[size=150]Fog in the Enchanted Forest (A Picture Story)[/size]
by Claudia Lingstädt-Kukulka
The fog was hanging thick between the trees as I made my way through the forest. It was as though some deity had spilled a magical brew from heaven above, flooding the land with its white steam. The air, although cold, set my cheeks aglow; my breath spiraled away from me, then mingled with the mist. I tramped through the snow, and heard the ice crunching beneath my feet.
A rustle came from a nearby bush.
“Who, on earth, is making all this noise?” a scratchy voice asked. “Who, for heaven’s sake, dares to disturb the peace of the wood?”
Stunned, I stopped dead in my tracks to look at the bush, and found a tiny man sitting in its midst, blinking at me warily. He appeared to be no taller than a child of three, yet he had a wrinkled face and wore a beard as red as the leaves on the trees. “Who are you?” I wanted to know, certain that he was no human being.
“Why, I’m Schmoffkin the Gnome!” he said, seemingly surprised that I did not know. He rose and moved his stubby legs over the branches. “And who might you be?”
“I’m Claudia, the . . . the Human,” I answered.
“A human!” Schmoffkin the Gnome sneered when he was done climbing out of the bush. “Small wonder, then! All humans ever do is make a lot of noise. They’re mighty good at that, I say!”
“I say!” I echoed—because I didn’t know what else to tell him.
Schmoffkin threw his head back and slapped my knee. “See all that smoke?” he said, holding my astonished gaze.
“Smoke?” I asked stupidly.
The gnome frowned at me. “Well, look about you! There is smoke as far as the eye can see! Search the treetops and you’ll find smoke. Rummage through the undergrowth and you’ll discover smoke. There’s smoke to your left. There’s smoke to your right. Smoke! Smoke! Everywhere is smoke!” His wrinkly face turned as red as his beard, as red as the leaves on the trees. “When I stretch out my hand,” he continued, stretching out his hand, “it vanishes in the smoke. But it’s there, it’s there! I know it is!”
Of course it’s there, I thought. It’s attached to the end of your arm. But I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so I only said, “This is no smoke, Mr. Schmoffkin. It’s fog.”
“It’s smoke, I say!” the gnome insisted.
“No, really, it’s fog,” I objected.
Schmoffkin slammed his hands into my kneecaps.
Before I could call, ‘Oh heck!’ my legs caved in, and I fell flat on my back.
“See the treetops?” the gnome asked. “They are shrouded in smoke!” He grabbed my feet and threw me up into the air. When I hit the ground, I landed on my belly. “See the undergrowth?” he asked. “It’s full of smoke!”
Not wanting to be hurled into the air again, I deemed it best to just give in. “All right, it’s smoke. It’s smoke!” I yelled.
“Darn right, it’s smoke,” the gnome said. “Mr. Pine is smoking his pipe, he is.”
“I see,” I grunted, climbing to my feet. Then I brushed the snow from my coat. “He must be smoking quite a big pipe.”
“Mr. Pine is quite a big tree,” Schmoffkin replied.
“I see,” I said, thinking it strange that a tree would smoke a pipe.
“I told him not to do it, yet he keeps doing it,” Schmoffkin complained. But all of a sudden he smiled from ear to ear. Tugging at my sleeve, he asked, “Would you have a word with him? You’re much taller than I am. Perhaps he’ll pay heed to you.”
Somehow I felt sorry for the gnome. “All right, I’ll help you. Where does he live?”
“Down the path. Not too far from here,” Schmoffkin said, delighted.
And so we started on our way to speak with Mr. Pine the pine tree.
The gnome was right: Mr. Pine did indeed live only a half an hour away from Schmoffkin’s bush. When the pine tree saw us coming, he lifted his lower branch to greet us.
“Top of the morning to you!”
“And the rest of the day to yourself, Mr. Pine,” I said. “I do not wish to take much of your time, Sir.”
“Not to worry,” said Mr. Pine. “I like having company.”
