Chapter 3 - Mr. Mordecai’s Journey


“Most Gnomes are 7 times stronger than a man, can run at speeds of 35 miles per hour, and have better sight than a hawk.” http://faerie.monstrous.com/gnomes.htm
Springdale

Mordecai had arrived at Spring Hill Farm several years earlier than Mr. Merlin or Mrs. Zelda. His route to the farm was a far more circular and complicated one however. Originally from Monmouth, Maine (as most gnomes are in the North American continent), he had been shipped to Nashville,Tennessee where he was to eventually travel on to Memphis to take up residence at Graceland. It was extremely unfortunate for Mordecai (at least he thought so at the time) that upon arriving, he found that the owner of Graceland had just recently passed on and that the position for him had been eliminated. He sat on the store’s shelf for some time hoping that the position might reopen, since rumors abounded that the owner had been sighted in other locales and eventually might return. But alas, Mordecai’s hope was to no avail as month after month passed and no one came in to claim him.

As Mordecai viewed his reflection in a nearby beer mug embellished in gold with the text “Grand Ole Opry”, he thought that he was not an unhandsome gnome. His blue coat, with a shade almost the color of lilac, contrasted smartly with his dark burgundy hat. His gray boots matched the color of his beard perfectly and his red lips and pink checks bloomed with the color of health. His hair, once dark brown in his youth, was now gray, and, if he removed his hat, he showed no sign of advancing baldness like other gnomes of his elderly age. His dark eyes, fluffy eyebrows, and ears that stuck out just so, seemed to radiate a personality that would be good natured - which indeed he was.

Most valued by Mordecai, however, were his hands. He was extremely clever with them and could build almost anything. And, as so many good builders must be, he was also good at math. By the time he was four, he could use the Pythagorean Theorem to draw the most perfect right angle or to determine the exact length of a ladder needed to reach his roof. (Now, I must admit when I learned this from Mordecai, I did not know Pythagoras’ theorem or even who Pythagoras was, as I am sure you, the reader does. But is sufficient to say that Mr. Pythagoras lived about 2,500 years ago in Greece and was really good at math).
Mordecai’s skills at math were legendary among gnomes as he was especially good at math tricks (after all, tricks are the favorite hobby of most gnomes). His ability at math stopped short of quantum theory, however, since that line of thinking happened long after he got out of school. During gnome gatherings, he could simply and easily confound most other gnomes with math tricks as simple as this addition word puzzle:

BAD
+ SIX
FLAG

(Since this is so easy, I will not insult the reader by giving the answer)

Because he enjoyed building, he was quite pleased one day to find he had been picked off the shelf (along with three other gnomes) by a kindly women he later learned was Aunt Chris. He learned through the grapevine (a real grapevine - a term many humans use today without really understanding the true source), that Aunt Chris was doing some reconstruction at her new home (she had recently moved from Oregon) and Mr. Mordecai felt certain he could assist. You can imagine then that it was with some consternation, that he quickly learned that he was not to live in Nashville after all.
His concern was somewhat alleviated when he learned that he was to become the guardian of Rainey, one of the grandchildren who came to visit Spring Hill Farm. He was especially pleased when he learned that she also was quite good at math. There was something especially comforting about the thought of sharing fractal geometry with someone how could truly appreciate the concept over a steaming cup of hot chocolate.

So, when Aunt Chris packed Mr. Mordecai in a box with three other gnomes, he snuggled in as comfortably as he could amongst the paper and bubble wrap. To pass the time, he began to recite softly the geometry proof for the area of a circle which (as I am sure you know) is:
πr2

