Ghost Horses Gallop for the Earth!

THE HOLLY KING, a Family Holiday Tale #12

2011-12-04T10:13:00.001-07:00

Our holiday sample from THE HOLLY KING continues with the conclusion of

Chapter V: The Cloak of Wheels.

The scene unfolds in the MacKennon homestead of Ghost Horse Hollow...

Magical cloaks are found throughout fairytales and fantasies.
The Cloak of Wheels in our selection is very special indeed!

Panther vaguely remembered Hannah taking charge from that point on. The girl watched, as if in slow motion, as Purry Paw was sent to awaken Sir Finnias Glowgold, where he lay sleeping in a knitting basket beside Addie’s downy pillow. The Household Light Fairy had forgotten the urgent meeting on the stairs. He had fallen asleep after a busy day of lighting fires, tending candles, and cleaning lanterns. Panther felt her mother grab her by the hand and rush up the two flights of stairs to the attic, where a dusty cedar chest awaited them.

Glowgold finally appeared, a bit grumpy and nervous, for the irritating Siamese cat delighted in chasing fairies. Purry Paw loved to bat at their delicate wings. Glowgold’s escort pounced on top of the cedar chest and intentionally draped his wide, gray tail over the keyhole.

“Move aside! Move aside, you four-pawed fluffy-snoozer!” Glowgold fussed at the feline. Hannah removed the infuriating tail and instructed Glowgold to work as quickly as possible. The Household Light Fairy produced a mysterious wand of finely wrought jade from a hidden pocket inside his waistcoat.

“This should do!” he announced merrily. “I have not employed this wand in nearly a thousand years. Stand back! Oh, do get off, Purry Paw, or my spell will burn your tummy—not that anyone cares.”

The Cloak of Wheels is covered with tiny stars in the shape of wheels!
The eight spokes correspond to the seasonal changes of the year.

Glowgold reverently blew upon the jade wand, which began to shimmer with silver and purple sparks. With great precision, he pointed the wand toward the rusty keyhole on the cedar chest. Purry Paw leapt onto Hannah’s shoulder in protest. The trunk began to sputter with a thin, violet light that spread rapidly in all directions.

Glowing sparks dazzled the onlookers, as the lid popped open, revealing an inner lining of plush, burgundy velvet and faceted gemstones. Inside the chest, a cloak of equal magnificence lay neatly folded. Its midnight blue folds were pulsing and rippling like waves in a velvet puddle. Hannah reached for the fine garment with great tenderness. It had been a farewell gift to her from the aging fairy queen when Lady Titrimia had returned to the Realm of Dreams and Whispers.

News of the queen’s sudden disappearance had reached Hannah by way of a silver hummingbird. The messenger had sadly reported that Titrimia had left the eldest of her nine Green Maidens in charge. The temporary regent was Luka-shen, which translated roughly into “Frog Girl.” Although Hannah had been very fond of the old queen, she did not share the same closeness with Luka-shen. Titrimia had not made Lady MacKennon’s apprenticeship an easy one. Hannah always suspected that Frog Girl’s jealousy was the reason for her hardships and nearly impossible tests. Naturally, Luka-shen’s slick-throated pets bore no love for Hannah’s pampered cats.

Does the cloak make the wizard? Here is a famous magical cloak on
Gandalf the White from The Lord of the Rings.

“Here. Try it on, my love,” Hannah said reverently. Purry Paw, realizing that he was no longer the center of attention, pounced onto the padded seat in the attic’s gable window. The cat proceeded to gaze at the moon, yawn, and lick his paws. Panther reached tentatively for the protective raiment and swept its warm folds across her back. The attached velvet hood was lined with pale green satin that matched the color of Glowgold’s jade wand.

“Shall I awaken the cloak, my lady?” asked the Household Light Fairy, flickering around Panther’s head.

“By all means, Sir Finnias,” Hannah replied hurriedly. Panther’s mother glanced beyond Purry Paw’s broad silhouette in the attic window. She was upset to see her husband leaving the barn with a blue-eyed mare in tow. Three other fresh horses had already been saddled, bridled, and tied to the homestead’s hitching post, which stretched between two tall fir trees. Elestial’s Opal Moon pranced at the end of Jake’s lead rope. The mare sensed the silent tension in Aaron Ray and Jonas White Hand, who were waiting expectantly beside their own mounts. Panther’s cream-colored horse neighed nervously and tossed her head up and down. Hannah knew that time was running out.

“Hold your breath, O human child,” Glowgold commanded. He speedily encircled his prize student three times while touching the tip of his wand to her cloak. With each delicate contact, specks of light appeared on the plush fabric. The luminous dots began to twinkle and spin, like whirling stars. With closer inspection, Panther realized that the stars were actually tiny wheels, their eight spokes spiraling outward from a central hub. These spokes of light gave the cloak an unearthly appearance. The girl seemed to be wearing the night sky itself, only in miniature. As Panther exhaled deeply, Hannah pulled the hood down over her daughter’s brow. Glowgold gave the cloak a final tap, and a stunning constellation appeared over Panther’s enshrouded face.

Lady Yvenova was the first Starlight Fairy Queen to walk the Earth.
She traveled with a herd of milk-white goats.

“You are wearing the stars of the northern sky as seen from our woodlands during the late fall. The fairies refer to this garment as the Cloak of Wheels, for each star in the fabric represents the eight seasonal transitions in our farming calendar. Two spokes in the little wheels stand for the longest and shortest days of the year. Those days, as you well know, are the summer and winter solstices. Two more spokes represent the spring and autumnal equinoxes, when the hours of night and day, light and dark, are in complete balance. The other four spokes mark the sacred holidays that we celebrate in between the solstices and the equinoxes. These celebrations are the Blessing of the Seeds, the Festival of Many Blossoms, the Bread of the Sun, and the Harvest of the Dark,” Hannah informed Panther. “The outermost circle, which binds the eight spokes together, represents the time it takes for the Earth to completely orbit around the Sun. Each wheel on this precious cloak is thus a symbol for the four seasons: spring, summer, autumn, and winter. The fairies call this type of magical calendar the Wheel of the Year.”

“I understand!” the girl said, smiling with enthusiasm. Every fairy education began with the study of nature, time, and their corresponding ceremonies. Regular rituals kept the fairies in tune with the movements of the stars and the moon. Hannah squeezed her daughter’s hand. She was proud of Panther’s quick ability to learn complex ideas.

“As the Earth rotates, the cloak’s fabric changes in appearance to match the stars we see overhead.” Lady MacKennon’s fingers worked rapidly to tie an ornate closure beneath her daughter’s chin. The hood’s wide, green satin ties flowed in and out of Hannah’s confident hands, while her lips moved in a soft prayer. Panther thought she recognized a cadence used by the great fairy poets of ancient times. The girl’s eyes opened wide with surprise. Hannah was speaking in the Heraldry of Kings! How had her mother mastered this difficult language, when her apprenticeship had been cut short? Hannah must have been an extremely gifted student.

“This special knot will serve to ward off any fairy trickery,” Hannah said hurriedly, “so long as you don’t remove the Cloak of Wheels of your own accord. It is of inestimable value, and many treacherous thieves would risk much to have it for themselves. If you undo the ties yourself, or are somehow injured beneath the folds of the cloak, the garment’s stars will fly away and return to their place in the night sky. Should this happen, the fabric’s magic will no longer protect you. Panther, this cloth was cut from the first fairy queen’s royal robe.” Lady MacKennon paused, waiting for her daughter’s reaction.

“The Great Lady Yvenova of the Milk White Goats!” Panther exclaimed. As a young student of Fairy Lore, Genevieve MacKennon had memorized the legend of Queen Yvenova. The first Starlight Fairy had walked the Earth at the dawn of time with a herd of silky companions whose milk, it was said, had fed all the creatures of the world and brought them to life. Panther, up until this very moment, had believed the legend to be a myth, a graceful story told to explain the origins of the Universe. Could the legend actually be based on truth?

“It was Queen Yvenova who spun this thread and wove this cloth,” Hannah continued while cradling a fold of the Cloak of Wheels. “The fabric became our heavenly night when the Great Goat Lady threw it over her shoulders, ages and ages ago.” Lady MacKennon pressed the sparkling hood to her lips. “Should anyone beg you to remove this sacred garment, remember my kiss and heed my warning! If serious peril befalls you—for the ties can be severed with a black troll blade—call my fairy name out loud. Someone from the Starlight Fairy Realm will hear your cry and come to your aid. Please remember that even I have no power to summon assistance from King Thrace-rak’s Moonlight Fairies. Your grandmother was of the Starlight Realm, and it is to Lord Achelon’s kingdom that we must turn in perilous times.”

“Momma,” Panther asked in surprise, “what is your fairy name?” Lady MacKennon’s daughter had never been privileged to this information before, since all the fairy descendants cautiously guarded their true identities. Secret names carried such enormous power that they were seldom used and rarely revealed to others.

Fairies share their Magical Secret Names very rarely.
A true fairy name could be sold for magical power along the trade routes
throughout Ghost Horse Hollow and the surrounding woodlands.

“Farendel Elissia,” Hannah replied with a breath of caution. Lady MacKennon looked around the attic suspiciously as Panther carefully repeated the name in her own mind. Not every spider or mouse could be trusted. True fairy names were often sold or exchanged for worldly goods. Magical secrets, incantations, daggers, wands, crystals, cloaks, and enchanted gemstones all had their price on the trade routes that crisscrossed throughout the Fairylands.

Both mother and daughter could hear restless noises below. The men had unhitched their horses and had led them close to the front porch. Hannah enfolded Panther in a tender embrace.

“Remember, touch neither food nor drink upon Tormac’s table. Stay close to your father. When you return, I will undo this magic knot myself, for I have set the original tying spell. Glowgold will then lock the queen’s gift back in this cedar chest, and you will be able to wear it once more, when need arises. Now, go! Titrimia’s Eyes be upon you!”

Panther tore away from her mother’s arms and sped down the stairs, the Cloak of Wheels swirling behind her. Sir Finnias flew to the attic window and unlatched a brass hook, which normally held the glass panes tightly shut. The autumn wind rushed in, scattering dry leaves and eerie moonbeams across the hardwood floor. Purry Paw meowed in protest. With a flick of his tail, the cat merged into the shadows of the attic.

Lady Hannah soundlessly floated to the window, her jeweled slippers barely touching the floor and her long gown wafting behind her. Panther’s mother never unveiled her fairy powers in the human world, for they made it difficult for her to interact with others. Tonight was an exception. Hannah’s gossamer wings nervously unfurled, like a pair of dainty rose petals.

