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Gnomes at Home

© Virginia Marin

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My grandmother was a great collector with a very interesting attic to support her hobby. She also love the land--and gardens. She lived in a seven-gabled, two-story farm house on more acres than anyone would care to mow. There were pecan trees, apple trees, pear trees, fig trees and many ancient oak trees with gnarled malignant-looking surface bumps and curls. My love for collecting and gardening was a gift from my grandmother.

As a small child, I longed for my summer visits with her. I was particularly fond of rummaging through boxes and trunks in the attic looking for anything that would be useful in my games of let's pretend.

One day, many years after her death, a search in the attic produced a small wooden doll that, according to its descriptive picture, was a Garden Gnome. He was dressed in actual clothing that consisted of brownish-green pants and a blue shirt. He wore a peaked red cap and cute little felt boots. Buckled around his tunic was a leather belt, to which a tool kit was attached. He sported a long white beard, moustache, side burns, and wisps of white hair. What a droll little creature he was!

I am the third generation to live in Old House, and though the attic has long been cleared of the relics of my childhood, I still have the little Garden Gnome, or rather, more accurately stated, the little Gnome has me.

Not long ago, when I was contemplating a new garden area, my vision included a spot for my little gnome whom I had named Rumpelstiltskin. As my garden developed on paper and in actuality, the day finally arrived for the mason to lay the brick patio. One corner of my patio was chosen for a lattice gazebo. The Garden Gnome was placed inside, on a small shelf.

I set myself busily with plantings, to the tune of tinkling wind chimes. The sound of the chimes, and the hot summer breeze made my eyes heavy with sleep, so I chose my hammock to enjoy a short nap...

...I walked toward the gazebo to pour myself a glass of minted elderberry ice tea. As I glanced at the shelf, my gnome was gone. Looking around, I spied him on the floor, standing among the fern. Not feeling antagonistic toward this new stance, I let him remain - as he did look rather nice there.

About ten minutes later, I noticed a gnome reclining on the shelf! Being beside myself, I entered the gazebo to find my little gnome still standing among the fern. But now, I seemed to have two! No, three! There was one sitting on a little wooden swing suspended from a branch in a dogwood tree. (I later found out his name was Hobbit).

The copyright of the article Gnomes at Home in Folklore is owned by Larry Low. Permission to republish Gnomes at Home in print or online must be granted by the author in writing.