Schmoffkin tugged at my sleeve again, shifting from one foot to another. “Tell him,” he whispered. “Tell him. Tell him. Tell him!”
“Yes, yes,” I tried to calm him, then turned my attention back to the pine. “Mr. Schmoffkin the Gnome over here . . . can you see him? He’s a bit small—”
“I’m not so small that a pine tree can’t see me!” The gnome roared and kicked me on the shin.
“Ouch,” I cried, rubbing the spot where Schmoffkin had hurt me. “Fine! Now let me continue—Mr. Pine, Schmoffkin the Gnome asked me to tell you that smoking in the forest is hazardous and he would very much appreciate it if you would put out your pipe.”
The pine tree creaked as he shook with laughter. “My pipe? Oh, but I quit smoking last summer when I nearly set myself on fire. Haven’t touched my pipe ever since.”
“I see,” I said.
“Then where does all this smoke come from?” Schmoffkin demanded. “If not out of your pipe?”
“Would that I know,” Mr. Pine said. “It doesn’t smell like smoke to me. I daresay it’s steam. Perhaps the green leafy lady is taking a bath?”
“The green leafy lady?” I asked, incredulous, thinking, How many more of these strange creatures are living in these woods?
“Yes, Madam. You can find her beyond the fields,” Mr. Pine answered.
“Perhaps she’s smoking a pipe!” Schmoffkin said.
“It’s only fog,” I told him.
“It’s steam,” said Mr. Pine.
“It’s smoke,” Schmoffkin persisted.
“Cross the fields and you’ll find out,” suggested Mr. Pine.
“That’s what we’ll do,” said Schmoffkin.
I sighed, growing weary of it all. “Good-bye, Mr. Pine.”
“Good-bye,” said the tree. “And good luck to you!”
And so we started on our way to speak with the green leafy lady beyond the fields.
At the forest’s edge, Schmoffkin and I stood in awe before a great white wall that was the foggy fields. It might as well have been an ocean, or a nebula, or the entrance to another world.
“I’ve never been beyond the fields,” the gnome whispered, grabbing my hand. “I’m afraid. I am.”
“Don’t be,” I soothed him. “You’ve nothing to fear. See the tracks over there? They are the footprints of a deer. Let’s follow them and we shall arrive safely on the other side.”
“I hope so,” Schmoffkin said.
Reassuringly, I tightened my grip around the gnome’s hand, and together we trudged across the fields.
Before long, we reached the other side. The snow had wetted our pants up to our knees. Thank goodness the gnome didn’t weigh as much as I or he would have sunk in up to his pointed cap (that’s how small he was)! We found another path and walked into the woods.
The green leafy lady stood on the left side of the path, twenty minutes from the forest’s edge. She was truly green and leafy, and tall and very beautiful. She wore an unusual hair ornament, and her skirt was fluttering in the breeze. When she saw us drawing near, she smiled right prettily and said, “I bid you welcome, wanderers. How are you?”
“Fine,” I said. “Just fine. Thanks for asking.”
Schmoffkin bowed all gentlemanly, which surprised me, for I had never expected him to do such a thing. “My dear green leafy lady,” he said, “we have come to ask you if, perhaps, you could tell us why there is so much smoke in the woods.”
“Smoke?” the green leafy lady replied.
“Fog,” I corrected. “I think it’s fog.”
“Steam is what Mr. Pine calls it,” said Schmoffkin. “He suggested that you may be taking a bath.”
“A bath?” The green leafy lady giggled. “Where would I take a bath? There’s no pond anywhere near my dwelling. Besides, it’s much too cold to bathe. I’ll wait for the next snow or rain shower to wash myself.”
The gnome scratched at his beard. “Might you be smoking a pipe then?” he asked.
The green leafy lady laughed out loud. “Smoking? Oh, no! And a pipe at that? No, no, no! I’ve never smoked in my life! My health and my looks are much too important to me.”