After all, Lady MacKennon was the granddaughter of the Wild Rose Prince, who had married a Waterfall Mermaid princess. The mismatched pair’s only daughter, Sherona of the Crystal Cascades, had rebelliously chosen to marry Isaiah Hensley, a common potato farmer. Isaiah and Sherona also had but one child together, Hannah Rose. Shortly after the little girl’s fifth birthday, Sherona had vanished into the woods, leaving her husband to raise their magical offspring. No wonder the Hensleys disapproved of Hannah’s apprenticeship with the fairies! What a troublesome marriage that had been, Lady MacKennon thought with an inward sigh.

“Shall I attend young Genevieve, my lady?” Glowgold broke through Hannah’s musings.

“Yes. Light the trail for them all! But take care, my dear and oldest friend. Hide when you reach the Dead Oak Tree!” Hannah warned. “You know how Tormac despises the Household Light Fairies. His dungeons in the Sunken Elm Grove are full of your relatives.”

The small sprite bowed so low that his ruby circlet brushed the shimmering buckles on his boots. Glowgold spun out into the night as Hannah Rose MacKennon latched the attic window, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably with fear.

Panther MacKennon in the Cloak of Wheels by Steve Lillegard.
She is riding Elestial's Opal Moon, a cremello mare in our story!

Hope your enjoyed our samples this holiday from the book
THE HOLLY KING by Anne Severn Williamson!
Blessings to ALL this happy winter season.
The Ghost Horses continue to gallop for peace, prosperity,
literacy, and conservation for all nations.

We visualize and support freedom for children everywhere
and good tidings to all countries.

Please be sure to visit our website for more information,

homestead recipes, holiday shopping ideas,
and photos of the Ghost Horses!
Special Thanks to our equine photographers:
Larry Inman and David Abbott!

http://www.ghosthorsehollow.com/

THE HOLLY KING, a Family Holiday Tale #11

2011-12-03T08:33:00.001-07:00

THE HOLLY KING continues for the holidays with episode #11.

We are starting Chapter V: The Cloak of Wheels ...

To review... The Coyote King has summoned
Farmer Jake MacKennon to the Dead Oak Tree ...

Chapter V: The Cloak of Wheels

“I cannot allow you to take our fourteen-year-old daughter! Jake, you know it is far too dangerous. Tormac is bound to invite her to dine at his table. The Fairy Laws of Etiquette demand that she reply favorably. Who knows what that ruthless prince will serve?” Hannah’s voice was strained with apprehension.

Panther MacKennon, tucked behind the carved railing at the top of the stairs, could easily hear her parents arguing in the kitchen. She wondered what her father had in mind to protect her from the Autumn Fairy Prince. Purry Paw, Hannah’s pampered blue-point Siamese, wandered down the hall, weaving precise, little steps beneath his plump belly. The cat combed his whiskers against the girl’s extended fingertips and fixed his slightly cross-eyed stare upon her for a brief second. Purry Paw then turned his attention to the frenzied dialogue below.

“I’ll respond to the prince. Panther need say nothin‘ to him directly,” Jake reassured his wife. The chair hounds growled as the farmer explained his plans. “That way our girl won’t be in danger of breakin‘ any fairy codes. She’ll never directly refuse Tormac’s offer of hospitality. I’m takin‘ Aaron Ray, White Hand, the two hounds Bugle and Belle. The other six dogs I’ll leave with you for protection.” Jake felt that Snowy, Cave, Sage, Mountain, Moonwolf, and Guardian could handle any intruders. The homesteaders kept a pair of watch dogs for each side of their wraparound porch. If Bugle and Belle attended the adventurers, only the eastern doorway would be left unguarded. Hannah MacKennon’s fears, nonetheless, were increasing with each passing second.

“Aaron’s two hounds cannot take on the whole coyote pack! Besides, King Vixus has allowed his followers to mingle with larger and meaner wild dogs, even trained pit fighters. Old Spit was well aware of the dangers surrounding the Dead Oak Tree when he delivered his master’s orders. What if Tormac orders the pack to charge? Have you forgotten that the prince is one of the finest swordsmen in all the Fairylands? Jake, this is madness!”

The Dead Oak Tree north of Ghost Horse Hollow

Hannah’s chair ponies were neighing loudly in the background. Panther and the Siamese cat crept down a few more risers toward the rooster. Black Bottom paused for a long moment to admire himself in the full-length, gilded mirror alongside the stairwell.

“Isn’t this exciting?” he clucked.

“Shh! Here. Sit by us, and above all, don’t crow! Where have you been?” Panther whispered fiercely as the chicken squatted down on his long, yellow legs.

“My innocent and unknowing child, there are times when even a Captain of Crow must retreat. I thought it best to hide under the dinner table.”

“I thought I heard you sneaking into the cookie jar, like last time.” Panther smothered a laugh with her hand. She was remembering how Black Bottom had made himself sick by eating too many peanut butter bars while hiding in Lady Hannah’s porcelain jar.

“The container was full this evening,” the bird retorted. “Besides, the truffles were sticky.”

“Once and for all, Panther must go with me!” Jake MacKennon’s voice traveled up the stairs. His wooden hounds were barking fiercely. “She’s the only member of this family that can translate Ancient Fairy Scroll, which the prince is sure to use. If’n I miss Tormac’s instructions to the coyotes, we may not be able to defend this farm. I must know what he’s up to. Hannah Rose, I need your support on this one!”

There was a very long pause. Even the magic chairs were silent. Panther’s future was being tossed into the air, like a ball. Breathlessly, the girl waited to see where it would land. The young apprentice to the Starlight Fairy Queen could clearly detect the sound of her mother’s fingertips rapidly tapping on the rim of a crystal goblet.

Hannah MacKennon's Wood Cook Stove in the Farmstead Kitchen

“Promise me that you will not permit her to dine or to drink from Tormac’s serving stump. There may be Dwindle-Down Dust on everything. I won’t have our daughter returning home six inches tall, even if I do know how to make the antidote! Sprinkle-Up Spray is so difficult to concoct this time of year, for the Sun rides low at the noon hour.” Hannah spoke in a flat, steady voice. Panther sensed that her mother was pacing beside the dinner table and that the wide hem of Lady MacKennon’s patchwork dress was dragging on the pine floorboards.

“Hannah, you have my word. I’ll defend our little girl with my life!” Jake swore.

“That is precisely what I am afraid of!” came the muffled reply.

Husband and wife were now speaking so quietly that the listeners on the staircase had to strain to make out their words. Panther and her two companions slid soundlessly down the broad banister, hopped over the bottom step, and peered around the kitchen corner. Black Bottom poked his beak between the Siamese cat’s ears, and the girl leaned over the rooster’s comb.

There stood Hannah and Jake in each other’s arms. Lady MacKennon was weeping silent, raindrop tears. Her normally steady hands were trembling. She knew that her husband’s decision was the right one. Her own apprenticeship in the woods had not touched upon the old fairy tongue; otherwise, Hannah MacKennon would have readily volunteered to go in her daughter’s place.

“Panther,” Jake asked suddenly, “how long have you been listenin‘ there?”

“Long enough to know that Tormac is more dangerous than a rattlesnake with its tail caught in a bale of hay,” the girl responded candidly. “He’ll strike at everything he can.”

MacKennon grinned, in spite of the gravity of the situation. Panther had summed up her evening’s opponent perfectly.

A Ghost Horse in the Cherokee Mountains

“Jake, I have a cloak that was given to me by the Fairy Queen, Lady Titrimia.” Hannah’s voice brightened with hope. “It was made for protecting a human child. I have never used it. Panther can wear it tonight. She will at least be safe from any of Tormac’s treachery, so long as she does not remove the cloak willingly. It must be tied with a special knot.”

“Quickly then,” Jake agreed. “The moon has crossed the First Hill of Dendoran. We can’t be late for Tormac’s meetin‘ at the Dead Oak Tree. I’d best go saddle up the horses.”

From the background of the tin sink and the wood cook stove, Eli MacKennon stepped forward. The teenager’s hands were covered with dish soap, and he was carrying a drippy wash cloth. He called to Jake just as the farmer reached the front door.

“Uncle, what about me?” Panther’s cousin eagerly asked. “I’m the best trail rider on the farm, and I’ve been practicing with your sword every evenin‘ for a whole six months.”

“No, son,” Jake said forcefully. “That weapon takes quite a while to master. I’ll be takin’ it myself, in case Tormac gives us any trouble. Eli, I need you and Black Bottom to guard the home front. I’ll not leave the ladies alone. I want you to keep watch from the loft above the hay barn. That’s the highest lookout in these parts. The coyotes and wild dogs will come from the northwest should their king order an attack. Take your best bow and your throwin‘ stars. And, Eli,” the farmer said, hesitating to drive his point home, “don’t miss!”

“Yes, sir!” The nineteen-year-old spun around and tossed his washcloth into a tub of suds. It landed with a noisy plop, splashing Pelbert the Crow. The irate bird danced about on the rim of the wash basin and cawed repeatedly. Eli was so caught up in the moment that he almost jumped out the kitchen window feet-first. Gracie Farrow snatched at the young man’s elbow and guided him to the back door, past the well-stocked pantry full of Hannah’s fairy helpers. The Pickled-Egg Fairy looked up from tasting a jar of cherry preserves and wished Eli good luck. Several other sprites turned somersaults in midair and blew kisses at the handsome boy.

Miss Alma Barder intently hoped that the two teenagers would exchange a kiss, but Cousin Eli tore past Gracie and ran lickety-split to the bunkhouse to prepare for his assignment. White Hand alone was a better shot with a bow than Jake’s nephew, who exercised constantly with his extensive collection of handcrafted weapons.

It was fortunate for Eli that Aaron Ray was such a skilled metalworker. Aaron’s creative and accurate designs satisfied the agile youth’s appetite for knives, daggers, boomerangs, and swords. Steel was hard to come by in the Fairylands. Aaron produced oddly shaped, but well- balanced tools for self-defense. He used only scraps of discarded metal from an extensive junkyard north of Ghost Horse Hollow.

Nut and Bolt, the homestead’s squirrel mechanics, had discovered the machinery and automobile graveyard. Eli helped the squirrels transport broken bits of metal back to Aaron’s forge. It was a risky undertaking, since the salvage yard was owned and operated by two watchful giants. The squirrels whisked in and out without being noticed, but Eli was in considerable danger while sneaking around the Jiggly Giant JUNK. The nineteen-year-old also bravely served as the metalworker’s test partner. Eli had somehow survived each weapon’s test with a grin and a shrug, though he had nearly lost a few body parts during the experiments.

The woodlands are full of squirrels. Nut and Bolt are husband and wife.

“My post, General?” Black Bottom inquired with dignity.

“Rooster, I need you on the weathervane. Crow three times to alert the critters and the ladies of anything unusual ’bout the farm.” Jake reached to embrace Hannah one last time as Black Bottom strutted out the front door to his worthy station. MacKennon then knelt to consult with Panther.

“Which ride?” Jake asked his daughter after they had exchanged a knowing look.

