss stay moist.


-- Fresh


PS.  Technically, Sabrina posted a picture of lichens.  They're almost as important as mosses to fairies.  Just be informed of the differences.  Lichens are naturally drier, and live mostly on rocks.

N -- Newt

I went newt-riding today.

"Aren't they slimy?" you ask.

Yes, indeed they are.  When you're playing around with fairies, though, things don't seem all that bad if they're slimy.  Textures are just another fact of life -- a thing to know about and maybe enjoy.  So, we were playing (also working) down by a brook where newts live.  I was watching them catch bugs.

Thumbelina came up and said, "Newts are pretty fun to ride.  Want to try?"

There are a few attitudes I still need to get over.  Like, for me at home, it's all about how fast I can travel.  I'd rather drive to a friend's house than walk.  I'd rather fly to New York than drive.  So, for a person who just got fairy wings, and is getting really fast with these babies, I couldn't see any advantage in riding a newt.  Wings are awesome.

So, being as open-minded as possible, I just asked a question.  (I do call her Fresh when speaking to her face.  It bugs her a little to hear the word Thumbelina out loud.  I'll keep writing about her as Thumbelina, because I can't help thinking she looks exactly like the Thumbleina illustration from my story book as a little girl.)

"Why do you like riding a newt, Fresh?"  I asked, ready to hear anything.

"Because they're slimy."

"What's fun about a slimy ride?"

"Come and find out," Thumbelina said, with an impish grin.

So, we dove into the brook, scaring the newts out of their little newt-wits.  We held really still for a while, though, until they calmed down.  Pretty soon, the newts were swimming around us, under our legs, all over the brook, and ignoring us completely.  Thumbelina showed me how to catch a bug and dangle it down at knee level.  We both did this, and as luck would have it two newts who could have been twins came swimming along.  They went between our legs at about the same moment.  Thumbelina gave me the signal.

"Now!" she said.

I couldn't say anything back, because as you already know, we were under water.  I'm still human.  I don't know if I was modified enough to allow for under water speech, and I was too busy thinking about newts to try it out.

This is a newt

We wrapped arms and legs around our little newt friends.

They were so startled, they acted like they were fired from a rocket.

It was a hilarious, wet and slimy ride.  As you might expect, Thumbelina stayed on a lot longer than I did.  I got swirled to the side and cracked my head against a tree root.  Not enough to really hurt.  I just got dizzy for a second.  I watched Thumbelina swish from one side of the brook to the other.

A panicked newt can be very nimble.

Thumbelina finally let her newt go.  It went to a sheltered nook between two rocks and quivered.

"Nice riding, Tex," I told her.  Newt riding is better than bucking broncos.

This is a salamander

"Aw, shucks.  T'weren't nothin'."

While we dried our wings in the sun, I asked her if salamanders were as fun to ride.

"Not quite.  They're a lot smarter, and they can actually hurt you when they buck you off."

So, if I ever get the chance again, I'll stick with newt riding.

-- Sabrina

She did amazingly well for a first try.  I won't be able to ride the same newts in that brook for at least a week.  They forget pretty quickly, but I also want to give them a chance to rest up.  Another thing about salamanders:  they come in more vivid colors.  I always wanted to ride them because of the color-thrill factor.  Then, I tore a wing and spent three months recovering.  Now, I always stick with newts.


May your rose be redolent of relaxation.


-- Fresh

O -- Open-minded

I asked Thumbelina why I needed to be presented to the queen if that was a fairy thing to do.

"You're a person, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"The fairy queen knows all the people in her grove.  If you came here with a group of school children and had a picnic, the fairy queen would know you all. She would visit you."

"Then why did I go inside the tree?"

"To see something new."

I was a little shocked.  "Don't you have rules to keep intruders out of your tree?"

"I think you've been watching Avatar too often.  We're not big blue people with a lot of secrets.  We're fairies.  Life is easy for us, and it doesn't matter who wants to know about us."

"You've seen Avatar?"

Thumbelina shrugged.  "Sure."

"Did you like it?"

"It wasn't very funny.  I liked the glowing plants, though."

I wanted to ask how often Thumbelina watches movies -- and where.  Only, it was more important to ask about yesterday.

"Well, did the queen like me?  Did I do ok on my interview?"

Thumbelina laughed in my face.

"It wasn't a job interview."

"I know."

"The queen just wanted to know you better."

"Then I passed?"  I wasn't sure what to make of this.  I was trying really hard to get rid of whatever attitude I had from watching Avatar.

"You've also been in school too much."

"Ok.  Maybe it wasn't about passing."  I had to pause for a confusing second.  "What was the point of the interview, then?"