Now to you, this might seem strange for I imagine the “license play game”, “twenty questions” or even “Animals A to Z” would be your choice of games to play on a long automobile trip. But to Mr. Mordecai, reciting geometry proofs was one of his favorite things to do when the need for passing time arose.
Mr. Mordecai had been reciting for quite a while when the gnome next to him finally spoke up.
“Excuse me,” said the other gnome. “ I don’t mean to insult you, but you do know that most pies are round, not square.”
Mordecai sighed, for this was a response he had often received from many gnomes in the past and had many years ago given up trying to elevate the education of any gnome who responded in like manner.
“Quite right!” spoke Mr. Mordecai, “My mistake. And to whom do I have the pleasure of traveling with?”
“Ms. Lottie, sir. Pleased to meet you,” primly responded the other gnome.
Mr. Mordecai attempted to bow as best he could, since it was quite tight in the box, and as Ms. Lottie gave a slight curtsy. Mr. Mordecai could not help but notice the formidable but not unpleasant features of Ms. Lottie’s face indicating, at least to Mr. Mordecai, that Ms. Lottie was not just out of the “pumpkin patch” you might say. This was a women who knew her own mind!
Ms. Lottie took that moment to add, “I only mention it because I have just recently learned that the Grandmother on Spring Hill Farm happens to make the best round pies in the county. And I would certainly hate for you to have a bad impression of the farm if only round fresh pies are anywhere about when we arrive. Besides,” she dreamily added, “I have also heard that Grandmother makes excellent blueberry pies and insulting her would not be good.”
“Of course,” replied Mordecai, “Not good at all!” and quickly began to calculate how many blueberries might fit in a standard 9-inch pie shell.
Now this might not be as difficult as it would first seem. For you see, if you know the radius of a circle, you can easily calculate the area, and if you know the depth, you can also calculate is volume. Although I am certain you can do the math as well as Mr. Mordecai, in the interest of time, I can only say that Mr. Mordecai was ecstatic when he came up with count of 400 blueberries. For, as I am sure you know, if there is anyplace on earth that gnomes will be content, it is in a location that contains blueberries!
“Well, well, well,” Mr. Mordecai rubbed his hands in glee. “It looks as if the winds of fate have surely shown us some favor.
Mr. Mordecai continued, “Since we have a long trip ahead of us, would you, Ms. Lottie, be so kind to tell me the story of how you gained employment at Spring Hill Farm?”

Chapter 2 - Mr. Merlin’s Journey



“ Gnomes are usually an average of 15 centimeters tall, but with its cap on it appears much taller. Their feet are somewhat pigeon-toed which gives them an extra edge on speed and agility through the wood and grass.” - http://faerie. monstrous.com/gnomes.htm


Mr. Merlin sighed. He simply could not understand Mrs. Zelda’s concerns regarding Springdale Farm. Surely a women with such intestinal fortitude as Mrs. Zelda could not be afraid of mere 20 chickens or so. Sure, he had heard the tale of Mrs. Zelda’s foul childhood adventure but had really given it no account and attributed the story to just one of the many made up tales that floated around the circles of the more “common” gnomes. But he was of course a garden gnome, as was Mrs. Zelda, and the telling of lewd tales should be beneath such. He was quite proud of his heritage, for gardening had been in his family line for thousands of years. Such telling of tells should be left for the earth gnomes who dig for a living - whether it be dirt or the sordid details of some poor gnomes past.
In fact, Mr. Merlin was looking forward to the trip to Springdale farm with pleasant anticipation. Mr. Merlin had found that he was to be the guardian of Jarrod, one of the six grandkids of Springdale Farm. Jarrod’s father, or so Mr. Merlin had been told, had once dabbled in the fabled arts of magic - a skill Mr. Merlin excelled in. In fact, Mr. Merlin’s skill with magic had earned him the respect and awe of all the gnomes in and around Monmouth, Maine. He was especially good at illusions and his skill at tricking cats with illusive mice, was known throughout the gnome world. His greatest feat however, had been when he had tricked an old tom cat into believing that a skunk was an amorous female of the tom’s own feline species, with of course disastrous odiferous results for the tom. This one trick alone had placed his name in the prestigious Monmouth Gnome Hall of Fame. Mr. Merlin so did hope that young Jacob showed an interest in magic as had his father. If so, Mr. Merlin could certainly teach him a thing or too.
Mr. Merlin looked at himself in the looking glass, a small bit of mirror he had found in a local garden while chasing off some potato bugs. Even at his age, (which was even older then Mrs. Zelda’s) he thought he looked quite handsome. His dark brown cloak shirt and brown trousers were just perfect for a garden gnome of his standing. His neatly trimmed gray beard flowed almost down to his navel and his dusty gray boots fit smartly over his pointed toes. Of all his attire, he was most proud of his hat. An earthen red, it towered above his head to exactly one third his body height. It was the perfect size for storing many of his magics and other personnel items.

