Yes, I talk with gardens and the beings who look out for them: where I live, I call them the Guardians of Alki, because Alki Beach is our neighborhood, and the names the guardians have historically been assigned are mean and scary and not worthy of us or them. Besides, at the time it didn’t occur to me to ask them their name, or that it might be inappropriate (it is) to just give them one. This is how I learned a good lesson on naming.
The first time I saw the Guardians, I was closing up the house for the night when I noticed all these strange-looking beings were milling around in the backyard, on the wild, isolated hillside that few people can actually see. Some looked like walking trees, others like plants, others like combinations of people and plants. None of them looked human, but they were also picnicking and settling down to peep in my window! I had never seen anything that looked remotely like these beings, and all I could do was stare. Then, like any normal, rational human, I turned away, muttering, “Criminy, I need drugs.”
Of course, I couldn’t resist one more peek. That’s when they noticed me. “Look, there she is!” a few yelled, so I was sure that, yes, they were peeping! And making a game out of it! Then they waved at me.
Dumbfounded, I stared, then thought, Oh, what the heck (it’s kind of my motto now). I waved back. Slowly. Bemused, to say the least.
That’s how I met the Guardians. Turned out they were gardeners, so for the next year I worked with them to rehabilitate the ruined gardens at our condo, from the soil up (and yes, there were real humans doing the work, not me, I’m physically handicapped). Finally, it was October, and I was rushing to get plants into the garden before winter. These beings had been nothing but helpful: to the wild and domestic land that surrounds us to the amazing being that is our neighborhood. But winter was coming quick, and the plants weren’t yet purchased or planted. The Guardians were anxious to go into the garden before winter, so I invited them to come into my home and live with us for a month until the plants were in—as long as they first got approval from my animals.
One of the guardians, the smallest, shyest, and most unusual looking (like a possum with a bright green round bush growing out of its back) took me up on the offer and moved in. My animals didn’t mind, and it often made me laugh, because it would hide and peek out at me as I walked by, and then duck under the furniture when I teased it: “I can see you.”
Some time after that I read something that made me realize that other people didn’t call these beings Guardians. They were formally known as fairies, and many people used to think, and maybe still do, that fairies are bad guys and will hurt us if they can (why, I have no idea).
I was astonished that somebody with that kind of reputation would do what the Guardians had done: benignly, patiently help me build a garden. Or fail to identify themselves, which seemed, somehow, wrong. After all that work together, I thought they should have told me who they were. Why, I have no idea. (Note again that at the time it never occurred to me to ask them their name; I was arrogant and unthinking in simply assigning them a name based on the work I thought they did.)
Honestly, I didn’t really know what a fairy was, and still don’t. (One of the things my guides like about me is that I’m somewhat clueless about the in’s and out’s of things like witchcraft, shamanism, or folklore, so I’m bold and daring (they said this, laughing), or at least open to new experiences that aren’t pre-defined. For example, I think about talking with something, like an oil spill, and then I’m there. The first few times I did this I had no idea people called it astral traveling. I think this is also why I have such a large community of beings who accompany me on my conversational jaunts, as I sometimes goof up and need backup, and they are all easily amused. The closest I’ve come to accidentally killing myself I was tackled by an annoyed guide, so I’m learning to be more cautious.)
So anyway, there they were, looking at me, and I was mad. “You’re fairies?” I yelled. “You’re fairies? Why didn’t you tell me you were fairies?”
They very solemnly looked at me and said, “If you knew they called us fairies, would you have invited us into your home?”
That stopped me in my tracks. Would I? Does a name make a difference, or is it the work, or intent? What a lesson!
“Yes,” I said. “Because I know and trust your work. What they call you doesn’t matter.”
Something changed in that moment. They looked at me, at each other, and smiled. And when the garden was finally planted, the Guardians of Alki moved into it and settled down for the winter, including the little visitor. By then it was November, and quite mild. I worried about that. Even I knew it takes awhile for a garden to get established, and a freeze could ruin everything.
It was the land and the weather itself that answered me, joking. “Did you think we’d put you to all this work and then freeze the garden?”
I laughed and relaxed. We had a mild, dry winter that year, unusual for Seattle. In fact, I had to drag out the hose and water most of the winter. But spring was worth it.
And, a year later, a coyote appeared regularly outside my office window. For two springs and summers I grinned happily as I watched this wild dog play on an isolated hillside, nap, scratch its fleas, try to catch a bird shadow, tease my cat, dash away when it accidentally spotted me, and lounge while I worked. Yes, I knew more about animals than plants, had spent three years turning a ruined landscape into a certified Backyard Wildlife Habitat, complete with some rare native plants, and yet what truly thrilled me was the coyote.
The Guardians knew that. When I exclaimed over the coyote, they said she was a gift, thanks from them for the work I’d done in the garden and on the hillside to re-establish a native habitat. They gently pointed out that their gift was the coyote, because they knew I liked animals better. I was happy but saddened, too. I really did love the garden, but the guardians were right: I loved the coyote more.
To this day I do not know what name the Guardians give themselves. I haven’t asked, and they like the name I instinctively called them. So the lesson in naming continues. And one in appreciation, too, because I really do love the garden, but that coyote…
(c) 2011 Robyn M Fritz