"I told you.  Just talking.  Think of fairy life as one big birthday party.  Or maybe like summer camp.  Or a family reunion.  We're here to be friends -- you don't have to be one way or another to please the queen.  We live in a good world.  There's always plenty of food.  We want to get some things done, but we also want to have a lot of fun."

It was disappointing.  I wanted to be the human that finally made the big connection.  The one who made the link between races easier.  I wanted to bring new understanding.  All those idealistic thing I've seen in culture-clash movies.

I didn't expect there would never be any clash.

So, where's the drama in this whole situation?  If I don't have the chance to save anything or anybody, I can hardly be a hero, now can I?  (I just read that last sentence again, and realized something important -- humans are so inclined to do a grand thing, we probably miss the value in the normal. -- Well, maybe that's true for humans who watch Avatar too much, anyway.)

Fairies are apparently open minded enough to get to know an awkward human girl who's trying so hard to fit in, she's tripping all over herself.

Maybe the Wizard of Oz was my first big mistake of a movie.  I approached the queen like Dorothy going to see the Wizard, when I should have been more like Sabrina going to see her crochet obsessed great aunt.

So, for everyone out there having a normal life and wondering when the drama will start:  May your sunflower always shine.

-- Sabrina

Isn't she cute?  She stole my tag line.


-- Fresh

P -- Princess

I'm not a real princess.  I sure did feel like one for my presentation to the queen.

Wearing ultraviolet makeup made me feel completely different.  There was something tingly about it.  So, even though I couldn't see the designs on my own skin, I just felt amazing -- almost like I could sense where they were.  I asked Thumbelina if that's the way her make up felt when she was presented to the queen.

She said, "Oh, I was such a young fairy when I was presented.  I can't even remember.  You're the first one we've had to paint up that much in a long time."

"When would you paint a grown up like this?"

"For a wedding or a welcoming."

"When did you have your last wedding or welcoming?" I asked.

"Welcoming?  About fifty years ago.  We had a fairy that wanted to circle the globe completely.  She made it all the way around the world -- without any size shifts or traveling into space.  Everyone thought it was a nutty goal.  There are groves.  There are deserts.  There are cities.  It doesn't make much difference what part of the planet you're on.  It's all good.  So, when she wanted to pick a home for herself -- having seen so many places -- we were surprised that she picked this grove."

"Why did she pick it?"

"She liked our queen."

"Do I know her?" I was pretty curious about this Magellan of fairies.

"You might have seen her before we switched groves.  I was talking about my home grove, of course."

I started to regret getting my feelings all bent out of shape over the singing incident.  Thumbelina obviously loved living in her home grove, and I had been so down, she was willing to switch groves until I end my tour.

"So, what about weddings?"

"Oh, it's not wedding season.  We don't see many male fairies since they have work so far from home."

"When will it be wedding season?"

"I'm not quite sure.  Sometime around 2032, I think."

"Are you married?"  I asked.  It had never occurred to me that Thumbelina might be anything but single.

Thumbelina laughed in her magical way, and said, "I haven't even seen a male fairy, and I'm two hundred years old."

This was pretty shocking.  "Two hundred?"

"Well, two hundred and thirty.  I know humans like accuracy."  Thumbelina was still adjusting something about my hairstyle.  I turned to quickly to stare at her that she stopped hovering, and stood with her young-looking feet on the dead leaves.

"How many fairies are older than you?"

"Most of them.  Fairies can live to 700 or 800.  You know a lot of fairies who are married."  Thumbelina pointed at a group of fairies opening up dandelion puffs.  "All but the blond one over there are married fairies.  You can tell by their wings."

I squinted and couldn't see anything unusual about the blond fairy's wings.  Thumbelina's either.

"What's different?"

"Well, the major markings are in ultraviolet -- only it's permanent.  Not make up."  But there's a little notch halfway down my wing and hers.  See?"

I looked at the edge of Thumbelina's wing.  The little notch was nothing you'd pick out as important.  It just looked like the difference in two people's ear shapes -- some have a lump on an edge, and some don't.  Some have connected lobes, and some have detached.

"When would you think of getting married, then?"

Thumbelina shrugged.  She made me turn back around so she could finish up with my hair.  "I guess when a male I like comes through.  My mother makes it a point to meet all the young male fairies when they stop off at the moon.  That's why she takes supplies there once a month.  She's told me about four or five that seem like good choices."

"Arranged marriage?"  I was shocked.

"No.  Just a little advanced research.  I won't even meet any males until they touch down on Earth in a couple of decades.  It's just not that important right now."

"Well, if you don't actually live together much, I guess marriage isn't too important in your culture."  I was trying my hardest to make sense of this.  It was mind boggling, really.

