Did you know that Leprechauns are called fairy cobblers, for they make shoes for elves -but always one shoe, never a pair?
Near a misty stream in Ireland in the hollow of a tree
Live mystical, magical leprechauns
who are clever as can be
With their pointed ears, and turned up toes and little coats of green
The leprechauns busily make their shoes and try hard not to be seen.
Only those who really believe have seen these little elves
And if we are all believers
We can surely see for ourselves.
(Irish Blessing)
When I was a young girl - well, I was once you know!
Anyway, back then, I spent a lot of time at my Grandmother's house.
My Grandmother was from Ireland so I heard about all about leprechauns you see when she'd tuck me into bed at night. Which was after we sat together on the little bench, in front of the vanity mirror, slathering Pond's cold cream on our faces. And after my prayers were said.
As it was, even though I loved being at Grandma's house and feeding bits of egg yolk to Grandpa's canary, Dickie Boy, there were some days I'd just want to go off alone. Grandma's house could be a very busy place. My mother was the eldest of 8 children - making a few of my aunts and uncles just old enough to be bossy and annoying.
Waaaaaaaaay out in the back garden, past the garage, there was
a big old rock. I think you could say it was a boulder. My Grandmother loved to garden - so all around the base of this big, grey rock were flowers. There were violets, lilys of the valley (which smelled so sweet) and there were crocuses and iris and parsely and thyme and by Easter, there were always daffodils and tulips. Did I tell you? Grandma was mad for flowers. She used to....oh...that's a story for another time.
Where was I? Oh...yes. Well, when I wanted to be alone and quiet and think - I'd go waaaaaaaay out in the back of the garden and climb up on that big rock. And that's where I saw the leprechaun. Honest, I did! (My fingers are NOT crossed behind my back!)
There I was thinking my thoughts. Important things like, you know," where do the clouds rest when they get tired of sailing through the sky?"
Then I heard it. A soft tap, tap, tapping. Looking down into a drift of beautiful golden yellow flowers,I saw him. The leprechaun. Sitting just under the curve of a crocus, looking up at me, bold as can be!
He had a tiny shoe in his leather apron that he had just finished. Setting his tiny hammer aside, he started to buff the slipper on the sleeve of his bright green jacket.
"Good day to you!" he said. I said "Who are you?"
"Why I'm Sean O'Day I am" he answered. "And I know YOUR name!"
"Do not!' (I'm sure my lower lip was doing that petulant, indignant curly thing that little girls learn early on in life & never lose the knack of doing and sometime accompany with a bit of foot stomping).
"Do so! You're Lilabet! And I want to know what are you doing here on MY rock!"
"It's not yours", I protested, "it's my Grandma's". He scowled at me. And stood straight up. His peaked green cap touched the crocus and it trembled. I confess, this frightened me just the tiniest bit.
But I pretended not to be.
"What are you doing in that crocus anyway?"
"It's where I keep my gold, silly girl. Can't you see?"
And it's true you know -(didn't I just say that myself?) -the crocus was as gold as gold could be.
"And what about the shoe?" I asked.
"It's for the fairy. The one who minds the thyme."
I thought that was a good idea. Someone has to watch the thyme, right?
"Lilabet! Lilabet! Lunch is ready" .
"Oh dear, that's Grandma. I have to go. Will I see you again?"
He laughed and tipped his hat and said "I never leave. I'm always here. Even when you don't see me!
After I washed my hands and sat down for lunch Grandma asked: "Where were you, dear?"
"Oh, just out back - on the rock - talking to Sean the leprechaun".
Now, remember? I told you my Grandma was from Ireland? Well, she just smiled at me and said "How lovely, dear. Now eat your lunch".
Grandma knew - and I'm telling you - you just have to believe!
I originally wrote this at my daughter's request. She wanted me to write down a story she's
heard from me all her life. Every St. Patrick's Day she sets the scene for her pre-schoolers with tiny footprints,an overturned chair, just enough disarray to give the room a whiff of mystery -of course it all ends with the discovery of the pot of gold (chocolate coin variety) amid a clatter of chatter about who was a "fraidy cat" and who was not. Today, for the first time, she'll read them this story.
To all of you who've sat here on this rock with me for my very first diary-
These things I warmly wish to you-
Someone to love
Some work to do
A bit o' sun
A bit o' cheer
And a guardian angel always near.
Sláinte