“Elestial,” she murmured.

Jake nodded in agreement. Elestial’s Opal Moon was a sweet, even-tempered, intelligent mare. She would maintain her calm on this uncertain night and would not spook on the high, mountain trails, even with a coyote on her heels. Neither Jake nor Panther could predict the future. They were simply preparing, as best they could, for what lay ahead.

Hope you are enjoying our magical holiday ride
with the MacKennon homesteaders of Ghost Horse Hollow!
Next intallment will introduce readers to a very magical cloak!

THE HOLLY KING, a Family Holiday Tale #10

2011-12-02T08:36:00.000-07:00

Our journey this holdiay continues with the 10th episode of THE HOLLY KING. We are in the middle of Chapter IV: The Battle of the Ponies and the Hounds

White Hand has just received a very important letter ...

The second delivery intrigued the entire family, for Jonas had never received a letter before. White Hand hesitantly passed his envelope to Panther. The expert bowman was illiterate, for his schooling had been limited to the woodlands. Panther had agreed to teach White Hand to read in exchange for learning to speak his Native language. For now, he needed her help. Graciously, she opened the small packet and unfolded a yellow slip of paper, which had been hastily torn from a larger sheet and covered with green, plant juice ink. Panther was careful not to smudge the faint, child-like lettering. She cleared her throat, sat up straight, and read aloud:

This beautiful, young girl looks a lot like Salina Little Dove

Grandfather … I come to you. My mother says I belong with you. I wish to learn the Old Ways. I will wait for you in the Valley of the Drums, near the hidden cave of our Ancestors. I will come before the Moon When Deer Sheds His Antlers. Please do not be angry with me. I would walk all the way to you, but I do not know the way. By the time this letter reaches you, I will have begun my journey. My stepfather will not keep me. I am afraid of him. He says I see too much.

… Forever Yours …

Salina Little Dove

In the polite, but awkward, silence that followed, Panther noticed that the hounds on the back of her father’s chair had pricked up their ears and leaned forward. Other than this unintentional display of concern, MacKennon’s reaction to the letter was casual. The farmer scratched his chin. Jake’s wooden dogs always reflected his hidden emotions; as the carved ponies displayed Hannah’s passionate moods. The tops of Lady MacKennon’s chair pointed their sleek, pretty noses toward one another, their necks arched in graceful question marks.

Panther’s mother passed the blackberry jelly over to Addie and helped her youngest daughter with the sticky serving spoon. Everyone else continued eating quietly, except for Lyla Morning Sky, who mumbled something about castoff seeds returning to the sender. Panther squirmed in her seat with excitement.

“What hidden cave?” she asked aloud, scattering the collective tension like a dog shaking off the morning dew.

“It is a forgotten site that was once sacred to the People,” White Hand explained slowly. “From deep inside a limestone cavern, clear water gushes out of an underground spring. Medicine elders from many tribes are buried in the shelves of rock and in the open fields nearby. The grasslands are called the Valley of the Drums. The entranceway is hard to find, so buffalo still graze there, as they once did long ago. A group of young hunters, boys and girls of Panther’s age, known as the Wolf Society, have recently spotted a white buffalo calf in this Valley. The white buffalo is the most sacred creature for all the tribes. It is a sign that balance is returning to our world.”

The buffalo roam freely one hundred years
in the future in the Valley of the Drums!

Lyla Morning Sky cleared her throat and added to the mystery of her brother’s explanation, “Tell Panther more about the history of the spring, White Hand. She should know of its power.”

“The spring is deep beyond measure,” the warrior continued with his arms crossed in front of his chest, as if he were protecting his heart. “Long ago, when the stars were bright in the night sky, a brave swimmer named Yellow Otter dove into the spring to find its depth. He never returned. It is said his spirit guards the cave and that his Medicine Bundle is still lodged inside. It is also said that this Medicine Bundle contains great wisdom to heal the Earth,” Jonas finished with a worried glance at his elder sister.

Panther tingled with curiosity. Lyla and Jonas were concealing something. Perhaps Yellow Otter’s Medicine Bundle was too sacred to discuss. Besides, she only knew of two other magic springs. One was called Elven Falls, where a magnificent brook cascaded down a series of flat limestone formations. The Fairy Queen had been very cautious when talking about this watercourse and had refused to visit the wondrous place. Seldom would Titrimia and her fair Green Maidens play near such a source of unbridled enchantment. Panther was also familiar with the Well of Brigga in the northeastern corner of the Fairylands. This icy fountain was famous for its restorative waters, a fluid so pure and vital that it cured any illness, even old age and fairy freezing spells, though no one had ever been able to capture a drop of the precious liquid. Panther had never heard of a sacred spring inside a cave that housed buried shamans.

Elven Falls houses a secret cave where spring water gushes into a mountain stream.
The Starlight Fairy maidens will not play there.
Occasionally a Moonlight Fairy of great power,
such as the Moonlight Fairy Princess, will hide there.

“But the Moon When Deer Sheds His Antlers is so soon!” The girl looked pleadingly from one end of the table to the other. Both Hannah and Jake immediately sensed that their daughter wished to accompany White Hand to find Salina Little Dove. Panther had already guessed correctly that her parents would be quite willing to rescue a desperate child.

“Will wonders never cease?” Hannah responded to Panther’s unspoken request. “Looks like the girls are finally going to have a friend to play with. I know this Hollow gets mighty lonesome. I suppose Panther will want to ride in the wagon to fetch Salina.” Hannah passed the gravy to Eli with a gesture for him to save some for others. “Jonas, just how old is your granddaughter?”

“Little Dove is entering her twelfth year. She was born in the Moon of Falling Leaves.” White Hand stared at his dinner plate. He seemed troubled and unwilling to say more.

Morning Sky cleared her throat once more and began removing the dirty dishes from the table. Gracie quietlyjoined the Medicine Woman in clearing the main course away and replacing it with spicy peach pie, blackberry cobbler, and apple dumplings.

“Jonas bears no love for Salina’s stepfather,” Lyla began in a serious tone as she placed a slice of pie in front of her brother. “Valente does not honor the wild creatures that he hunts. He sells the teeth and hides, but he does not eat the meat or use the bones. He shows little respect for Salina’s mother, as well. Tita has never been treated as an equal. He is violent in his home, like an angry badger. This has troubled White Hand and me for many years.”

Morning Sky clicked her tongue to encourage Pelbert to hop onto Addie’s shoulder. The little girl smiled and held up a bite of flaky crust for the bird to peck. Hannah, for once, was allowing the crow to eat at the table. She was too busy making a wordless decision with her husband. Lady MacKennon looked expectantly at the far end of the table. Jake leaned back in his chair and winked at his wife.

A log cabin surrounded by a split rail fence in the Smokey Mountains.

“We must make a place for Salina in the old log cabin with Jonas and Lyla. She can move into the empty storeroom under the sleeping loft,” Hannah announced cheerfully. “I’ll bring in the old sleigh bed, a nice rockin‘ chair, and a wash basin. That storeroom has a lovely bay window. We would all be pleased to have her on the farm. Ain’t that right, Jake?”

“Salina Little Dove would be most welcome,” MacKennon offered aloud. Panther’s father glanced at his eldest daughter’s eager expression. “Yep, you can go with White Hand, if’n you promise to behave yourself, and if’n it’s all right with Hannah.”

Lady MacKennon gave Panther one of her special, twinkling grins. The whole family began talking at once, such was their joy in anticipating another voice in Ghost Horse Hollow. The homesteaders did not hear the screen door slam as Black Bottom the Rooster strutted in. The chicken made his way toward the talkative table and crowed, announcing his presence. Everyone observed that Black Bottom’s tail feathers had been immaculately preened, and that his leg spurs had been polished with beeswax. The rooster approached Jake MacKennon’s chair with the air of a proud soldier reporting for duty.

“Ready for battle, sir.” Black Bottom lifted one of his bright yellow legs in a stiff salute. The great effort tilted the rooster off balance. He fell sideways with an awkward squawk while batting his wings. Miss Gracie leaned over politely and helped Black Bottom to his toes. She tried not to laugh at his disgrace, but could not help giggling into her napkin. Cousin Eli nudged her with his elbow and made a flapping gesture, and the two teenagers burst into laughter. Hannah thought it good to see Gracie brighten, for the girl’s mood these past few months had been nothing but tragic. Alma Barder was on top of the situation in a heartbeat, forever playing the lively matchmaker.

Black Bottom the Rooster was named for his Beautiful Tail Feathers!

“Bless my buttons! You two puppies can help me with the dishes later on,” the retired schoolteacher said, widening her eyes with anticipation. “Black Bottom, tell us all about this battle. Are you goin‘ fighting down at the Wish Wash Cafe again? Are the raccoons having another contest with all-you-can-eat crawdads as the prize?” Alma’s question caught MacKennon off guard. He turned suddenly toward the chicken with a warning glance, but Black Bottom was too fluffed up with self-importance to notice.

“Madame, I am joining the team of warriors attending Master Jake, our brave and noteworthy farmer. We are to face grave and terrible danger this night at the Dead Oak Tree, where Tormac and the Coyote King await us,” the rooster replied gallantly. “Pelbert the Crow has informed the barnyard that a certain young lady, namely Miss Genevieve of the Honey-Hair, is to serve the party of valiant, but foolhardy, warriors as an interpreter. This is a fact which Pelbert the Crow received from very reliable sources, otherwise known as Bugle and Belle, the esteemed hounds of Master Aaron Ray.”

Pelbert let out a squeaky whistle and hid within the folds of Morning Sky’s loose shawl. Hannah gasped in stunned surprise. Jake threw a hunk of cold cornbread at the rooster’s head, but Black Bottom quickly ducked and popped his wings.

“I guess Jake ain’t told her yet,” Aaron said as he looked intently at White Hand. Both men artfully excused themselves from the table to continue their evening chores. The dishes suddenly needed washing very badly by several people, and Panther thought it was a most excellent idea to give her little sister a bath. Within a few hurried moments, the long benches on either side of the trestle table were empty. Hannah and Jake, whose ponies and hounds were alternately neighing and barking, stood stubbornly facing one another down the length of the cluttered table.

As Panther slipped out of the kitchen with Addie by her side and Glowgold flitting along behind, she wondered what Black Bottom had meant about her serving as an interpreter for Tormac. She had never met the Autumn Fairy Prince. Now her Wind-sight visions from earlier that day were beginning to make sense. The Starlight Fairy Queen had disliked her third son’s volatile temper and had rarely allowed him to address the royal court. Panther decided to put her sister to bed as soon as possible and then listen to her parents’ heated conversation from the top of the stairs in the front hall. Hannah and Jake rarely fought except upon occasion when they had a significant difference of opinion. Tonight’s disagreement promised to be a doozie.

“Come along, Glowgold,” Panther whispered. “I don’t want to miss this.”

