No matter how unpredictable the month of March, I find that I can face it all with a smirk or a smile…secure in the knowing that Spring is just whistling around the corner. This is the month that while gathering arm loads of Forsythia and lilacs to force bloom in the house, I hold hope to actually catch glimpse of that elusive world of the fairies.
My great great grandfather was a political refugee from Ireland. He settled in West Virginia and brought with him, not only his deep belief in fairies, but some of the superstitions and practices that have persisted in the generations that followed. On of my favorites was to leave the last piece of bread for the fairies.
In my family there were nine children and my mother made all of our bread. Over the years there were many fragrant, crusty loaves and hundreds of biscuits, and always the last lumpy, odd shaped piece of dough was baked with the rest...but never eaten. One of my little brothers once commented that the misshapen little piece of bread looked more like food for a goblin…so in our house that's who it was left for.
So, as the March winds blow, green colors flutter and St. Patrick is remembered...cherish your imagination, your traditions and leave something for the goblins. I am convinced that in a remote hollow of West Virginia, around a crumbling headstone of my great great grandfather, the fairies do a gay March dance.