As Mr. Merlin climbed into the cardboard container to be shipped to Springdale Farm for the second time (and yes I did say second time), he pulled out the tiny slip of paper that held the correct address for Springdale Farm. This time he certainly hoped, there would be no mistake in address that had left him stranded in a cardboard no-gnomes land for 15 too long of days with the complaining and dramatic Mrs. Zelda. Although he certainly was aware of the well known saying that Mrs. Zelda was so often to quote “If anything can go wrong, it will go wrong and a gnome was usually to blame.” , he was more inclined to put the blame on the new fangled technology almost every human relied on these days.

It began like this. Having agreed to take the Springdale Farm assignment, he and a more reluctant Mrs. Zelda had first climbed into their cardboard shipping container and were driven to the local post office In Monmouth, Maine on November 27. From here, they would travel overland to Logan, Ohio and then to Springdale Farm. Although you and I might not like this form of traveling, for gnomes, it is not so bad. The boxes were actually quite comfortable with ample cushioning from both paper and bubble wrap. Mr. Merlin especially liked the bubble wrap since he could pop one bubble or two every now and then to Mrs. Zelda’s annoyance. It also had the added benefit of driving the postman crazy. In Mr. Merlin’s opinion, bubble wrap was the best invention of the 20th century.

Mr. Merlin later learned that some glitch (probably caused no doubt by an elf) in Springdale Farm’s computer system listed the wrong address for Springdale Farm. It was for this reason, that although the two gnomes had indeed made it to Logan, Ohio (admittedly to the wrong address), the local post office was unable to go the extra mile (too many lawyers) and send them to the correct address. (After all, how many Springdale Farms could there be in Logan, Ohio?) So instead of finding themselves at Springdale Farm when they both hopped out the the box, both as shinny as a new penny, the gnomes unfortunately found that they were back in Monmouth, Maine instead!

So, as Mr. Merlin nestled down into the cardboard box next to grumbling Mrs. Zelda for the second time, he could only hope that they might arrive by Christmas. Even the new bubble wrap could not take the edge off of Mr. Merlin’s anxiety. As the post office truck rumbled across the Maine state line, Mr. Merlin’s last thought, before he went to sleep, was that he would personally have to ensure that Jacob’s father, who worked in cyber security, would take the necessary steps to prevent any elf tampering in the future.

I will not go into any other details about the gnomes or what they said to each other during this second trip. It is sufficient to say that “if distance makes the heart fonder” then the opposite is perhaps true, especially for two gnomes traveling in close proximity in a darkened cardboard box. It is said that an inscription on the James A. Farley Post Office Building in New York City reads “Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.” To Mr. Merlin’s delight, for this second trip, the expression held true, for on December 13th, with only four days of travel, both gnomes found themselves on the doorstep of Springdale Farm.

stay tuned - more chapters to come

Cats must be quite careful when chasing moles or mice when gnomes are around. Very often, the mole or mouse is not quite as it seems and might be stuffed with a Bhut Jolokia, which, as I am sure you know, is considered the hottest pepper in the world. How a gnome might come to possess such a thing I can’t imagine, but they have their resources. A cat with a Bhut Jolokia in its mouth is not a pretty sight and I can assure you that it takes some time for a cat to get over its neurosis and go chasing mice again. So I really can’t blame cats for not liking gnomes.

