And so it goes.
My life was soon consumed with a growing family.Within a year, I became pregnant with my second child. My days were wrapped up in being the media model of the perfect "desperate housewife.I didn't have to struggle any more to put a meal on the table.I could bake a perfect loaf of bread. I dusted the tops of the windowsills. I planted a garden. I grew a baby.
Alyssha was born on a cold, late November day after being formally evicted with an induction of labor.By the closest estimates, she was at least three weeks past due, and on the outside, it was more like six.I was certain she would be born with gills. She was a beautiful golden hued baby who wore an aura of perfection.It wasn't long before she was riding in a backpack and introduced to daily wanderings in the near by park, which at the time, was more of an unspoilt bit of woodland at the base of a smallish peak.
By then, Becky was in school, and my husband had a job, so when my morning chores were done, I'd bundle up my little Alyssha, and off we'd go, on the bike,lunch packed,spare diapers and all , to the park.
Becky and Alyssha were the center of my life, my husband was less then an acquaintance. His brain had been blown on a life long affection for inhalants of great damaging toxicity. He was far more interested in his internal conversations than he was in us, and on a personal level,aside from my girls, I was pretty lonely.
Alan was still a big part of my life, but he had gone off to a near by college to find his own direction. He had some demons he needed to battle, the least of which was our increasingly complex relationship. I loved him. I was married. He wasn't ready. It worked out,as all things are prone to do, no winners, no losers, but, no matter what, always friends.
It was during this time that my second direct encounter with the fey happened.
It was early Spring. The crocuses had come and gone. The daffodils had put on a pretty show. The songbirds notes warbled sweet and soft.
It was warm enough to leave the windows open at night. I had spent the day working in the yard,cleaning beds, planting pansies and the like.I had harvested wild violets for the dinner salad, all while Alyssha played happily on a blanket next to me. It was a beautiful day.
Exhausted after feeding the family and tucking the girls in, I went to bed myself, my husband already snoring on his staked out territory of the mattress. I remember having delicious dreams, but couldn't tell you what they were about, when I was awakened by my husband thrashing wildly, kicking and hitting me with such ferocity that I thought we were being attacked by an intruder. When I finally attained enough presence of mind to see what was going on, my husband was standing at the foot of the bed, dazed and glassy eyed. When he was calmed and more fully awake, he told me that he had felt the need to wake and relieve himself, but on doing so, had seen a faint blue glow hovering over the bed, more specifically,covering me. He said it just stayed there while he tried to move it away with increasing force, explaining why I was the one covered with bruises. At the time, I chalked it up to a drug induced flashback and his obvious lack of recognising reality.
I added the incident to the list of why my marriage was a sham and only saw it for just another reason to have as little as possible to do with him and leave him to his internal musings. He was happier there, anyway.
Two months later, I found out I was pregnant.
I knew I hadn't consciously done anything that would have left me in such a state.
But, there it was.
Those were days before people could find out the sex of their baby.But, I knew. I knew I would have a girl. Common sense made me choose a name for either sex,but, I KNEW the baby would be a girl. And I knew her name would be Bryn Ayslynn.
Her name came to me in a dream. I woke up and wrote it down on a bedside notepad. I had no idea what it meant, but I instantly loved it, and knew it was perfect.
Bryn was born on a beautiful April morning. I had known before she came that I wasn't going to further shackle myself to such an unhappy marriage, so, I had made arrangements to have a tubal ligation on very day she was born, but when I first saw her face, I knew no other child would ever be necessary to fulfill my role as Mother.

After I saw the photo,I couldn't really bring myself to believe it was anything more than a fantastic trick of light. My everyday life was twisted by the drama of just living and trying to make a way for myself and my child to have what I then thought was essential for survival.I entered into a marriage of convenience to a man from a wealthy family that I never loved.As I said,drama.
My marriage did not interfere with my love affair with the woods...I would spend my time roaming the forest, marveling at the beauty and gathering as much first hand knowledge as I could.
On a brilliant Fall afternoon, while gathering moss and the like to take back to the house for a craft project, I stumbled upon the most amazing mushroom I had ever seen! It was fully two feet across and not completely out of the ground yet.The only part that had emerged was the top of the cap and it was golden and metallic in color.I have never forgotten it, and later on I would find that this,too,was of some importance. Although, I still don't understand the full significance of it,I am confident someday I will.
The time came when we would have to leave Bull Run Creek.My cousin wanted the house and we would have to go.My heart was broken. I cried for days.The cold November night before we left,we had a little party. All of my new found friends came and much wine and other indulgences were consumed.After everyone left, and my husband and small daughter were soundly asleep, I went out on the porch and in my sorrow at leaving begged and prayed that the spirit of that place would forever stay with me. I woke up at sunrise, covered with frost, lying on the wooden deck,very cold,but filled with peace,not resignation.
My husband and I bought a little house in Wolf Creek, a small community some 15 or so miles south of my beloved sanctuary. It was a great place to raise a family, populated by a unique blend of rednecks and counterculture with some interesting characters from both sides,but I digress.Wolf Creek is a whole story in itself.

