Letters from the Lane

Just off the Lane, from the crook of the path to Bramblebrook Hollow, is the most worn unpaved path in the valley.

Heavy boots, soft leather, or bare sole, the path to Maren's house has felt it all, every day for nearly forty years. Along it are well placed shrubs, tall plants, fruit trees, and flowers of all sorts and colors.

Through the trees, as you turn the gradual bend, appears a house built of stone and timber — but almost seems to have grown in place by the myriad plants and vines surrounding it and clinging to its walls. The whole place smells fresh, clean and at the same time like dirt and dew after the rain.

Unique among the lane homes is its roof, low and sloping, with steps leading up to it, and covered in green as if part of the land itself. As you approach, the grotto comes to life, small animals skitter about — cautious of you but not overly afraid. Faeries flitter about, birds chitter and one bird caws loudly. It's as if the whole place wants to say hello. Then something small, almost unseen, makes itself hidden under the greenery and seems to head toward the back yard.

As you near the door, it opens and there is Maren, a smile and a welcome on her face. She wears a green shawl over her shoulders, a once blue dress under it is stained from years of kneeling in dirt and weeds. Her hair is grey but yellow and periwinkle flowers dot her head and her long braid. She holds out her hands to you, they are somehow both old and frail, and strong and stable at the same time. She smells of woodsmoke and sage and something… else that you don't recognize.

As you enter her door, at once you feel closed in by all of the "stuff" hanging and drooping and stacked about, but not in a scary way — almost wrapped up in a hug by the house itself. Inside is mostly one large room with shelves on every wall, herbs hanging from the rafters; feathers, bones and many strange trinkets in jars; the left wall is practically made of small wooden shelves and drawers, neatly labelled in her own handwriting. Just inside to the right of the front door is a huge fireplace. It's surrounded by stone slabs that make up most of the floor and wall behind it. On which — on the floor, stacked in the corner, and on shelves built into the stone wall — are pots of all sizes and shapes. Some for cooking, some for planting, all of which have something colorful either growing in or picked for cooking in them.

She beckons you toward the center of the room, where there is a round table, some wooden chairs, and a large brightly glowing lantern like the ones in the Great Meadow hanging from the ceiling. On the table is a beautiful ceramic teapot with flowers that look real, and two cups ready, as if she knew you were coming. She asks you "how do you feel" in her soft, warm, almost whisper of a voice.

You describe your ailment — upset stomach, headache, a mild fever — and she pours a cup of the hot tea for you.

"I'll be right back," she smiles, and walks to the far side of the room. There, on that back wall, she reaches among more shelves and odd tools without looking, and pulls down herbs and a mortar and pestle. She takes a short, square knife from a block of knives with handles of black stone and begins chopping the herbs on the huge worktable in front of her. Around her workspace is more jars, some empty, a fan made from exotic feathers, balls of string in many colors, and other odds and ends you can't name.

As you look around, next to the worktable is a bookcase — at least seven feet wide and floor to ceiling. It overflows with books that look older than the valley itself. Some have titles like "The Nature of Life", "Plants of Argonne", or just "Recipes". Most eye-catching though are the dozen volumes at hand height, with spines worn thin and bits of paper and string sticking out of them — and labelled in the same handwriting as the jars. Her own decades of notes.

Next to the bookcase is a doorway with a red curtain half closed. Beyond it just visible are more decorations and fine fabric throws from lands far beyond the Lane.

A moment later, Maren calls to you to join her and ushers you through a door on the other side of the workbench that you didn't even see.

Behind the house, the land opens up into the largest, lushest, most inclusive garden in the land, crowned by a shining, tall, fascination to all who enter — her "house of glass". A forest of its own grows inside it, with strange plants unseen anywhere on the lane or the entire kingdom around it.

Beside the house of glass is its exact opposite. An open structure of stone with a lattice 'roof' of more drying herbs and hanging baskets. Built into the stone walls is a hearth and oven, a basin, and a rack drooping with freshly washed vegetables. At its center, a huge wooden table stacked with more bottles and jars, measuring cups, bowls and all sorts of utensils. Three large stone bowls in the middle hold a mixture of whatever herbs and compounds she was in the middle of grinding and mixing. The hearthfire crackles gently as the pots above it puff out steam.

Maren takes an empty jar and fills it with herbs, a powder from one of the bowls, and hot water from the hearth. She closes it, wraps it in a blue cloth, and hands it to you with a smile in her eyes.

Of course you offer to pay — but she just shakes her head and says "we'll catch up", and pats your hand.

Smiles, thank yous, and you are on your way.

Of all the folk on the lane, the busiest bee of them all, by far, is Maren Mossbeard. "Aunt Mossy" as many call her, she is Roa's sister, and like her, represents a natural part of the very heart of the Lane. Her herbal teas, tinctures, poultices, and her fresh vegetables and fruit are sought by everyperson young and old, from the lane and beyond, even Kings. Many are willing to pay lavish amounts — and yet she never charges money for her services.

She always says "we'll catch up", as if a certainty of the future will bring you together again when one or another will need each other again.

Our next adventure is coming soon, as well as artwork of my own and not AI. After all, I'm an artist, and that's how this whole idea started!