The Path to Fairyland

Some of you know I took a trip recently to Prince Edward Island with my bosom friend Laura Kate. My expectations of the trip were extremely high but I could not have even imagined a more lovely, gorgeous, imaginative, home-away-from-home, heart-breakingly-delicious, so wonderful it awakes an unquenchable thirst, and restful trip than the one we experienced. We saw the L.M. Montgomery sights, the "Anne" sights (though not the overly touristy ones), and lots of gorgeous scenery with red cliffs pushing their way into clear blue oceans and grass covered hills bathed in tall, swaying patches of Queen Anne's Lace and Golden Rod. I hope to write more of my experiences, though I could never cover it all.

Laura Kate gave me a copy of The Story Girl for my birthday which is a lesser known L.M. Montgomery tale written not long after the publication of the first Anne book. The author claims it was her favorite. Today, I read this paragraph and have probably read it about five times since:

There is such a place as fairyland - but only children can find the way to it. And they do not know that it is fairyland until they have grown so old that they forget the way. One bitter day, when they seek it and cannot find it, they realize what they have lost; and that is the tragedy of life. On that day the gates of Eden are shut behind them and the age of gold is over. Henceforth they must dwell in the common light of common day. Only a few, who remain children at heart, can ever find that fair, lost path again and blessed are they among mortals. They, and only they, can bring us tidings from that country where we once sojourned and from which we must evermore be exiles. The world calls them its singers and poets and artists and story-tellers; but they are just people who have never forgotten the way to fairyland.

Lucy Maud Montgomery - The Story Girl

I think, in Prince Edward Island, the door to fairyland is much easier to find. Especially for those of us who have grown old and have considerably dimmed eyesight. But there is a door here in the city, behind the smog, under the sirens, beneath the asphalt, below the poverty line, and far far away from anything resembling glamor, it is there. It's knob needs a good polishing and cobwebs have overtaken the frame. One might almost be afraid to open it. But if you can find it, bring us the tidings and the tales.

And we will thank you.