"That's about the most offensive thing you've said yet," Thumbelina answered.  She wasn't mad, and it was a simple observation.  Like, 'The day is breezy.' or , 'I'm going to lunch.'

"I didn't mean to offend," I apologized quickly.

"I know.  That's why I'm not offended," Thumbelina said.  "Since humans feel so strongly about marriage, I knew you didn't mean anything awful.  We fairies think marriage is just as important.  The person who helps make a new fairy with me, and who brings back things to sustain my life should be carefully chosen.  I'll pay a lot of attention to mother's opinions when the time gets close.  There's no guarantee I'll be ready the next time males touch down -- and there's no guarantee a suitable male will be ready for me, either."

I wanted to ask more, but it was time for the presentation.  A breeze scented with deep earthy smells came by.  Smelling it, thumbelina said, "They've opened the door.  Time to go."

I took her hand and we flitted across a clearing to the most impressive tree in this grove.

"Are you nervous, since this isn't your own queen?" I asked.

Thumbelina nodded.

"Sorry I made you leave your grove."

She squeezed my hand.  "It's not a big deal.  Do you remember everything?"

I said, "Yes."

I really hoped I remembered, anyway.

A Home Tree isn't always the biggest in
the area.  You know it's the most
important one, though.  This is NOT
the home tree I visited, but it does
sort of look like it.

Under and through this tree there were all kinds of tunnels.  There were caverns and gathering spots.  Tiny apartments lined some of the corridors.  We flew at a "walking" pace to the heart of the tree -- right down at the base.

I passed a few glowing mushrooms at the entrance to a room.  For a flicker of a moment, I caught a glimpse of the designs on my skin.  They were sensational.  I would have stayed to examine them more, but we were in the presence of the queen.  That would have been incredibly rude.

Queens among humans have more fancy furniture than the commoners, better food,  and a lot of servants.  The only way I could tell this queen was important was that her ultraviolet markings were a delicate filligree all over her arms, lets, wings, face, and even hair.  She was dressed like any other fairy -- just plump and round.  In the most appealing kind of plumpness I had ever seen.  She didn't have a lot of servants.  She was even doing some work -- or what looked like work.  She plucked tiny bugs from the walls of the chamber and fitted them with a load of dust (no idea what the dust was meant to do) and then set them carefully on one of three tracks.  The long tracks resembled ant lines, but he bugs weren't ants.  I would have asked about her work, but of course, this was the queen.  I wasn't the one who ought to be asking questions.

"Welcome," said the queen, when she saw us.  She gestured for a nearby fairy to take over the work with the dust and the bugs.

I fluttered my wings in the right beat pattern.  I had practiced this kind of aerial curtsy for about an hour yesterday.

"You're simply lovely.  The fairies took extra care with your appearance today.  You have many friends in the grove, I see.  I'm glad."

This was a relief.  In a situation where I don't know any of the customs, and can't really interpret body language or even tone of voice, it helped to know the fairies were sincerely nice.  Not some horrible clique like in high school or college.  I would have to find a way to thank everyone who worked on me.   Especially Thumbelina.

"What do you think of the grove?" the fairy queen asked.

"I love being here.  Learning all the jobs fairies do is a huge eye-opener."

"We were hoping you'd appreciate our work.  City fairies have just as much labor -- but with fewer rewards.  When it was discussed, though.  We decided the soothing atmosphere of a grove would be the best introduction for you to our world."

"I'm so grateful," I answered.

The interview wasn't very long.  I had primed my short-term memory to record every word verbatim.  Only, things didn't work out that way.  All I can remember now is that I liked the queen very much.  She reminded me of one of the great aunts in a rural town I once visited who kept the entire neighborhood happy by passing out soup, playing board games with the young adults, and crocheting nearly non-stop.  This queen had a lot of work to get done -- probably things she was uniquely qualified for.  I didn't want to waste her time with too many questions.  Thumbelina showed me out of there, and we got busy with our own chores.

The reason I don't remember much more about the interview was because of a run-in with a badger as we left the tree.  I don't have time to write about it, but maybe tomorrow.

Awesome day (except for the badger.)

-- Sabrina

I'm so proud of my little human-fairy.  She was respectful to the queen, and helpful all day long.  No grumpiness -- even after the badger incident.  Things will go pretty well for her now that she looks right.  That make up really makes a difference.  I don't know if I should tell her it's completely permanent.  If she goes to a club with black lights some day, she's going to make quite a splash.  Well -- it's able to be altered, but only by fairies.  I'll make a point of asking her on the last day whether she wants it removed.  And hey -- maybe she'll read my little note on the blog.  She might ask me.  Right?


Great day for me too.


May your sweet peas always sparkle.


-- Fresh