A Fairy Story

Minneapolis does have its concentration of fairies. These fairies seem to be immigrant fairies – creatures that rode the boats over for their own reasons. The spirits already on North American soil seem to recognize them and let them do their thing; if there’s a conflict, I haven’t seen it. Maybe I’m too quick to blame quivers to human influence. We are to blame for so much, after all.
2013 Open Streets Minneapolis - Central Ave

Whatever they are, coexistence between the spirits of North America and the parallel beings of ancient Europe are not a big deal. The fae even habitate the same trees they might in the British isles. So along with eccentrics, ghosts, occasional gang bangers, drunks and first generation immigrants, I must also consider the fairies wherever I live in Minnesota. I never saw a fairy in Indiana. I don’t know what the hell it was I saw in Wisconsin – and I should write about that, too.

Right now, I definitely live with fairies. It’s the only explanation I can think of for why, try as I might, I cannot get the weird dizzying energy out of the center column of my house. I am persuaded a baby troll lives beneath the stairs, or at least, its droppings remain. ((Update: a simple cleansing candle purchased from my favorite botanica, combined with some powder I’ve created affectionately labeled GTFO, along with well placed mirrors along the central column of the house, seems to have fixed the problem.))

A troll that of course thinks being present supersedes property purchases. Remaining karma from the Manhattan purchase thing makes the situation far more complicated than it should be.

My Home Owner’s Association is unusual in that the tenants tend the garden, sort of like a cooperative ordinarily might. While technically we only own the interior of our homes, there’s a tacit agreement that if the land touches your house, do whatever the hell you want with it.  So, in the early years of doing whatever they wished, one of the residents planted a series of trees in what evolved into a rather elaborate garden park behind the property.

During my first walkthrough of the garden, the trees had only just formed leaves. Not until a weeding session in late June (surgery kept me out of the garden for quite awhile after planting) did I find that one of the trees was a willow. Willows are special to me. They are fairy portals. They also scare the crap out of the worst monsters I ever encountered – including the human monsters.  The tree communicated with me as soon as I saw it. I had dead-headed several marigolds and got the sense that the until then unnoticed tree wanted two specific marigold heads from my lot. Out of curiosity, I touched them – sure enough, they had the heat and vibration I sense when someone hits an object with a magical charge. As requested, I threw them into the wire fencing around the tree.

Last summer, a sequence of events convinced me that the fae are active on my property. We were planting thyme as a ground cover to the side of our house, hoping it replaces the oregano there from years prior. In the process, I kept pulling old landscaping rocks out from the soil, in addition to a few drainage rocks. A few stones were flat, oddly shaped, like they fit together. Taken with a sudden impulse, I took the rocks to the willow tree. The groundskeeper had been by that day and trimmed much of its leaves back so I could see from the green fuzz at its base and the greenness of several branches that the poor thing had been sick for awhile. I took the stones and built a cairn at the base of the tree, saying, “To honor the fairy and their ancestors, remember your roots!” I then ran inside and returned with an unopened bottle of Jameson. I took a swig to demonstrate proof of good intent and then christened the rocks with a splash.

Offered a boon, I requested that the troll beneath my stairs be removed if there was one and that they replace it with something that keeps the home safe and happy.

When I wandered inside to return the whiskey to its place, I heard a man screaming and swearing at the top of his lungs. I peeked outside my front window to see a man wearing a bright orange shirt yelling vehemently at a tree while also touching himself in an inappropriate-in-public manner. He definitely seemed engaged: his body language was positioned as though the person were in front of him, had mass and distinctive breathe and maybe body odor. I looked, but saw no one. The cursing subsided. I called my partner inside to help me decide whether to call the police – no children were on the street right then and if this guy was just mentally ill I did not want to punish him more than necessary.

I tried to call 911 three times before the call went through. Then I went back to observe the man standing in the street, swearing. That’s when I saw something with my second sight: one fairy trying to stuff another into this guy’s body. I sent out a message: “Er, I just wanted him removed. I don’t want anyone hurt by it.” I then recommended they find a new age shop with a great big crystal…and let someone in the shop know what they’d done.

My body responded as though someone had said, “Ooooooooh,” and then the man blinked, stopped, got on his bike and rode off like the wobbly drunk he was.

I shook my head. I just want my home to feel perfectly safe at all times. I went back to work in the garden only to hear another doorbell ring. It wasn’t the police. It was a guy from the company that installed our home security system – offering a rather cheap service.

So the events:

  • Build fairy cairn
  • See drunk in bright orange staging some sort of episode in street
  • Immediately after have an offer for increased security show up.
  • Also, my greeting chain broke again (it is a protective feature.)
  • The odd sequencing of coincidences – with a slight thread of humor connecting them – looks to me like fairy influence.
  • I also need to make some juniper tea for that ailing willow.