Even Little People Need a Home!

A couple of years ago, my grandson and I set up a tiny village in the woods. A little house, some elves, a few small animals arranged among the roots and the leaf litter, just off a trail where people walk. It was a good afternoon's work with a good companion.

Within a short while, someone walked off with every last bit of it.

So I bought some new figurines. And they sat in a box for quite a while, the way things do. But this afternoon I finally carried them out into the woods, found a good spot beneath the green, and set up shop again.

A miniature elf village in the woods — a thatched cottage, stone garden wall, gnomes and small animals among the leaves — The new village, freshly established. Population: small but spirited.

There's a proper thatched-roof cottage with a chimney, in case anyone needs a fire going. A curving little wall of stone and brick out front, laid one piece at a time. A stick fence along the back. Two more cottages tucked into the shadows for the neighbors. And of course, the residents themselves.

🏠 Now Residing in the Village

Several gnomes in red, yellow, and green caps — standing watch, as gnomes do
One black-and-white cat, unbothered
One orange fox, keeping a respectful distance
One white sheep, grazing
A badger, a hedgehog, and assorted small persons of the forest

Now, I know what happens next. Somebody will come along and take it. Maybe all of it, maybe just the good pieces. Maybe a kid who couldn't resist, maybe an adult who should have known better. It might last a month. It might last a week.

And I put it out there anyway.

Because for a little while, at least, hikers will come around that bend and find the little folks and their pets going about their business — and something in them will lighten.

That's the whole return on investment. A stranger's unexpected smile, somewhere in the woods, on a day I'll never know about. I'm not there to see it. Nobody thanks me. The village disappears, and that was always the deal.

It occurs to me that this is more or less how I approach everything else I make, too. The songs, the websites, the essays, the fifty years of chasing ideas around. You set the thing up as carefully as you can, in a spot where somebody might pass by. You don't ask for anything back. You accept that it will not last. And you find, to your surprise, that this arrangement is entirely satisfactory — that the joy was never in keeping it, but in the setting of it down.

Some people will read this and conclude I've lost the rest of my marbles.

I don't care. 😉

The little people needed a home. Now they have one. If you're out walking and you happen upon them, say hello — and if you'd be so kind, let them stay a while.