When Mother met Father, it was in the store. He had brought in mushrooms and herbs from deep within the woods. 

They always told me that it was love at first glance, for Mother was slightly embarrassed to look directly at Father. Father, while very handsome with sharp cheekbones and a tussle of reddish-brown hair that many woodland elves are known for, was rather ragged when he first entered the shop having spent many nights traveling and camping within the forest while hunting for herbs. He would claim that the redness in his cheeks was sunburn, but later would confess it was blush from seeing Mother that first time. My grandmother noticed the shyness and fleeting glances between the two of them and immediately set to meddle between the two.

Mother worked in her father’s store. Grandfather was a merchant who dealt mostly in teas, coffees, herbs and linens. Grandmother did sewing and alterations in the store as well. Grandmother quickly invited the young man to stay for evening meal and sent him upstairs to clean up and rest under the guise of wanting to discuss the possibility of the young man becoming the official provider of mushrooms and herbs for the store and fixing any tears his equipment had endured during his travels. 

Grandfather was not pleased to be informed by his wife that their only child had become enamored with the traveling elf, now introduced to the family as Algernon Bisporus.

Grandfather thought a wandering elf who collected in the woods for a living was beneath his only child. The idea that his wife would encourage the courtship also irked him, but he knew better to argue with his wife, for her judgment tended to be sound of mind, with only a few examples of her being wrongful of her belief in someone. 

After many years of getting to know Algernon, and learning that he had a proper trade of being an apothecary, he accepted that this was a man with a good soul. 

Along with Grandfather, most of the town also came to accept the marriage of Miranda Willowsbee and Algernon Bisporus. It was a smaller town, with not many outsiders settling down so this was a major adjustment for everyone.


One adjustment everyone in the family had to make was the woodland elf courting practices. Many steps were involved and typically spread out over 50 years due to the longevity of elven life spans. Father had to work out a new timeline for his human betrothed. 

The woodland elves have a tradition of proving to the people they court that they are as dependable as the forests they make their homes in and gain their souls from. This is done by providing three gifts to the person they love and their family. 

Father’s first gift to Mother was a ring made in his hometown.Traditionally the last gift, he had learned this was one of the only gifts potential spouses give in human courtship. He hoped Miranda would understand why he had not given it to her sooner. 

It was a beautiful, delicate silver band with an amber encased flower as the stone. The flower was preserved at the height of its bloom. 

“A flower, always blooming, just as my love for you shall always be.”

Mother would later tell us she cried and babbled about the beautiful ring, pouncing on any chance to show it off. 

“I wanted the townspeople to know he was being serious about this. Elves have such a laid back demeanor, and why shouldn’t they, they live for almost forever. But here comes Algernon, adapting to our customs, making a new timeline for his life.”, Mother would reminisce, always fondly gazing at the ring as she talked. 

  The second gift was a small house with plenty of land to farm, close to town, no more than half a day's journey. Mother had loved her town life but had such a fondness for bird song and the sound of babbling rivers. Father, who had grown up in the forest cities of the woodland elves, had a love of nature and needed to stay close to the woods for his apothecary business. 

Mother was thrilled. Though the house was on the smaller side, it was warm and loving. The entire property was surrounded by oaks, the strongest of trees. They offered protection not only from harsh winds, snow and storms, but spirituality guided and protected us as well. 

The third gift was a plum seed for Grandmother and Grandfather’s home. Yet another wondrous find on Father’s account, he presented it to them on a sharp winter’s day. The plum seed was planted, and quickly grew into a full flowering tree. 

“There won’t be fruit on the tree for about a week, give or take a day. But once it does, it will stay in bloom until it’s uprooted. But rest assured,” he said in a panicked tone, “if you plant it again, the same thing will happen. Just add water and wait.”

He rubbed the back of his neck in his nervous state, Mother wrapping an arm around his. 

“This is a wonderful gift, love, thank you,” she said, grabbing his anxious hand and placing a light kiss on it.

“Oh no Algernon, it looks like your sunburn is back, and getting worse,” Grandfather chuckled as a deep blush darkened Father’s face. 


The next spring, they were wed. Blossoms from the plum tree filled Mother’s bouquet and were placed around Father’s head. Grandmother made a plum filled wedding cake and everyone danced until the sun rose the next day. 