“By the sound of it, My Little Firefly, no one will miss this fight. I shall see to Miss Adeline’s bath and put her to bed for you. Meet you on the stairs.”

“Why can’t I stay up and listen?” Addie complained to her favorite fairy.

“You are entirely too young for such an altercation,” said Sir Finnias, waving his wand.

Luka Shen, the eldest of the Green Fairy Maidens, looks a bit like this image from Bing.
Luka Shen was always jealous of Lady Hannah MacKennon.

While Glowgold went on to explain the meaning of altercation to Addie and whisk her into a bubble bath, Panther took her place at the top of the first flight of stairs in the MacKennon home. Already, sparks were flying around the corner of the hall below. The girl could distinctly hear the rooster trying to fit inside her mother’s cookie jar, as was his usual habit during a quarrel of any sort. She heard the jar crash to the floor, and then a befuddled black chicken wandered out of the kitchen.

“Up here!” Panther whispered loudly.

“Coming, Miss Genevieve,” Black Bottom responded amiably. Panther grinned, remembering how her feathered friend was afraid of all cats, let alone big ones.

“You did say Tormac and the Coyote King?” she inquired.

“Indeed, Miss Genevieve. Your skills are needed, and much adventure is afoot. But first, we must await the outcome of the Battle of the Ponies and the Hounds!”

Join our blog tomorrow for the next installment of THE HOLLY KING.
We shall begin Chapter V : The Cloak of Wheels!

THE HOLLY KING, a Family Holiday Tale #9

2011-12-01T08:14:00.001-07:00

Our adventure continues with Chapter IV of THE HOLLY KING inside the MacKennon homestead in Ghost Horse Hollow. Thanks so much for joining us today with our ongoing holiday tale ...

The little guest cabin where Jonas White Hand and Lyla Morning Sky reside.
Ghost Horse Hollow looks like this photo taken in the late fall in the Cherokee Mountains.

Chapter IV : The Battle of the Ponies and the Hounds

The evening star tipped the horizon just as the waxing moon appeared above the First Hill of Dendoran. Aaron Ray carefully latched the garden gate behind him. It was a necessary routine on any farm. The metalworker beckoned to White Hand to hurry on, and Jonas responded by waving a rope halter in the air, while turning to his last chore of filling the water troughs. Aaron looked around for Bugle and Belle, but the Blue Tick hounds had already nudged their way past the gate and reached the front porch. With a fluttering of his jet-colored wings, Pelbert the Crow escaped out the kitchen window and spoke briefly with the dogs. The bird then flew in the direction of the clothesline in the side yard and headed toward the chicken coop to gossip with Black Bottom the Rooster. By the time the hounds had flopped down beneath the front porch swing, Pelbert had returned triumphantly and slipped back inside.

“Panther! Addie! The bell’s been rung twice now, girls!” Hannah called as she followed the lilting notes coming from the antique pipe organ in the parlor. Lady MacKennon smiled tenderly. The melodies that tumbled down the wide front hall were hauntingly beautiful. They were reminiscent of old fairy tunes, which Glowgold had been teaching the girls all afternoon. He flitted from one daughter to the next, humming in their ears and waving his wand in time to the music.

This pump organ looks similar to the one in the MacKennon's parlour.
Notice the old foot pedals that have to be pressed back and forth to make the sound!

Hannah fondly remembered when Glowgold had begun teaching her the same melodies when she was but six years of age. How she had loved the fancy organ, with its beveled glass panels and creaky, embroidered bench seat! Panther and Addie were presently taking turns at pumping the stiff pedals, while giving each other a chance to play the instrument’s worn, ivory keys. The Household Light Fairy was singing with gusto:

A fairy’s night is a wondrous flight,

Of moonbeams and of shadows.

The two girls repeated the same line in perfect harmony. Hannah, standing in the parlor doorway, added a third soprano part as their winged leader began the spirited chorus:

Oh, sing-a-ling, sing,

A‘ ring-a-ding, ding,

A fairy night so fair—

Oh, bell-a-dell, dell,

For all is well,

And we, never a care!

“Bravo, my Little Fireflies! Well done, my Pumpkin Seeds! You both are much improved. But it is time for food and drink. Your mother awaits you. I shall go and light the candles.”

Glowgold spun upward and twirled his glittering wand. His transparent, golden wings pulsed with delight. He returned dutifully to lead five-year-old Addie into the next room, for the youngest member of the farm family was blind.

Adeline MacKennon opens the door for many hearts throughout the fantasy.
She represents pure goodness, patience, trust, and the healing power of music.

“I’ll help with Sissy, Glowgold,” Panther spoke up, though she knew her little sister could negotiate the homestead’s halls without any prompting. Addie had developed a keen sense of hearing and the ability to count her steps from one threshold to the next. Still, the whole family looked out for her, believing she had already suffered far too much.

Adeline Mariah MacKennon had contracted an unknown disease when she was but three years of age. Many of the children in the Eastern Woodlands had wrestled with the virus’s deadly fury. All of Hannah and Morning Sky’s herbal medicines had been unable to save the little girl’s sight, though they had saved her life. Jake suspected that the contagious virus had leaked from a rusty barrel stored in an abandoned laboratory. The Starlight Fairies, who specialized in healing plants, were confounded by the disease and unable to provide a cure. The sickness wandered relentlessly through the human body from organ to organ without logic. Morning Sky had concluded that only a scientist without a conscience would have created such a problem for others to deal with. Lyla thought germ warfare to be an act of absolute madness; for she knew that illnesses, such as the one which had destroyed Addie’s eyes, could never be successfully contained. As Addie slowly recovered, the Medicine Woman had prayed for the return of health and balance for all Earth’s Children.

Sir Finnias Glowgold had told the grieving mother to keep her chin up. He would personally see to it that Addie be trained as a treasured fairy bard. She already displayed an uncommon love for music and poetry. Let the loss of her fair blue eyes be her payment for remarkable abilities yet to come! This explained the girl’s regular music lessons from a fairy who frequently complained that children were messy, loud, and rude. Glowgold himself had experienced a change of heart in Miss Adeline’s peaceful, trusting presence. Perhaps one day, the royal Starlight Fairy Bard, Thruka-den-al, would visit with his two harmony maidens, Lady Hummy and Lady Lindalynn, to hear young Addie sing.

The tressle table in the homestead kitchen in solid and elegant.
Many of the activities on the farm are planned during the evening meal.

Once inside the kitchen, the MacKennon’s youngest daughter found her place at the crowded table beside her mother’s chair. The carved pony heads turned toward Adeline and neighed in greeting. Jake had completed the chairs before he realized that the materials had come from the Enchanted Maple Grove, not far from Grandfather Mountain. Three Toe the Bear simply said that he had found the wood somewhere in the forest. The unforeseen result was that all the sculptures in the Hollow were capable of coming to life whenever they pleased. It took some getting used to, but the MacKennons were delighted in the long run. Addie reached up to pet the well-polished wooden noses and quickly climbed onto the log bench that stretched the length of the dinner table. Hannah and Lyla Morning Sky reached out to clasp her searching hands.

Panther squeezed onto the bench farther down the table, between White Hand and her cousin Eli. Her long hair, slightly darker in hue than her mother’s, was still pinned up in delicate braids. Panther had a passion for running and climbing trees and did not want her hair to interfere with her speed. Slender, strong fingers and the posture of a princess brought her much attention, as did her eyes, which changed with the color of the sky. They looked at the world with both wonder and amusement. Panther had laughter for breakfast and mirth for lunch. Her exuberance only partially explained why everyone loved her so dearly. The other factor was her heart, which embraced the poorest of folks as royalty and the weakest of souls as kin.

“Good evening, Eli. Good evening, White Hand,” the Panther said in greeting. Both men nodded with respect in her direction.

Somehow Panther had inherited both of her parents’ keen intellect and their combined magical abilities, as well as their courage and compassion. She stood among the adults almost as an equal, with her soft, lilac-colored sweater tucked inside a pair of faded, blue corduroy pants and a wide, rugged belt. The buttons on her clothing were made from flattened old coins. A stranger would never have suspected that she spoke three fairy languages, including Ancient Fairy Scroll, the more contemporary Fairy Brogue, and the Heraldry of Kings. This difficult tongue was revealed only to a human child capable of surviving a rigorous apprenticeship with the Starlight Fairy Queen. Few were chosen to attempt the study program, and fewer still returned from the wild woods with their sanity intact; but Panther had survived six demanding years under Lady Titrimia’s tutelage, returning to Hannah’s arms each afternoon with clear eyes as penetrating and wise as the unblinking owl’s. Eli and White Hand, as tough as they were, knew Panther could handle herself in a tussle as well. Fairy combat training was not for the faint of heart, and the young teen had mastered the rapier, willow switches, dragon daggers, throwing stars, whip-o-will, and defendo, the dangerous art of hand-to-wing survival.

Actress Ellyon Elestial brought the part of Panther MacKennon to life
in the first book trailer for THE HOLLY KING.
Here she is practicing with the willow switches for the video.
Check it out on You tube:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OyMzKev8hWE

Only in this seventh and final year, Panther had been forced to continue her studies solely with Glowgold. The Household Light Fairy had volunteered to fill in for the Fairy Queen and her royal court, because Titrimia had chosen to return suddenly to the Land of Dreams and Whispers, a cloudy realm where fairies dwelt when not upon the Earth. Titrimia’s decision had rocked the Fairylands, for the Starlight Queen’s thousand-year reign was not yet over. No one understood the reason for her early disappearance. To add to the mystery, Glowgold had been very reluctant to discuss the matter when pressed for an explanation.

By the time the two girls reached the dinner table, everyone else had gathered for the evening prayer before the bountiful meal. Ten pairs of hands clasped together in thanksgiving and loyalty, including those of the two children, their mother and father, White Hand, Morning Sky, Alma Barder, Aaron Ray, Gracie Farrow, and Cousin Eli. The companionship of the evening meal was traditional and important. Breakfast and lunch were served on the heavy sideboard for each person to grab, according to what their daily chores would allow. Suppertime, however, was a community event, which afforded everyone an opportunity to exchange the daily news.

“Glowgold, I do believe that it is your turn to say the blessing,” Hannah prompted.

The Household Light Fairy looked most pleased as the family bent their heads with respect. Jake and Hannah encouraged every member of Ghost Horse Hollow to express their unique faith without ridicule. There were so many different beliefs represented within the group that it was necessary to honor the various concepts of creation by taking turns in leading prayers and ceremonies. This evening, Glowgold selected a more conservative speech as he awakened each bayberry candle in the center of the table with a dash of his wand.

“O Lady Titrimia, Blessed Fairy Queen, and O Lord Achelon, Beloved Fairy King, we are most humbly grateful for these fruits of the vine and flowers of the field,” the fairy droned on with a smug expression. “Keep us ever mindful of your Dance of Balance and Melody of Mysteries, O Abundant Ones.”

