mae's magical farm

Mae lived on a magical farm. Of course, Mae didn't know that magic was responsible for her particular farm. Or, even that she herself was magical. Things just sort of happened for her, according to her various wants and whims. Mae had lived alone for a very long time. Practically her whole life. She had the faintest memories of a kind purple haired woman with golden eyes rocking her when she was very little. But she had not seen the purple haired woman in many years.

Poor Mae! You may be thinking right now. Saying Mae lived alone for a very long time was a bit misleading. Mae was only alone in the sense that she had not lived with a fellow human unless you count the faint memories of the purple haired woman. If you do count those, then Mae had still lived without a human since she was too little to walk. If not for the magical farm and her own magic, Mae would've been in quite the pickle as a baby all alone. Sometimes, Mae found herself lost in thoughts of the purple haired woman, longing to see her again.

Mae had plenty of help and companionship on her farm. Just not from humans. There were the chickens she sang acapella with, the goats who taught gymnastics and acrobatics, the alpacas who baked delicious breads and pastries, the pigs who tended the gardens and crops, and, her best friend, Betsy the bunny, who told the most captivating tales.

So, lucky Mae, as you can see, had plenty of friends. And, seeing as these friends had raised Mae since she was a baby, they were really more like family. They had appeared quite suddenly, as if by magic, one night when the moon illuminated the small pond in front of the farmhouse. Mae had been crying (for reasons she can't quite remember, she was a baby after all). Mae thinks it could've been because the purple haired woman was gone. However, as her crying ceased, Mae became so captivated by the way the moonlight reflected in the pond that she crawled outside to the edge of the water. It should be noted that it would have been way past Mae's bedtime if any humans had been present to enforce such trivialities.

From the edge of the pond, she reached up to the glowing light in the sky. Then, according to the chickens (if you're one to believe chickens), she began floating off the ground way up into the air. The chickens became distressed and flew to retrieve Mae from her precarious float above the pond, and they became instant friends. Once safely back on the ground, the pigs and goats cuddled and cooed at baby Mae while the alpacas carried her back inside the farmhouse. They became a close knit group after that evening.

Lately, though, Mae was beginning to feel like something was missing from her life. She was getting to be that age in which most people are stuck in their minds. Not old, not even close. But not so young that, for instance, anyone younger than fifty-three would exclaim at her youth. Her turquoise hair and golden eyes did give her a curiously youthful look, at least. Sometimes, when Mae saw her golden eyes in the mirror or reflected in the pond, she didn't believe they belonged to her. They were the eyes of her dreams of the purple haired woman. Mae was thinking about her more these days.

On top of all of this, was the business of Mae's magic which was beginning to manifest in strange ways. When she was quite young, her magic always obeyed her simple wants and needs. If she wanted a fresh ear of corn, she could grow it with a touch of her finger. If she needed new shoes, they simply appeared with a tap of her feet. But now, her wants were becoming more complex. And, her magic was rebelling.

"I need to get this under control," Mae sang to her chickens after practice one afternoon when she'd accidentally grown an entire patch of books, instead of watermelons.

"What good will these boxes do?" Mae plucked a book from her freshly grown book patch and held it out for Betsy to examine.

Betsy's bunny nose twitched and her ears perked while she pawed through the pages in the book. "They're stories," the bunny exclaimed in awe.

"You tell the best stories, Betsy dear. What could these stories have that yours don't?" Mae asked, her golden eyes puzzled by the stories contained inside the book. This was the first book Mae had ever seen. As far as she'd known, stories came from Betsy, not books.

Betsy's ears flopped as she shook her head, and then bounced off with the book. Later that night, Mae made a small fire by snapping her fingers together. The goats, pigs and alpacas gathered round with her to share freshly baked watermelon cookies. It was a new recipe from the alpacas, and they were odd but wonderful.

Betsy bounced in from the shadows with an exhilarated look on her face, and stood by the fire. Everyone was silent in anticipation of the story to come. Betsy's tale lured all sorts of creatures of the night -- bats and owls hovered in the trees overhead. Even the chickens flew their coop when Betsy's words drifted through the night air and interrupted their dreams.

When at last Betsy finished, every creature present chirped or hooted or stomped or leapt or squealed in their own show of appreciation for Betsy's tale. Mae was certain she'd swallowed no less than three bugs while her jaw hung open wide in awe of the bunny's imaginative story.

"Oh Betsy! What a wonderful tale? Wherever did you come up with it?" Mae asked.

Betsy's ears tucked low as she squeaked, "The books."

Mae was so surprised, she floated right off the ground.

The next day, Mae was thinking about Betsy's story while attempting to repair the roof of the farmhouse. A swirl of light shot right from her finger, bounced off the shingles and landed on the ground with a loud THUD.

Mae toppled backwards when she saw the source of the loud THUD. A large brick structure with an open window, shelves and flames burning inside stood before her. The alpacas, who had heard the loud THUD, padded over to Mae gossiping about what had just occurred.