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Although the area around our property was dense forest, Father cleared a small part for our family’s grove. The wood he cleared was used to expand the house, and also build a small herb drying hut and storage for his healing materials. A tree was planted for the marriage, symbolizing their growing love for each other and the roots they would now put down as a married couple. 

When each of my siblings and I were born, Father planted another sapling in that grove. The Bonding Ceremony, which happens a week after the birth, is where the tree’s spirit and the child’s soul are introduced by sprinkling dried leaves from the tree on the child’s forehead and a small lock of the child’s hair planted within the roots. The sapling is planted near our parent’s tree, but with plenty of room to grow into a mighty oak. Once the tree is bigger, typically after a year, a small branch is cut and turned into a bracelet for the child.

Mine was the second child’s sapling planted. When I was born, the seasons had just changed, with crisp autumn breezes rattling the changing leaves stuck in the trees. The moon was full as I entered the world, which Father said was a sign of good luck and much fortune in woodland elf culture. Grandmother, who never left my mother’s side during the birth, hid her worry. A full moon on the seasonal shift was one of the most grave of omens to be born under. She was worried my life would be full of pain that came swiftly and heavy handed.

Both were more correct than either could have ever known.


“And that’s how our roots connect to the rest of the world. They come from Mother and Father, stretching all the way back to as far and deep as Grandmother and Grandfather and even past them,” I explain to my younger siblings Chrysanthemum and Anethum.

“It’s important to know how we connect with our family, the forest spirits, and the world around us.”

I lead us back under the shade of one of our oaks, gently placing Anethum back in his basket. Chrysanthemum and I picked the flower crowns we had started earlier in the day back up, gently tugging the wild flowers into the weave. I took a deep breath, the smell of dirt and fallen leaves filling my lungs, looking up at the branches of the oaks that guarded us. The sun was just breaking through the clouds, it would be a warm, gentle summer’s day. 

“Dahlia, can we go fishing in the pond later? Please?”, Chrysanthemum pleaded.

And that's when the ball of mud hit the back of my head. 


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Each of us grabbed a side of Anethum’s basket, trying to not tip him out as we dashed towards the house. More mud balls and rocks flew past us, most missing but I heard the occasional splat of a landed hit. We ran, ditching the flower crowns in the roots of the tree.

As we ran inside, Chrysanthemum slammed the door behind us. We took deep breaths, peeking out the window to make sure we weren’t followed.


 "Who let these muddy little gremlins into my house?”, Mother said as she scooped me into a hug. She smelled like herbs and fresh lemons. 

My freckles were numerous and looked like I had been splatter with mud and never washed it off. Each freckle is supposed to be a tally of how much happiness you’ll have in life. I could not wait to pick what freckle went with what happy moment as I grew. 

I felt the tears sting my eyes, as I tried to remain calm. I knew that this moment would not be getting a freckle. All of us had an entire star map’s worth of unique constellations of freckles. It was his children who threw the mud at us, typically followed by shrugs and taunts of “filling in the empty spots”.

“What’s the matter sweetie?,” Mother said, lowering me, and picking mud and sticks out of my hair. 

“It’s nothing.”

“Dahlia, what happened? Did you fall or get hurt?”

“Someone threw a ball of mud-,”

“They did WHAT?”

Mother was storming into the yard, Anethum had started to whimper. 

“It’s alright Dillie, Mother will handle it,” Chrysanthemum spoke softly to him, rocking his basket.

I chased after Mother, yelling at her to wait. I knew whoever threw the mud would be long gone by now. The road we lived off was busy with wagon traffic to town, it would be easy to run and hide in the back of one on the way to and from here. 

Walking down the path, I could see Father and Calyx. They had large bundles of firewood strapped to their backs, and smiles stretched across their faces.

Although he was only twelve, Calyx was almost as tall as Father but the spitting image of Mother. He and Chrysanthemum had inherited Mothers round face, black hair and hazel eyes. Anethum and I took after Father, with our reddish-brown hair and dark brown eyes, like freshly tilled soil. 

As they made their way down the path, waving to Mother, they stopped as she stomped up to them. I couldn’t make her words out, but I knew by how she flailed her arms she was filling them in on the mud incident. As she did, I saw Father’s features drupe in sadness. But Calyx’s grew sharper in anger, the same as Mother’s. Including her face shape and hair, he also got her short fuse. His hands tighten around the straps of his firewood pack, and I knew he was trying to hide his growing furry from our parents. 