It wasn't long before a few friends would be found,and, by far the closest and dearest of them was a young man who lived in the nearby town of Glendale.His name is Alan,and no matter the time or distance, he will always fly high in my thoughts.I'm not sure he ever has known that he was blessed by the other world,but, truly,he is.
He opened my eyes to the real world, away from the fast and furious insanity that passed for day to day life.Before I met him, I had noted beautiful sunsets and majestic vistas that could not be ignored by a blind man.But with him I learned to appreciate the fleeting and delicate jewels of the unspoiled woods that were more and more intrinsically becoming my home.I could stand in the freezing cold forever, noting and studying the rime of frost on brightly shaded blackberry brambles,marvelling at their delicate beauty.
It was with Alan that I first encountered the Fey, although at the time I didn't know it. I lost any fear I may have harboured of being with my baby alone in the woods.There was no place I would rather be than completely isolated in the middle of a deep forest.
It was on a soft summer afternoon that Alan,Becky and I had taken a picnic down to the lower meadow, to glory in the golden sunshine and listen to the buzzing bees.
Over the creek a small tree had fallen,spanning the water,bank to bank.Sunlight was filtering through the overhanging branches. It was such a beautifully inviting spot,I couldn't resist the urge to stretch out on the dead fall over the water.And Alan couldn't resist the urge to snap a picture.
It wasn't until the film was developed that we saw him.There he was, in plain sight,a small figure of a man, no more than a foot tall, sitting on the opposite end of the log from where I sat. He sat facing me, with his knees pulled up, staring right at me!He was surrounded by a golden glow.He had short , tightly curled hair , a largish nose and soft smiling eyes.
I was overcome with surprise that was quickly replaced by an overwhelming sense of peace.

I'm feeling the need to just sit back and savor this memory for awhile,so until later,Bless you!

Today marks the day that I will never more return to the broom closet.
So, as all good stories ,I think the beginning is the best place to start , and so, I shall.
A good many years ago ,the stormy seas of my youth tossed me onto the shores of a place so beautiful,that when all is dark ,I close my eyes and go there still. Southern Oregon.More particularly, a small vale called Bull Run Creek. It was to be not only my home,but my very salvation, and though I often said as much, I was not to know how true that was for many years and many miles later.
A sad divorce and a loving Auntie dropped me and my very small daughter, Rebecca,there.Alone and isolated. No friends or family.No car or phone.No money or means, save a 50 gallon storage bin of dried red beans and a rickety barn that held several cases of antiquated C rations and more than a few boxes of crystallized dynamite (whenever the wind blew, the barn threatened to tumble over and give new life to the TNT). There was a house that had been added onto in every which way the lay of the land would allow.It was drafty and cold and none of the windows or doors shut tight due to swelling from the damp climate.There was a wood stove that was fairly ineffective thanks to a large hole in the roof where the pipe had once gone, but the pipe had been rerouted through the wall and even though the hole in the ceiling made a lovely sky light, it was not welcome that first Winter( when the weather dried, I faced my fear of heights ,and did my best to fix it,but it was far from perfect).
Except for a brief residence at a commune in Hawaii,I had never lived anywhere without the conveinences of modern life.But, it was the very necessity of depending on myself for the day to day needs of my child and mine that took me away from feeling sorry for our sad state.
There was no time for self pity. My time was spent gathering bark to burn and wild greens to eat as compliment to the beans.
The property itself belonged to my Aunt and Uncle,who lived in another state and were happy to have someone on the premises.It was through their association that I was able to make a few acquaintances down the road, who would look in on us from time to time to make sure we were still alive.
It wasn't long before the woods became more of a home than the house itself.
Becky and I would spend whole days and some nights down in the lower meadow by the creek,weaving daisy chains and playing baby games. There was a very special place we would nap, a perfect circle, no more than ten feet across,of tall Douglas fir trees. It was more magical than I could ever know at the time,being preoccupied with basic living. I did, however recognise the sense of peace and safety I felt there.It truly was my haven....More to come.Be blessed,friends!