“How kind of you to keep it short this evenin‘,” said Alma. As a schoolteacher, she had long ago abandoned flowery speeches. “These youngins can’t wait around for their supper to get cold. Pass the mashed potatoes, if you please, Mr. Ray.”

“Not ’til I get my share, Miss Barder. They are just dripping with butter. Yum, yum,” Aaron made a hungry sound and scooped a mound of creamy potatoes onto his blue and white china plate before passing the wooden bowl to Alma. This initial sharing started a crisscrossing of platters and baskets and serving dishes, with much clinking and plopping and spooning from the entire crowd. No one ever went hungry in the Hollow, due to Hannah and Jake’s careful management of the land and their utmost respect for the natural world.

‘Well, what’s the news?” Alma began, holding a large, fluffy biscuit in her hand. “Eli, did you make it all the way to Piney Grove like you was a goin’ to?”

The MacKennon family kitchen was known for its creek rock hearth and cheerful fire.
Be sure to join us tomorrow for the mysterious second letter that White Hand receives.

All the knives and forks at the table froze in mid-air. Piney Grove was many miles away, down Curvy Creek Road. It was not often that a member of Ghost Horse Hollow set out for the post office and general store, known as the Opossum’s Tradin‘ Post, and returned the same day.

“I surely did Miss Barder … What?” Eli looked around the table at the wide eyes and opened mouths. “I done told you, Ravenwood is special. That colt can fly! Now, I got two letters right here in my pocket.”

Eli hastily produced the unexpected mail. The teenager reached across the cornbread to deliver one crumpled blue envelope to the retired schoolteacher and one small, brown envelope to Jonas White Hand. Everyone knew that the blue letter was from one of Alma’s beaus, Mr. G. J. Trotter of Turkey Foot Junction, who wrote to the schoolmarm upon occasion. He complained regularly about his arthritis and bunions. Alma seemed a bit disappointed with her love letter as she glanced over the wrinkled paper.

“I’ll just read this a bit later on,” Miss Barder smiled discreetly. “I do believe Mr. Trotter’s foot ailments can wait. Now what have you got there, White Hand?”

Drop by tomorrow to find out about the mysterious letter addressed to Jonas White Hand!

THE HOLLY KING, a Family Holiday Tale #8

2011-11-30T10:47:00.001-07:00

Our hoiday tale continues with the conclusion to
Chapter III of THE HOLLY KING.

The scene unfolds in the MacKennon homestead one hundred years in the future ...

Wildlife is an important part of the overall design for the Ghost Horse Hollow fantasy.
The homesteaders interact each day with the creatures of the forest and fields.

The farmer knew that this was his cue to join his wife for a private talk beyond the listening ears of the kitchen crew. Yet something made him hesitate to turn around. It was the bobcat, Chotah Ru, whose striped, stub tale and dark ear tufts distinguished him from any ordinary house cat. He was actually a cross between a bright orange tabby and a wandering wildcat. The result was a pumpkin-colored mouse terror weighing nearly thirty pounds, with powerful back legs and large, round, fuzzy paws. The bobcat wanted attention. With a stretch of his spotted belly, he reach up to pat at a dangling fringe on Jake’s jacket, and then playfully climbed the Plow Man’s back as if it were a convenient post. He draped himself over one shoulder and licked the farmer’s rough cheek.

“Cat, get off a’ me!” Jake complained as he caught a whiff of the bobcat’s fur. The feline leapt onto the dinner table. The smell of pine bark and fresh dirt indicated that Chotah Ru had been roaming the woods and that he only come home for a bowl of warm goat’s milk. Chotah Ru half-heartedly snarled at Pelbert, sending the crow into a fluttering fit. The two enemies exchanged a few choice comments before Morning Sky swiped the orange troublemaker off the table. The Medicine Woman gave her bird a morsel of stale bread from her lap and continued sorting her beans.

“Trouble follows the wind this night,” Lyla murmured softly, as if to no one in particular. Jake checked his response, since Morning Sky was known for her accurate gift of prophecy. He felt rooted to the kitchen floor, unable to move his feet in any direction, and a chill came over his heart.

The Ghost Horses love to gallop home in the evening from the fields.
Eli MacKennon is an incredible horse trainer and trick rider.
Imagine a movie actor bringing him to life!

The sound of hooves pounding up Gravel Cart Road pulled the farmer out of his motionless stance. He reached the front door in two seconds and looked out to see Eli MacKennon, Jake’s striking nephew, slide down a dark colt’s back before the animal had skidded to a complete halt. The horse playfully reared up several times and spun sideways. He then lowered his massive head and bumped affectionately against the young man’s chest. Eli gently fondled the colt’s soft lips and simply pointed to the barn, where White Hand was attending to the other horses. The smoky-black equine with two white rear socks and a star, cantered away without hesitation—such was Cousin Eli’s exceptional gift with horses. Jake knew for sure that Ravenwood had never been ridden before that very day.

“Well, I’d a‘ never thought it, Eli. When did you break that horse?” Jake called to the nineteen-year-old boy with the bronze ponytail and dimpled jaw.

“Aww … sometime ’tween milkin‘ and cleanin‘ the Farrow’s cider press,” came the reply. “He weren’t no trouble once I had a talkin‘ with him. He’s special. Besides, Uncle Jake, you done trained these Mountain Horses so good on the ground, all a feller need do is get on ’em and ride.” Eli, wiry and compact, jumped onto the porch, skipping every one of Lady Hannah’s freshly scrubbed steps. The MacKennons agreed that Jake’s nephew could get away with practically anything, due to his white-toothed grin and fetching appearance.

“Hey, you ol‘ cat,” Eli crooned.

Chotah Ru tossed himself into the teenager’s curved, sinewy arms. “Catch yourself a Miss Bobcat today?” Eli flipped Rufus over for a tummy massage.

“Eli MacKennon, every horse is special to you,” Hannah said as she stepped to Jake’s side and put her arm around her husband’s shoulders. “Why, you have a way with critters.” She smiled, noting that the wildcat’s soft paddy-toes were waving upside down with pleasure.

“I just let ’em be what the Creator made them to be, that’s all—like this worthless cat.” Eli scruffled the bobcat’s soft underbelly. Chotah Ru angrily sprang to the porch railing, where he proceeded to arch his back and sharpen his claws. “A man shouldn’t break horses,” Eli continued thoughtfully. “He has to understand their way of seein‘ things an‘ kinda go from there. A trainer’s got to stay within the laws of Nature, and teach his mount not to be afraid of nothin‘.”

Training a stallion takes time and patience.
Here is Ellevar's Ivory Steed, the Ghost Horse foundation stallion.

“Then your horse will fall in love with you and do everything you say … kinda like a good woman,” Jake said, nodding to Hannah, who popped him on the seat of his pants. She led the way to the supper table without saying another word. Eli and Jake’s eyes danced with mischief. They were MacKennons and proud of it. The men were not highly educated, but they were extremely intelligent and intuitive. They spoke without the formal pronunciation that Hannah and her daughter Panther had received from years of study with Queen Titrimia and Sir Finnias Glowgold. Language skills were not Eli and Jake’s specialty, but equine expertise was well within their grasp, as was the ability to sculpt wood.

Hannah looked back in time to see Aaron Ray pass through the garden gate. Its eight-foot posts, carved in the shape of two hooded gnomes, leaned over the metalworker as he passed by. Cousin Eli had sculpted the gnome on Aaron’s right, and Uncle Jake had carved the figure on the left. Both Jake and Eli were blessed with the family gift of finding faces and figures in logs and driftwood. The farm was decorated with all sorts of garden sculptures and unique furniture, like the heavy chairs that stood at either end of the dining room table. Jake had selected two hounds to top the knobs at the back of his chair and had carved two ponies with sweeping manes above Hannah’s opposite seat. The men’s dryad inheritance was visible in every sculpture. Eli and Jake were, after all, descendants of Prince Ellevar himself. Wood turned easily in their hands, and the inner spirit of the trees emerged through their steady, patient craftsmanship.

“I’d best go ring the dinner bell,” Hannah announced. “Seems like each dish is just about ready. I think we got something for every member of this hungry crew.”

Rarely was anyone late for supper in Ghost Horse Hollow. Hannah MacKennon believed that good cooking maintained good spirits, and that meant good health for everyone. She lovingly served favorite dishes and mouth-watering recipes to suit the eclectic tastes of her family. Some folks preferred vegetables, while others favored wild game, hunted with honor and respect. Gracie loved fruit and muffins, but White Hand ate only meat, nuts, roots, and herbs. Aaron Ray was very fond of cornbread and gravy. Jake and Hannah ate quite moderately. Eli, on the other hand, ate everything in sight. Of course, the fairies wanted nothing but sweets and pickles. It was difficult providing for them all, but Hannah thought it her duty to keep a bountiful kitchen. Supper was laid out on the table now, and it was high time for their country dinner.

“Has anyone seen Panther?” she asked innocently.

“In the parlor with Addie, I do believe,” Alma responded, still stirring her dumplings.

Hannah nodded and hung up her white apron on a peg. In the midst of the peaceful, bustling kitchen, Lady MacKennon had no idea what lay in store for her family that very evening and what terrifying changes the rising moon would bring.

Ghost Horse Hollow is an imaginary realm in the Appalachian Wilderness.
THE HOLLY KING begins in the late autumn woodlands,
which are filled with hardwood trees and cold, mountain streams.

THE HOLLY KING, a Family Holiday Tale #7

2011-11-29T11:51:00.005-07:00

Chapter III of THE HOLLY KING continues at the homestead of Jake & Hannah MacKennon in the Appalachian Wilderness one hundred years in the future. We welcome you to our holiday blog ...

Ghost Horse Hollow is an imaginary world
based on real places in eastern Kentucky and Tennessee

By the time the farmer had crossed the Third Troll Bridge and had reached the bottom of the steps leading to the MacKennon’s inviting front porch, Hannah had opened the screen door for her husband. She already knew that something was amiss. Perhaps he had given his secret away by subtle changes in his confident stride. She sure looked pretty in her homemade, calico patchwork dress and white cotton apron. Her expressive hands were dusty with flour from kneading her famous buttermilk biscuits.

“How’s the best cook and baker in the whole territory?” Jake asked casually.

“Don’t carry on so,” Hannah MacKennon replied with a touch of modesty in her voice.

“Now, woman, everybody says so.”

“That’s just because my success in the kitchen is due to the fairies helping me around the stove by day and sleeping in the pantry at night. The winged folk guard all our herbs, eggs, spices, cakes, pickles and pies, jams and jellies, cookies and candies from the night critters that want to steal them. You know as well as I do that one hungry raccoon can do a world of damage in a well-stocked pantry.”

“Well, I reckon we better let the dogs in at night to help guard the larder,” MacKennon prodded his lovely wife.