What Mrs. Zelda was really anxious about, however, were the chickens. Now I know you may be quite surprised to hear this, because chickens are really not something that gnomes are usually concerned about. Chickens do have their function on the farm after all - they eat pests, fertilize the ground, and, with very little effort, can be directed by gnomes away from areas they really should not be. And Springdale Farm had twenty chickens when Mrs. Zelda arrived. They really weren’t bad chickens as far as chickens go, she supposed, although the rooster Opie was a little intimidating. No, as far as she knew, they never attacked or bothered the grandchildren (her chief concern) and were kept penned up and not allowed to run loose.

It was, if the chickens were any indication, a proper farm after all. It was just that she couldn’t get over her traumatic and foul experience she had had as a young gnome. So now I must tell you the story of Mrs. Zelda and the chickens. Please forgive me if you have heard this from some gnome before, but, since it is essential for the reader to understand the state of Mrs. Zelda’s mind while traveling to Springdale Farm, I must tell it for those who have not heard this well-known tale.

* * *

Once upon a time, when Mrs. Zelda was very young and simply called Zel by her closest friends, she had lived on a farm with her mother, father, and her seven older brothers. Now I must say that gnomes age quite differently then you or I. For one thing, gnomes live to be much older. One hundred or even two hundred years is not a long lifespan for a gnome. How old Mrs. Zelda is, I can’t say (since it is quite impolite to tell a women’s age), but I can tell you that this story occurred before there were cell phones, computers, or even electricity. (It is also why so many gnomes know this story...but I digress). It is an uncomfortable and widely-known fact that older gnome brothers (and sisters) can often use their age and experience to take advantage of their younger siblings. It is, after all, how they train each other to develop such great mischievous ability. This is another trait that separates humans from gnomes because I know that human children would never be so inclined.
One of the traditional games of gnomes and one widely played when small farmers were plentiful (as now they are not) was “Pull the Feather from the Chicken.” The idea is actually quite simple - the gnome in question must pull a feather from a chicken’s tail as it passes by and then retreat quickly before getting pecked. Now, before you get upset for the chicken and think this is some cruel game that should be banned forever from the gnome repertoire of their mischievous trick bag, understand that the chickens chosen are always in molt. That is, the chickens are losing their feathers anyways and most gnomes actually believe they are assisting them (even if the chickens don’t!). The advantage of the game to the young gnome is, of course, obvious. It helps develop their fine skills of stealth and speed. A gnome without stealth and speed is just no gnome at all. There is, after all, no haste like a gnome.
Mrs. Zelda remembered the day of initiation to the game by her brothers like it was yesterday. Led out to the barnyard, she was informed to wait by the tomato patch. Chickens, of course, love tomatoes and will detour unerringly for the section of garden that has them. Usually gnomes do their best to keep them away from the tomatoes because the farmer (and the gnomes) know how much damage chickens can do to the crop. But there are exceptions. One is when the tomatoes are very badly infected by flea beetles, and another is when playing “Pull the Feather from the Chicken”.
So, it was a very easy task for her brothers to lure one hen with the promise of such delicious and forbidden fruit. What Mrs. Zelda did not know was that the hen her brothers directed toward her, was not a spring chicken and was also quite experienced with this game. Mrs. Zelda also did not know that while she practiced her stealthiness, keeping both eyes on the approaching chicken, her eldest brother snuck up behind her and tied her shoelaces together. Now you, I’m certain, would know if someone tied your shoelaces together, that is, unless it was a gnome. The sound of a flea breathing is louder then the step of an experienced gnome. And Mrs. Zelda’s brother was quite experienced.
You may not know that gnomes are expert at hiding and it is a talent they have from birth. The chicken had no hope of seeing Mrs. Zelda until, of course, Mrs. Zelda reached out and plucked a feather from the old hen. You can imagine the rest. As Mrs Zelda turned to run, thinking how exciting and fun this was, she tripped. Mrs. Zelda’s fall, however, was just the delay that the chicken needed. For Mrs. Zelda, the proverbial hen had “come home to roost” and she learned first-hand what is was like to be “hen-pecked”.
All of the grandchildren on Springdale Farm (except the two youngest - and I am certain they will also learn this when they get older) know what it is liked to get pecked by a hen. Even though it should be avoided, being hen-pecked is really no big deal and certainly nothing to give you nightmares.
But consider for a moment Mrs. Zelda, and the fact that she is only six inches tall (with her shoes on). I am certain she can still see it in her mind’s eye: the slow-motion approach of the sharp beak and the angry stare of hen’s red eyes. In the hen’s defense, I am sure there was a great sense of satisfaction in the act of serving justice for chickens everywhere as her beak snapped closed on the top of Mrs. Zelda’s head. It was very fortunate that Mrs. Zelda was wearing her red hat or it would have been Mrs. Zelda’s hair that would have been plucked in exchange for the feather she still had in her hand.
It was only a moment before her brothers, laughing, chased the old hen off and rescued Mrs. Zelda, but the damage had been done to poor Mrs. Zelda’s psyche. To this very day, Mrs. Zelda - remembering that fateful experience - can hardly bear to take off her hat (unless, of course, she has to wash her hair).