"Are you okay, Mae? What's this?!" The alpacas chattered at once.

Mae twirled a strand of her turquoise hair, and answered, "I think it's for baking." Mae had just managed to stand, but when the alpacas heard that the brick structure with the fire was for baking, they galloped towards it with such fervor that Mae toppled to the ground once more.

"Guess I can't compare with the delights of baking," Mae sighed with an unnecessarily loud harumph.

Mae was feeling slightly down when she checked in on the pigs and their latest avocado-berry hybrid creation. They snorted jovially in greeting, which slightly buoyed Mae's sour mood. The pigs turned their snouts to a plot of ground that needed weeding. Mae snipped her fingers together, and waited for the weeds to fall victim to the snipping.

But the weeds didn't budge. A gust of wind swooshed across the dirt where Mae and the pigs were working. Mae closed her eyes against the dust. And, when she opened them, fresh crops and wonders filled the entirety of the open field: avocado trees, blueberry bushes, pumpkin patches, apple orchards and grape vines stretched as far as her golden eyes could see. Mae looked down at her feet and saw shovels and various gardening equipment for the pigs to use, too.

"Weeeeeee," the pigs rejoiced. "We can harvest so much more! And faster!" The pigs stomped their little pig feet on the ground, excitedly grabbing for baskets and shovels and shears to use on their new found bounty.

"Oh no," Mae said to the empty but deliciously stocked field. "What's happening to me?"

Mae went for a long walk across the farm to clear her head. She picked white daisies and lilacs and wove them into a crown with a few simple wiggles of her fingers.

"Sure, this I can do," Mae said aloud and placed the fresh flower crown atop her head. Then, she made a second flower crown, since a thought of the purple haired woman had popped into her head.

With one crown on her head, and one on her wrist, she wandered past the pigs who were standing on each others' backs to toss apples from their new trees into their new baskets. "Thanks, Mae!" They squealed when she passed.

She smiled, and checked the position of the sun in the sky. It was almost time for acapella with the chickens. Mae raised her arms wide, and allowed the wind to lift her from the ground and carry her in flight to the chicken coop.

The chickens were already harmonizing when her feet touched down. "Almost warmed up, ready to sing?" The chickens clucked melodically.

"So ready," Mae sang back. She touched her fingers gently to her lips, allowing that simple touch to effuse her voice with beauty and harmony. She opened her lips to find the harmony, but, instead, sneezed three times.

"Sorry, let's start again," Mae said when she opened her eyes after the third sneeze. "What's this?" Mae asked. Propped nicely in front of the chickens were various musical instruments. Guitars, keyboards, harmonicas, ukuleles and banjos all lay in neat rows by the chicken coop.

The chickens clucked curiously, and began testing the instruments. To their delight, they made beautiful sounds that perfectly accompanied their singing.

"Acapella no more! Now we're a band. Let's rock," the chickens shouted with feathers flying and various instruments erupting in chaotic musical glee. Mae obliged the excited chickens and sang a few songs with them while they played their new instruments.

In her heart, Mae knew they sounded better as a full band now, but she still felt inexplicably sad. She had failed once more to fulfill her simple need.

"Perhaps some tumbling and acrobatics will cheer me up," Mae said out loud. It's nearly impossible not to be cheered by tumbling and acrobatics, after all. And so, Mae made her way to the goats who were corralled around a particularly excellent bunch of climbing trees.

"Maeeeeee!" The goats bounced in excitement when they saw her approaching.

"Let's play!" Mae shouted in greeting, and began stretching her limbs and fingers and toes. Once she was satisfied that no more CREAKS or POPS would suddenly occur in her body, she tentatively tried to make herself grow lighter, light enough to tumble and fly like the goats.

As soon as she reached for that lightness though, she felt something amiss. She gave it several small tugs before she fell backwards with a loud, "OOMPH." She almost stayed on the ground. Almost. But as the goats were making quite a fuss, it would've been hard to refuse to see what they were so excited about.

Mae stood, dusting off her jumpsuit made of leaves. Almost at once, several bouncing goats bounded over to her, "Mae, Mae we have more toys to tumble and play with come see." Sure enough, Mae saw that the climbing trees now had elaborate ropes and bars and swings hanging from the branches.

Mae tried not to act too sullen, because the trees did look inclined to more acrobatic fun now. So, she joined the goats in a twilight play session where they swung and climbed and flipped all about together in breathless enjoyment.

When at last, the velvet night sky darkened their new playground, Mae bid the goats farewell and returned to the farmhouse. She drew herself a bath with an easy wave of her hands, and heated the water with a snap of her fingertips.

"Why does everything work sometimes, but others it rebels completely?" Mae wondered. Just then, two fluffy bunny ears appeared as Betsy hopped in holding a precarious stack of books. An idea struck Mae, "Betsy, dear. I need your help. I'm feeling super weird lately, and I can't seem to do anything right anymore. Perhaps there's something in your new books that could help?"