“Not gonna happen, Mr. Plow Man. Dogs are not permitted anywhere near my fairy pantry.”

One of the dogs that you will meet in Ghost Horse Hollow is named "Mountain"
He is loyal, smart, and brave. Eight dogs guard the Mackennon homestead,
two for each side of the wrap-around porch.

Jake smiled with the smile of man that had lost this particular argument long ago. He topped the front porch steps with a lighthearted leap. It was good to be home. Hannah followed her husband into the spacious, warm kitchen with its pine-board floor and massive, creek-rock hearth. A long, wooden table with matching benches anchored the center of the room’s mouth-watering activities. Three other ladies assisted Jake’s wife with food preparation on the farm. Every meal was a magic meal.

At the head of the dinner table sat Jonas White Hand’s older sister, Lyla Morning Sky. She was calmly shelling speckled beans. A soft wool shawl hung over her elbows and peasant blouse. Lyla’s indigo, turquoise, and crimson skirt brushed the floor. She gave the farmer one of her looks that seemed to understand all of his potential mysteries and hidden fears; for Morning Sky was a genuine Medicine Woman, instructed in the old ways by her tribal grandmothers and other sacred teachers.

“Close the door! Close the door!” demanded a shiny crow perched on Morning Sky’s right shoulder. The black-beaked creature was more than her pet. The fairies referred to him as Lyla’s familiar, an animal sacred to her heart and destined to share her visions. The Native woman called her crow “Pelbert,” after the name of a seed company that had caught her fancy. Pelbert bobbed his head up and down, greeting Jake with a cackle and a whistle.

“I thought we were gonna cook that bird for supper. Things sure would be a lot quieter around here,” MacKennon joked while he stole a fresh bean from one of Morning’s Sky’s piles.

"Alma is fixing dumplings instead," Lyla remarked dryly, without looking up from her work station, "I suggest you steal a bite from her pot to snack on, instead of my beans.”

Hannah and the ladies of Ghost Horse Hollow are famous for their magic meals.
Visit the Fairy Cookery on our website for recipes: http://www.ghosthorsehollow.com/

Jake glanced over to the polished iron cook-stove, with its handy bread-warming shelf, and nodded at Miss Alma Barder. Missy, as some folks called her, was even older than Morning Sky, who was pushing sixty. Lyla’s dark, thick braids could have belonged to a much younger woman. Like her brother, Jonas White Hand, she aged very slowly in appearance. Alma Barder, on the other hand, was nearly seventy-two, with a white bun atop her head and a wrinkled smile. She claimed to be hard of hearing, but Jake found that Alma did not miss much.

Alma’s life centered on romance. When men-folk were visiting, Missy Barder loved to laugh and carry on. She was a well-known flirt who had never married. She had taught in a one-room school in the Eastern Woodlands since her sixteenth birthday. Alma truthfully claimed that she had helped to raise a thousand children—or youngins, as she lovingly called them—before retiring and coming to live with the MacKennons. Jake and Hannah had taken her in willingly, so charming was Alma’s disposition. The only drawback was the old lady’s tendency to dabble in love potions for animals and humans alike. The well-meaning schoolmarm often confused the important ingredients. This led to disastrous results, such as the mule falling in love with the cat, or the billy goat following Lady Hannah around the farm for several days. As Jake surveyed the kitchen, Alma smiled warmly and waved a messy spoon at the farmer.

A deep sigh could be heard coming from the third of Hannah’s kitchen helpers, who was working to the left of the big stove. Gracie Farrow’s slender form, disguised in a smartly pressed black dress, was bent over the kitchen sink. She was scrubbing crockery bowls, wooden platters, and an assortment of tin cups with a sad, but determined, look on her face.

Jake recalled that the teenager’s fiancé had been killed that very summer in a barn fire. The tragedy started after Gracie’s father, John Farrow, had stored freshly mowed hay in the loft of his barn. An ugly rumor circled about that he had not allowed the grass to dry thoroughly in the sun before tossing it in his loft. Everyone said the damp hay started decomposing and suddenly burst into flames when the temperature of the compressed grass reached a critical point. Darren Carter, just twenty-two years of age, had died trying to save the Farrow’s livestock from the fire, as did Gracie’s father. The milk cows had made it out of the collapsing structure in the nick of time, but the two men had perished in the smoking wreckage. Jake always felt that Azastra, the Summer Fairy Princess, was to blame. The fire had foul play written all over it, because Darren and John were very careful farmers. They would never have stored damp hay in a confined space. Jake also knew that Azastra, selfish to the core, enjoyed playing with fire.

Hannah insisted on taking the girl in, for Gracie was barely seventeen and had no living relatives, except one uncle that Hannah disapproved of mightily. Jake’s wife considered Hank Farrow to be a drunken fool. Such a pretty, vulnerable young lady as Miss Gracie had no business living in her uncle’s rundown hunting shack in the backwoods, Hannah had said.

The Fairy Lore of Ghost Horse Hollow was inspired by Celtic mythology.
Miss Gracie is a child of a Silkie, a Seal Maiden from the British Isles.

“Evening, Miss Gracie,” Jake spoke politely, a little unsure of how to address the mournful teen. Gracie smiled briefly in the farmer’s direction and continued with her task of lifting a pot of boiling water off the stove and pouring it into the sink along with shavings of lavender dish soap. Her rich auburn hair, fine complexion, and wide, earth-colored eyes would, indeed, have made her a target for an isolated drunk.

The fairies whispered that Gracie was probably a child of a Silkie, a seal maiden from the Ancient Isles across the sea. These mysterious ocean-women had large, kind eyes that were filled with longing. Perhaps Gracie would one day return to a faraway home beneath the frothy waves. Jake, in any case, had fully supported Hannah’s generous offer, for the Farrow’s family homestead was adjacent to Ghost Horse Hollow. Jake had always thought very highly of his neighbors and was happy to help others in their time of need.

“Here, girl, let me give you a hand with that hot water,” MacKennon offered with a quick step in Gracie’s direction.

The homesteaders grow and raise their own food with the help of the Starlight and Moonlight Fairies.
The MacKennons are organic gardeners with a love for the Earth.

“Aw, you and your wife have already done plenty for me and my kin,” Miss Farrow replied, “and you know I like to do for myself when ere I can.” She shooed Jake away with a toss of bubbles.

MacKennon knew it was best not to insist. It would only lead to more protests, and it was true that the homesteaders had done all they could to ease Gracie’s burden. Miss Farrow had inherited her father’s apple orchards and bee fields after the fire. John Farrow’s last will and testament had specifically denied Hank Farrow from receiving any control of the land. There had been bad blood between the two brothers since childhood. Jake and Hannah were left to manage the Farrow’s estate as well as Ghost Horse Hollow, since Gracie could not possibly work the four-hundred-acre inheritance by herself.

“I made your favorite peach pie, Jake,” Hannah interrupted MacKennon’s recollections. “There’s cornbread in the oven and a deer roast, soup beans, and apple dumplings. Lyla cooked up a mess of turnip greens, and Gracie fried up plenty of catfish in the cast-iron skillet. Wash up now. Where is everybody? I’ll go ring the dinner bell again.” Hannah scooted out the front door to the porch, barely pausing for a sweet kiss from the man she both loved and admired.

Hannah's famous Chocolate Cake with Coffee Mocha Glaze
Food is important on a magical farm!

We hope you enjoyed the 7th Installment of THE HOLLY KING for the holidays. For gift items relating to Ghost Horse Hollow, please visit our website and scroll down to our handy craft boutique with products from Amazon.com. We hope these shopping ideas will bring cheer to your hearth and home!
Drop in tomorrow for the conclusion of
Chapter III : Meet the MacKennons!

THE HOLLY KING, a Family Holiday Tale #6

2011-11-28T09:31:00.003-07:00

Our adventure continues in the Appalachian Wilderness
one hundred years in the future

with the sixth installment of THE HOLLY KING ...

These two Ghost Horse mares were sleeping in the morning light.
Readers will meet Titrimia's Starshield on the left in this installment!

Chapter III : Meet the MacKennons

Black Bottom watched the three men climb the gentle slope to the front porch of the MacKennon home. The rooster was royally perched atop the weather vane above the largest barn. There were three structures in the Hollow devoted to horses, creatures that Black Bottom found tiresome at best. One barn sheltered the mares and their newborn foals. It stood relatively close to the two-story farmhouse. A second facility held the farm’s three stallions, Ellevar’s Ivory Steed, Achelon’s Bay Moon, and a high-stepping three-year-old named Ravenwood.

The MacKennons had constructed a larger building, suitable for hay storage, between the mare barn and the stallion barn. The hay barn also contained a tack room for saddles, halters, bridles, blankets, and grooming supplies. The ladies of the farm used fairy creams and shampoos on the horses, which accounted for the animals’ extremely lengthy tails and healthy manes. Several jars on the grooming shelves were marked Sparkle Spritz. This mysterious supply had been a gift from the Frost Fairy, who had intended the spritz to be used for decorating hooves. The MacKennons, rather unexpectedly, discovered that the fairy product had a tendency to float a horse a few inches off the ground, which made riding a bit difficult.

The dairy goat barn and the old tobacco barn were located slightly downhill from the farmhouse. The goats had pleaded for privacy. They weren’t overly fond of the horses, either. They preferred to huddle in one large group, rub their horns against their sides, and chew their cuds. The horses, for the most part, found the goats intolerable, although once in a great while, a billy goat and a lonely stallion could be seen grazing together.

Goats are an important part of the MacKennon homestead.
This little billy goat is only three months old.

Black Bottom loved his high vantage point, even if the wind did occasionally twirl the weather vane around and around. The metal decoration was in the shape of a galloping horse. Black Bottom was most displeased when Lady MacKennon had selected a horse silhouette to preside over the Hollow instead of that of a rooster. He felt that perching on the horse’s copper head made his opinion well-known.

Directly below the weather vane, the farm’s buff-colored doves gathered for their evening breadcrumbs. The small birds cooed, pecked, and strutted about in amorous circles. They took to flight when a black cat with one white paw slinked out of the barn. The doves instinctively formed a flying diamond and swerved back and forth over the nearby corn fields. They landed once more beside their crumbly dinner just as the tomcat disappeared into the greenhouse. With trembling whiskers, Minky Mitten hungrily watched the doves from behind the lemon-glass windowpanes.

The character of Minky Mitten was based on a real cat with that same name.
Notice his white toes!

Black Bottom noted that the Ghost Horse mares were waiting impatiently at the Meadow Gate. It was time for their evening grain. Eleven elegant noses were pointing in the same direction. The lead mare, Gwydia’s Stardust Serenade, stood first in line. She was responsible for the safety and well-being of all the other mares and their foals. She dominated the other herd members, much as the rooster presided over his hens. Black Bottom admired her leadership, but avoided Gwydia’s large hooves whenever possible.