So it was, with some consternation, that Mrs. Zelda knew that she would have to face up to her phobia regarding chickens once she arrived at Springdale Farm. But she also knew that there would be four other gnomes waiting for her when she arrived and that was some consolidation. And, of course, she would be traveling to the farm with the mysterious Mr. Merlin.

But alas, getting to Springdale Farm turned out to be far more difficult and dangerous than she ever could have imagined. But we will let Mr. Merlin tell that part of the story.

The Gnome Chronicles of Springdale Farm

Chapter One - Mrs Zelda’s Journey


Gnome - “one of a species of legendary creatures, usually resembling small misshapen old men, said to live in the depths of the earth and guard buried treasure.” - The Free Dictionary www.thefreedictionary.com

It was certainly understandable that Mrs. Zelda was quite annoyed and frustrated. Her journey from Toad Hollow to Springdale Farm had not gone as smoothly as hoped. But, she sighed dramatically, it was only to be expected. After all, her own mother’s favorite expression was, “If anything can go wrong, it will go wrong and a gnome is usually to blame.”

To be honest, she had been quite content in Monmouth, Maine, a small town about one hour north of Portland, Maine. In the middle of blueberry country, it was an ideal location for almost any gnome who, above all else, simply craves blueberries. Besides, the town’s population (about 3,000 - not including the gnomes) was just sufficient to provide the gnomes with ample and almost unending entertainment. For as I am sure you know, gnomes enjoy playing mischievous tricks - especially on humans. And if humans are not available, then any other animal will do. Which is one of the reasons that Mrs. Zelda was a little anxious when she learned of her trip to Springdale Farm. It, of course, had to do with a mischievous little act she had performed in her younger impressionable years which had not gone as anticipated. This story is quite known in gnome circles, to most gnomes’ glee, and still very embarrassing for Mrs. Zelda. But I get ahead of my story.

To Mrs. Zelda, the one bright spot in the journey to Springdale Farm was the fact that she would be assigned responsibility of watching Mary Elizabeth, one of the three granddaughters who visited the farm on a regular basis. True, she was only a simple garden gnome and, as such, her principle occupation was to help ensure the healthy growth of the many varied types of trees and plants on the farm. But to be honest, she had always wanted a little girl to watch over as well. Quite a step up for a simple gnome.

On the downside, she was quite allergic to cats (as most gnomes are), and she had learned that Springdale Farm had two - Snowball and Butterscotch! In the interest of fair disclosure, I must say that cats are no big fans of gnomes either. Besides humans, cats are second on most gnomes’ tricks list and, with some gnomes, the first.

Mrs Zelda has recently traveled to Springdale Farm and faced her fear of chickens!!! Jeff, the owner of Sprindale Farm has kindly translated and recorded Mrs. Zelda's story for humans and authorized us to share the story with you. I will be posting excerpts from the story over the next few days/weeks. Let us know what you think of Mrs. Zelda's story and Jeff's translation.