Father placed a calming hand on both their shoulders, speaking softly in his even tone. He steered them back towards the house, slightly shoving Calyx, who’s heels had started to dig into the road. 

“Well hello there my little flower!” Father called out as they met me on the path.

“Hello there Father! Hello Calyx!”

Calyx looked at me, his hazel eyes showing his fury and sadness. I knew he would feel horrible for not being there to protect us. He pulled me into a hug, he smelled like sawdust from chopping wood, and I felt the rage coursing through his body. 

“I’m sorry”, he whispered, tightening his grip around me. 

“It's not your fault,” I whispered back, my grip as tight as his. 

Although most accepted our family, there were a few in town who didn’t agree with our parent’s marriage, namely, the Smiths. The Smiths were the town’s blacksmiths and were people as hard as the metals they worked. The middle son, Charles, claimed to be in love with Mother, and promised to steal her away, saying he’s never lost out on a prize he’s wanted before, this will not be the first defeat.

When my siblings and I came along, his harassment towards Mother became less direct, with his rumors spreading through town like wild mint, uncontrollable. 

Calyx and I both knew it was his children who threw the mud. They’ve grown up on their father’s lies, and while I can’t directly blame them for their uneducated hatred, I wish they would take it upon themselves to learn about our family instead of blindly believing.

We walked back to the house hand in hand in silence. 

After putting the firewood away, we all sat down to a lunch of wild greens stew and homemade bread. The lemon tea Mother brewed earlier filled the air with a sweet, citrus perfume that helped dispel the fear from earlier. 

“So, what do you children have planned for the day?”, Father asked over our lunch.

“I wanted to go fishing but-,” Chrysanthemum said, trailing off. 

“I think we should still go, it’ll be nice,” I said. 

She stirred her soup, a look of pain coming across her face.

“Yeah, Chrissy, we can all go together and see who can catch the most!” Calyx chimed in. 

“I don't want to get muddy again,” she said, tears rolling down her face as she started to sniffle.  

We were all quiet for a moment and then Calyx slammed his spoon down, and stood up. 

“I’m going to town, we can’t let them get away with this!” 

“Wait, Calyx, don’t go looking for more trouble,” Father said, reaching a halting hand out. 

“Looking? Is it looking for trouble when my own siblings can’t play outside on our own land without fear of attack? Is it looking for trouble because I exist? Just because someone is stupid enough to think-”

“It will be considered looking if you march into town in a fit of anger, no matter how reasonable it is, go to their house and what? Start a fight? An argument?,” Father stood and placed both his hands on Calyx’s shoulders,” I don’t want you to fall into their trap of anger and feed into their lies. For all we know, they have something worse planned waiting for one of you to take revenge. I do not approve of their actions, but I do not approve of your lack of planning based on your anger. I’m sorry, I’m sorry to all of you, that ignorant people hurt you. I hope every day that they wake up and decide to think for themselves, but until then, we must think of ourselves and our own safety.”

Father and Calyx looked into each other’s eyes, Calyx had a look of raw anger that set his hazel eyes ablaze, while Father’s dark brown ones drowned with tears. Father pulled Calyx into a hug, kissed the top of his head and whispered more things into his hair. After a few moments, Calyx broke away and stormed outside.

Mother grabbed Father’s hand, guiding him back to the table. The rest of us ate our soup in silence, the perfume of the tea now hung heavy in the air, too fragrant for the events of our lunchtime conversation. 

After we cleaned up, Chrysanthemum asked me to read to her. Even though she was four and knew how to read most of our wild plant books, I knew she just wanted me to rock her in our giant, creaky rocking chair Grandfather built for Mother. We curled up, her little head tucked on my shoulder, the occasional sniffle escaping her. 

Calyx returned after disappearing for half an hour, mud splattered his shoes and pants, a grimy bucket of worms in his hand. 

“What are you two doing? We’re supposed to be fishing right about now!”

Chrysanthemum scampered off my lap, racing towards our big brother. She slammed into him, almost knocking him off balance. She rubbed her face into his muddy knees, saying “thank you” over and over again.

He looked across the room at me, a smile spread across his face. 

“Come on Dahlia, last one to grab a fishing pole gets the shortest worms!”