The stallions ate separately in their own paddocks. The MacKennons fed every horse quite well, for the family’s survival was dependent upon the strength and health of their equine friends. Mountain Horses were highly sought-after for their ability to negotiate rough trails, drag heavy logs out of the woods, and pull iron plows through tough, stony fields. Besides, the Mountain Horses could rock a rider gently in the saddle for hours on end. They moved smoothly over the land with a flowing action that was instinctive from birth. The result was a comfortable traveling motion that enabled a rider to hold a cup of fairy brew in one hand without spilling a precious drop. The MacKennons went the extra mile by taking the horses’ natural ability to a state of well-trained perfection. As Jake always said, a good Mountain Horse should cross a field like a swan gliding over the water.

Black Bottom thought the horses were spoiled. There they waited, accustomed to receiving oats, field corn, and high-quality hay at sunset. The mares tossed their heads, snorted, and nipped at each other’s flanks. Gwydia’s Stardust Serenade voiced her usual deep, demanding neigh.

Gwydia's Stardust Serenade in the Cherokee Mountains

“Disgusting,” the rooster clucked into the restless wind. The breeze responded by spinning the weather vane in rapid circles. Black Bottom attempted to crow in defiance, but was altogether too dizzy. He puffed out his breast feathers to regain his balance, fell off the roof, and landed on a horse’s rump.

Jake’s graceful mount, Titrimia’s Starshield, reared and blew angrily through her nose. She gave Black Bottom one big buck, which sent the rooster sailing through the air. The blue-eyed mare pranced over toward the farmer with her tail set high, just as MacKennon and his two companions approached the meadow’s split-rail fence. Black Bottom let out a confused cluck-cluck and crashed head-first into the duck pond. The water fowl quacked in protest and splashed over to their rocky island. Was it not shameful? How many times had that ridiculous rooster flown into their territory by mistake? Black Bottom emerged, looking thin and wet, and made his way grumpily over to the hen house. For once, he did not stop to see if anyone was admiring his tail feathers.

Jake laughed aloud and reached out lovingly to stroke Starshield’s silky neck. She was a cremello, like most of the horses in the Hollow. Their creamy-white coats and light blue eyes had inspired MacKennon to choose a name for his herd. One awesome night, while standing in a starlit pasture, the farmer whistled softly, and the cremello mares had come galloping toward him. As the low-lying mist drifted and tumbled over their thundering hooves, the horses set in motion a spellbinding memory that could not easily be forgotten. The imagery of that moment sparked the magic that played throughout the Hollow. It was a magic brought on by friendship and love, loyalty and beauty, lost in a fragment of time, but eternal in the mind of the soul. The Ghost Horse name was born in that instant.

Titrimia’s Starshield breathed deeply into Jake’s own nostrils as the farmer bent toward his favorite mare. Their ritual, horsey greeting established trust. A sense of warm familiarity passed between man and animal, offering both reassurance and peace. An intelligent conversation had occurred without words. MacKennon knew that true communication was an emotional process as well an exchange of words. He never needed to explain this to a horse, but found that most humans had forgotten that tidbit of wisdom.

“We ride tonight, my friend. Tell the others to be ready,” the farmer said quietly.

The mare flipped her tail and stamped. She and Jake understood one another. The farmer had raised Titrimia’s Starshield on bottles of fresh goat’s milk when the filly’s mother could not produce enough nourishment for her foal. The farmer always claimed that the sweet milk had made the long-legged mare as sure-footed as any goat when it came to climbing up and down the country hills.

Cade's Cove in the Appalachian Mountains is similar to Ghost Horse Hollow

“I’ll take the milking tonight, Jake,” Aaron Ray interrupted. “You’ll be needing to talk with Hannah. Tell her … I’ll be in directly.”

“I’ll see to the horses,” White Hand broke in.

MacKennon’s friends turned willingly to their chores. Jake realized that they did not want to confront his wife. Hannah Rose MacKennon had a powerful way about her that was charming, but formidable. She was also one of the most beautiful women that Jake had ever known. With her cascading, golden hair and dazzling, cornflower-blue eyes, Hannah made it difficult for a man to concentrate on what he was saying. He was just bound to lose any argument with her. The fact that she was part-mermaid, part-fairy, and part-human did not make things any easier. Hannah could read a man’s thoughts like another woman could read a recipe book. Jake nodded to the men and slowly turned up the stone pathway toward home.

Thanks for visiting this blog!

We hope you are enjoying the tale of THE HOLLY KING.

Next installment we shall meet the beautiful and unusual
Lady Hannah MacKennon,

part fairy, part waterfall mermaid, and part human!

THE HOLLY KING, a Family Holiday Tale #5

2011-11-26T08:59:00.001-07:00

Our story continues for the holidays with the second half of

Chapter II from THE HOLLY KING ...

Wood carving is a special feature in the magic realm of Ghost Horse Hollow.
Farmer Jake MacKennon is the son of a Dryad Prince named Lord Ellevar.
In this selection you will meet two more wonderful characters.

The farmer walked around the corner of the barn to witness two sizeable fellows in mid-swing, standing ten feet apart. They were steadily reducing a large pile of oak logs to handy sticks of firewood, which were destined to feed several cast-iron stoves and stone hearths in the nearby farm buildings. More logs lay ready for use along the barn’s outer walls, protected by the overhanging tin roof. The homesteaders consumed many loads of firewood in the winter, so Jake had decided to recycle the dead trees in the woodlands. There were plenty of fallen logs to choose from, due to the occasional raging thunderstorm. The Earth’s weather was improving but had yet to return to normal. By harvesting the trunks on the ground, the dryad’s son avoided offending any of his living relatives.

“Evenin‘, boys,” the farmer called to his men. “Fine batch of wood you’ve got stacked there.”

As the primary caretaker of Ghost Horse Hollow, Jake praised every individual for his or her contribution to the upkeep of the place. His friends, Aaron Ray and Jonas White Hand, paused to wipe their brows. They scooped water into their cupped hands from a metal spigot before continuing their unofficial contest. Water droplets mixed with salty sweat dripped down their chins. These muscled farmhands would be hard-pressed to finish a second load of wood before Lady MacKennon rang the dinner bell.

Jake leaned his walking stick against the side of the barn, removed his outer jacket, and grabbed a third axe. As he turned his shoulders to a rough log, the farmer realized that he would have to apply himself, if he wanted to keep up with his two stout companions.

To MacKennon’s right stood Aaron Ray, whose chest was as round as the water barrel itself. At six-foot-six, Aaron was a formidable opponent in a fistfight or country brawl. Jake had found him, barely alive, washed up on the bleak, southern shores of the Muddy Jaygon. With his short, clipped hair, MacKennon had rightly guessed that Aaron Ray had been a leader in some sort of military gang in the ruined city on the far side of the river. He certainly had the scars to prove it.

Aaron’s ancestors had once been slaves on rich plantations in the Caribbean Islands long, long ago. The strong man walked tall, never forgetting his costly heritage; consequently, he could not abide prejudice or cruelty of any sort. The MacKennons had taken Aaron in as a member of their close family and had encouraged the fugitive to learn a highly respectable trade. Over time, Aaron had become invaluable to the homesteaders, because an inventive metalworker was nearly impossible to replace after the Time of Great Change.

“It’s about time you showed up for work,” Aaron chuckled.

“I heard your awful singing down by the creek and had to come put an end to it. You’re gonna kill those two dogs of yours with that ruckus,” Jake countered with a grin.

MacKennon knew full well that it was Aaron’s voice that had fashioned the work song. He was very fond of making up tunes and playing a battered, twelve-string guitar most evenings on the front porch. The homestead’s metalworker was accustomed to charming all the ladies with his sweet melodies and lively dance tunes. Aaron Ray could make donkeys bray and dogs howl right along with his music, particularly his two large Blue Tick hounds, Bugle and Belle. The dogs, ever at Aaron’s side, slouched against the tobacco barn in the lingering light, watching the kindling fall from the stumps with their chocolate-colored eyes.

Jonas White Hand is Jake's closest friend and advisor, along with Aaron Ray.

To MacKennon’s left, an equally tall man applied his strength to the task of splitting wood. Jonas White Hand’s axe sliced through a massive oak log like a table knife slicing through a stick of soft butter. His rhythmic swings resembled those of a warrior beating a drum, for Jonas was of Native descent. He wore elk-hide clothing with sliced bone buttons, which he had fashioned himself. His double-bladed knife was handcrafted, as well, from fine river flint. It had a rugged, deer-antler handle. What Jake appreciated the most about Jonas was his friend’s honesty. Though White Hand spoke very quietly, the sinewy man was not shy. He simply preferred to listen. His silence made some folks feel uneasy. Jonas was comfortable with himself, and that state of mind was all that concerned the Native warrior.

Unlike Aaron Ray, dogs did not choose to follow White Hand about the farm or into the woods. Jonas hunted alone. Occasionally, a black wolf with yellow eyes would visit him, like a whisper out of the forest. White Hand referred to Nightwolf as his teacher. Her enormous paw prints were unmistakable in the frosts of late March, when she made her early spring appearance beneath the willows of Crescent Moon Lake. Nightwolf never wore a collar. She was a free spirit, as wild as the wind.

“Rest a spell, I’ll take it from here,” MacKennon offered.

“Just getting started,” White Hand protested as he joined the fun. “You are too skinny and weak, like a sapling.”

“Listen, old man, you better let Jake have a go at it,” Aaron Ray taunted the Native warrior, never breaking his swing.

“Him? Let the Plow Man try to match my pace. I am younger than I look. The years have been unkind.”

Actually, the other men thought that Jonas appeared much younger than his fifty-five years. Only his hands, tough as leather, indicated his many decades of service to others and hard-earned wisdom. Outdoor living and a clear conscience had blessed White Hand with ageless form. His inner strength he attributed to the Creature Teachers and his devotion to walking a good pathway in life. Jonas wore two Red-tailed hawk feathers in his thick, black braid, which dropped to his waist, as a reminder to himself to stay on what he called the Good Red Road. The feathers had been a gift from Nightwolf. They represented both male and female instincts held in perfect balance, since the feathers had been shed from the left and right wings of a noble bird.

“Watch this axe fly,” MacKennon played along as he set up his first hunk of wood on a convenient stump.

Shwunk!

Jake hacked the log clean in two. Looking over his shoulder, the farmer noticed his friend’s eyes filled with laughter. White Hand leaned his weight into his next blow and the chunk of oak before him divided neatly into four sticks of firewood. Jonas silently tapped a small doeskin pouch hanging at the base of his throat, reminding Jake that true power came from a man’s connection to all things.