I nodded agreement while Schmoffkin seemed at a loss.
“The human lady is quite right, Mr. Gnome,” the green leafy lady said. “It is indeed fog.”
I told you so, I wanted to tell Schmoffkin, but I hated it when others mocked me with that same expression, so I held my tongue.
Schmoffkin raised his face and sniffed the air. “It’s fog,” he finally admitted. “If it’s neither smoke nor steam, it has to be fog.”
“It’s fog,” I confirmed. “Well, Schmoffkin, I’ll bring you home. Would you like that?”
The gnome nodded poutily.
“Have a good day, Mrs. Green Leafy Lady!” I called.
“And a good day to you! Visit me again whenever you like!” the green leafy lady said and waved.
And so we started on our way back to Schmoffkin’s bush.
“You know,” Schmoffkin said as we passed a field of withered thistles, “I’m embarrassed. I was so sure it was smoke. I truly was.”
“I know,” I said. “It’s all right. Don’t worry about it. Things like that happen.”
“Still, I feel bad.” Schmoffkin sighed. “You had to march through the woods and across the fields because of me and my silly mulishness.”
“I didn’t mind. I was going to do that anyway. Besides, it was fun!”
“Fun?” Schmoffkin gaped at me. “Why, I’m glad then.”
His words made me smile. “I’ve met forest creatures I never knew existed,” I explained. “And the weather is just beautiful, isn’t it? The fog makes the forest look so ghostly, so surreal . . .”
“Hmmm,” Schmoffkin admitted. “I suppose so. But where is all that fog coming from?”
I shrugged. “Well, lately the snow has been thawing, and I believe all the moisture rose and condensed in the air.”
“Oh,” Schmoffkin said. “That makes sense.”
After that, we walked through the forest in silence. Then, suddenly, Schmoffkin cried out, “We’ve made it, Claudia. There is my house!”
“House?” I said, surprised. “I thought you are living in a bush!”
This time it was Schmoffkin who laughed. “I’m not living in a bush! I only take a nap in there every now and then, that’s all. Come with me, Claudia, let me introduce you to my wife.”
Another gnome hopped down the steps. He did not look too different from Schmoffkin. He, too, had a long, red beard and a wrinkly face. And that must be his brother or son, I thought.
“This is my wife, my love, my better half,” Schmoffkin said proudly. “We’ve been married for a very long time.”
“Oh!” I called out, shocked that ‘he’ was in fact a ‘she’. “Oh, it’s such a pleasure to meet you!”
“The pleasure is all mine,” Schmoffkin’s wife said, then she turned to her husband. “Where have you been? I was worried about you!”
“I was napping in my bush when the human lady came along,” he told her. “Then we went to see Mr. Pine and the green leafy lady across the fields.”
“You crossed the fields?” Mrs. Gnome asked, saucer-eyed. “But why?”
Abashed, Schmoffkin stared at the tip of his boots. “Because I wanted to find the culprit who was causing all this . . . well, what I thought was smoke.”
“That’s not smoke,” his wife said. “That’s fog.”
Schmoffkin blushed. “I know that now.”
The gnome lady gazed up at me. “Why, you must be hungry,” she said. “Would you like some milk and cookies?”
“That is very kind of you,” I said and smiled, “but I must go home. The days are short at this time of year, and I do not want to walk through the forest when it’s dark.”
And so I took my leave from Schmoffkin and his wife, and started on my way home, knowing deep in my heart that the sun would shine again the very next day.
Hello all,
last Saturday I took a walk through the woods. It was foggy that day, just the way I like it. I took a few pictures and thought I’d share them with you, along with a little story to accompany the photos.
Growing up as a child in Germany, I listened to and read many fairy-tales. There are a lot of forests around here, which is why most of our mythical creatures are gnomes, treemen, forest ghosts, fays, etc.
I hope you enjoyed reading the story and looking at the photos. Comments are always welcome.
Claudia