Betsy's precarious stack of books tumbled to the creaky wooden floor. Betsy's nose and ears twitched while she replied, "Of course! There must be. But, Mae, don't you know?"

"Know what?" Mae furrowed her brow and twitched her nose involuntarily in tune with Betsy's.

"There's nothing wrong with you! Can't you see what you've done for all of us? You've given us new things, things we didn't even know we wanted or needed. And each of those things has brought all of your friends on the farm -- EVEN THE CHICKENS (everyone knows chickens are notoriously hard to please) -- so much joy. I only ever knew the stories from our world and life, but these books have showed me new possibilities. There is so much to learn and share, and I wouldn't be able to do any of that without you!"

"Hmmm," Mae twirled her turquoise hair. "Betsy, I hadn't really thought of that. But you're right. Everyone was so excited by all of these accidental malfunctions. I did have more acrobatic fun with the goats than ever before," Mae mused.

"So why are you sad?" Betsy asked.

"I think because it's different now. It used to be so simple. I wanted to pull weeds, so I snipped my fingers together. I wanted a fire, so I snapped my fingers and one appeared. But now? Sometimes, I have no idea what will happen. I could snap my fingers and fill the house with pudding for all I know!"

In her head, but not out loud, Mae thought, "I wish someone could show me. Someone who knows." Instantly, a flash of the purple haired woman with the same golden eyes popped into Mae's head.

A loud BOOM echoed across the farmhouse. Mae, on instinct, leapt from the tub and took a floral robe from Betsy. Together, they ran outside towards the source of the boom. The goats and alpacas and chickens and pigs were all standing in a group.

"Is everyone okay?" Mae bellowed, assessing her friends as she walked past them to make sure they were unhurt.

There was a lot of chatter along with snorts and squeaks. But, Mae's friends parted the circle to let her through. Mae's heart was beating very fast now, and her eyes were watering but she couldn't explain why. The vision of the purple haired woman had seemed clearer than ever before, she couldn't shake the feeling that...

When at last, Mae got to the middle of the circle surrounded by her farm friends, she gasped and would've fallen in shock. But, luckily, the alpacas prevented the fall, and supported her as she took tentative steps closer to the purple haired woman standing in the middle of the circle.

She was grinning widely, and wearing a flower crown atop her head just like the one Mae had made for her earlier.

"I've seen you in my memories...but...are you real?"

The purple haired woman laughed -- it was such a pleasant sound -- and opened her arms, "Who cares about real!" Then, the purple haired woman of Mae's memories wrapped her warm arms around Mae who was crying in quite a steady stream now.

Enveloped in this warm hug, Mae was given a plethora of visions of the purple haired woman. She saw all the life they had shared together.

They were sisters, Mae could see. Her name was Fern. And she had cared for Mae when she was a baby when their mother had not been able to. Until something tore her away, so she had to leave Mae to protect her baby sister. Fern made sure to leave Mae with plenty of love and lots of magic and a family of animals to love and care for her on the farm that she also endowed with magic.

"Sissy? You're back?" Mae was filled with such love. This, she thought, is what was missing.

"I never left," Fern whispered back. And Mae knew now that Fern had left part of herself in the magic.

"But you won't leave again?" Mae didn't think her heart could handle it if she lost her sister again.

"Never, I promise. That's all because of you, sweet Mae. You brought me back here," Fern said.

"But, I don't know...how? How did I bring you back here?"

"A little bit of magic and a whole lot of love. I bet you thought something was wrong with you, lately, huh? Maybe things weren't working out exactly as they always had. But what you couldn't see, was that your magic was giving you exactly what you -- and all your friends -- wanted and needed most. Even though you couldn't necessarily see it in the moment. When you made the second flower crown with me in mind, I felt a tug. And then, just now, after all your friends already had what they wanted most, your magic was able to ask for what you wanted most too. It found me and brought me back to you forever."

Fern's golden eyes twinkled in the moonlight. As soon as she finished speaking, Mae was unable to reply for the chickens and goats and pigs and alpacas were engulfing her purple haired sister with sniffs and sloppy kisses and gentle nudges of love.

"You're back!" The animals shouted in unison. For they remembered, at last, that it was Fern who had brought them there. "Hooray!"

Betsy hopped into Mae's outstretched arms and tucked her fluffy ears back as she whispered up to Mae, "This is the best ending to a story ever."

Mae kissed the top of her head, and grabbed Fern's hand when she replied, "This is only the end of one chapter, and the beginning of a new one."

They stayed up all night celebrating. Mae showed Fern all around: they swung on a trapeze with the goats and ate doughy loaves of bread with the alpacas and smashed grapes with their feet with the pigs and sang a sweet song with the chickens and, at last, settled down with Betsy to hear their favorite story as the sun rose in an explosion of color and warmth over their magical farm.