“I’m just warmin’ up!” the farmer protested, recalling the first, and only, time he had glimpsed the sacred objects in White Hand’s Medicine bag. Jake had given Jonas an eagle talon that he had found on a rocky ledge on the side of Grandfather Mountain. The farmer remembered that the two friends had been deer-hunting on a cool October morning several years back. White Hand had briefly removed his Medicine bag to add the eagle claw to its contents. A scrap of buffalo hide, a wolf tooth, and a piece of torn red cloth, as well as tobacco and sage, had lain in White Hand’s outstretched palm. There were other items, but MacKennon knew better than to pry into Jonas’s spiritual path. Jake had tremendous respect for the Native warrior, for White Hand was not only the finest tracker and bow-hunter in all the Fairylands, but was also Jake’s closest advisor.

The mountain stream where Jake MacKennon met with Old Spit.
(Scroll down to #2 installment to meet the Coyote King's messenger.)

With a few more swings of his axe, the Plow Man decided to break the news to his trusted co-workers. “Gentlemen, the Coyote King has summoned me to the Dead Oak Tree this very evenin‘.” Jake drew in a deep breath and held it. To his left and right, axes hovered in mid-swing. “I dare not refuse. Tormac will be there,” the farmer continued flatly. MacKennon exhaled and waited.

“The Coyote King brings trouble to all. He should be playing tricks and making us laugh at ourselves so that harmony might be shared. Instead, this leader is greedy, like a hungry termite. He takes more than his share of the kill,” White Hand responded with his eyes on Jake.

The three men sank their axes into the logs before them as the wind rushed past the black walnut tree under which they stood. Gnarled, bare branches rattled and clawed at the darkening sky, while a mass of decaying leaves, rotten walnut husks, and bits of bark swirled upward from the ground. Bending down on one knee, White Hand read the omen that was scattered before the men of Ghost Horse Hollow.

“One day soon, the coyote pack will turn against their king,” Jonas warned.

“Jake, you’re going to need us tonight,” Aaron Ray commented as he sat down on his chopping stump. The big man placed his axe across his knees and rolled the long handle back and forth, toying with the sharp blade as it reflected the sunset’s brilliant light. Aaron waited patiently for MacKennon to speak.

“I won’t ask either of you to risk your life for me,” the farmer returned. “I’ll be takin‘ Panther. She can handle Tormac, and she can understand his strange speech.” Jake looked down at his boots. He was not sure how this decision would go over on the farm. Everyone loved his daughter. She was like the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, or perhaps the rainbow itself, always bringing hope to any situation. No one would care to see her in any danger. Still, she was the only one in Ghost Horse Hollow who could speak, read, and write Ancient Fairy Scroll. Like her mother before her, Panther MacKennon had agreed to complete a seven-year apprenticeship with Lady Titrimia, the Starlight Fairy Queen. Hannah’s childhood studies, unfortunately, had been interrupted by her disapproving family. Lady MacKennon had finished only four years of the rigorous training in the forest. Panther, however, had but one year to go before she graduated from fairy school.

Jake frowned, disappointed with himself for not being able to think of another option. His daughter was about to face Tormac, the most feared of all the Starlight Fairy offspring. The wily prince would be sure to use the Ancient Fairy Scroll at the meeting tonight, just to confuse and annoy MacKennon. Panther was the only member of the family who had the ability to translate their conversation—go, she must!

“Then we will be there,” Aaron said as he spun toward the farmer. “We won’t let the two of you face that mangy fur-tail alone. Ain’t that right, White Hand?” Jonas gave the farmer one of his piercing looks, like a falcon over a wheat field before it dives. Jake knew immediately that it was pointless to argue with his two allies. Besides, he welcomed their company and protection.

“All right, but it’ll be a bad job. Bring your axes,” MacKennon concluded. White Hand hefted his chopping tool and threw it cleanly, end over end, toward the side of the barn. With a swift thunk, it cracked a long board from top to bottom.

The Coyote King is part wolf and part coyote.
He is a powerful member of the Woodland Keepers.

“The Coyote King will hear the Ancestors laughing in his ears before the dawn star rises,” White Hand declared simply, as was his custom.

Ding-a-ding, ding!

The iron dinner bell rang across the late November fields and neatly tended gardens, calling the workers to their evening meal. The three men rinsed their hands in the cold water from the spigot, before heading for the farmhouse on the next hill across from the old barn. Jake wondered how he was going to tell his wife about taking their slender daughter to face Tormac. Somehow, Hannah must be persuaded to let Panther go. The future of Ghost Horse Hollow—indeed the very lives of the homesteaders—hung upon her decision.

Hope you enjoyed the conclusion of Chapter II : A Terrible Decision. In the next installment of THE HOLLY KING, we shall meet some of the real Ghost Horses in the story and Jake's unusual wife Hannah ...

THE HOLLY KING, a Family Holiday Tale, #4

2011-11-24T17:32:00.001-07:00

The Appalachian Wilderness is full of mountain streams and autumn colors.

Our story continues with the second chapter of THE HOLLY KING ...

Chapter II : A Terrible Decision

The farmer sheathed his knife carefully and hurried up the tumbling stream bed. It was almost dark, and he found himself wishing that he were not alone. With lengthy strides, Jake moved like a buck deer traveling at top speed. He hardly tipped a creek rock, so accurate was his balance on the balls of his feet.

MacKennon headed for an enormous, crisply scented evergreen tree whose dripping branches and textured bark reminded Jake of his forest ancestry. His father, Prince Ellevar, had been a royal hemlock dryad with a passion for taking human form. The prince had fallen deeply in love with a beautiful horsewoman, Gabriella MacKennon, who bore three sons to the delighted dryad father. Gabriella proudly gave each boy her own last name to keep her connection to Prince Ellevar a secret. Jake was the second son of their magically forbidden marriage. Desperate to hide her children from the Judge Lore, Gatekeeper of the Dark Laws of Time, Gabriella had scattered her sons to three distinct territories: the Northern Lakes, the Eastern Woodlands, and the Southern Seas.

Jake had grown up with the loggers and mountain farmers of the untamed woods. He had also inherited his mother’s passion for riding and training horses. Winton MacKennon, the eldest brother, had become a master carpenter alongside the boat builders of the northern shores, and young Gabriel was rumored to be the navigator aboard a merchant vessel that sailed the southern waters. The three boys’ only communication since childhood had consisted of brief, infrequent letters. They longed to see one another again, but travel across the remote territories was risky, due to thieves and wandering rogues.

Trees are an important element in the magical realm of Ghost Horse Hollow

Jake MacKennon always hesitated beside this giant hemlock to listen to the wisdom of the forest and to mourn the loss of his father. The Judge Lore had sentenced Prince Ellevar to death for mingling so intimately with a human. The dryad’s tree had been burned, and the remaining stump uprooted from the ashen ground. Since that tragic day, so many fairy folk had fallen in love with wingless, human creatures—simply known as the Two-leggeds—that the Judge Lore had reluctantly altered his pronouncement. Love between a human and a magic forest dweller was still greatly discouraged, but no longer punishable by death. Prince Ellevar and Gabriella had paid a great price to advance this law, for the horsewoman had also perished, following a mysterious plunge over Triad Falls.

MacKennon held still. He quieted his heart and lungs. A redheaded woodpecker hammered at a knothole in the canopy above. A gray squirrel scolded in response. Gradually, the farmer thought he heard angry voices coming from below the rushing stream. Perhaps it was Blinkie Joe, the one-eyed opossum, snarling at Three Toe, the black bear? They were arguing about something. It sounded like a cooking pot. Jake drew his fingers through his shoulder-length, dark auburn hair and secured it with a strip of leather. The bear and the opossum would have to settle their own dispute. These two forest critters were always trying to prove which one was the better hand at making a tasty stew. Jake knew this was not the time to pacify their petty rivalry. Tormac was on the warpath, and a terrible decision had to be made.

The farmer climbed to the top of a steep, mossy bank, and rapidly made for Gravel Cart Road. Wet, crumbling leaves silenced his footfalls as he strode beneath the towering hardwood trees on either side of the winding lane. Sunbeams streaming through the hefty trunks broke the passing of his shadow, like a rhythmic painting of light and dark. Jake remembered that the woodlands had returned to their original size and density after the Time of Great Change. Large paper factories were no longer in operation. All the woodland folk were consequently flourishing—especially the fairies, who spent much of their time awakening and blessing the thriving trees. The fairies’ long period of neglect and near extinction had come to a happy end.

The Fairies had divided into two clans: The Starlight and the Moonlight

The magic folk delighted in the renewal of their power. They had divided into two clans: the Starlight Fairies, who specialized in protecting and nourishing living plants, and the Moonlight Fairies, who managed death and decay, necessary parts of the cycle of Nature. Lord Achelon of the Glades and Lady Titrimia were the Starlight Fairy King and Queen. They encouraged the growth of trees, vines, ferns, and flowers. Lord Thrace-rak of the Doomed and Lady Vipress were the Moonlight Fairy King and Queen. Mushrooms, moss, roots, and thorns were their charges, which explained why the Moonlight Fairies were often seen near graves and tombs.

Tolerant and shrewd, the MacKennons had made friends in both fairy clans; only lately, the Moonlight Fairies had begun mutating. They were becoming more horrid in appearance and more aggressive. Certain members of Thrace-rak’s Court were keeping to themselves in remote cemeteries and deserted farms. The Moonlight Lord had even allowed his proud ambassador, Milden-der-mog, to establish trade agreements with several unsavory characters. One such dangerous trader was reported to be General Zuye Drang. She was a ruthless warrior who ran slaves up and down the Muddy Jaygon River. Perhaps, like the Autumn Fairy Prince, the Moonlight Fairies had begun experimenting with forbidden brews? Clearly, their returning powers were too intoxicating for some of the fairies from both clans to control. The survivors in Ghost Horse Hollow had better keep their wits about them, Jake mused as he hurried along. His thoughts centered on encouraging the homesteaders to rely on their true allies, like the honest animals and the light-hearted magic folk. Sir Finnias Glowgold quickly came to mind. He was an ancient soul, full of wisdom, though a bit of a know-it-all.

With a sense of relief, the farmer reached the stretch of Gravel Cart Road which wound slowly uphill toward what had once been a large tobacco barn. Only a few bundles of the brown leaves remained hanging inside the wooden structure from rickety tiers, like shriveling, musty fingers. The remainder of Jake’s annual crop had already been removed from their drying sticks. Hundreds of these bluntly pointed stakes, some four feet in length, lay stacked in an open, dry stall awaiting next year’s harvest. MacKennon noted that the barn’s faded red paint had peeled completely away in several places, and that the door hinges squeaked with age. Inside the three-story barn, a maze of poles and rafters intersected to support its high-pitched, rusty tin roof.

The Old Tobacco Barn in Ghost Horse Hollow

After the Time of Great Change, with its devastating storms and polar shifts, Jake had elected to fill the barn with dried sunflowers and corn for his stock animals instead of tobacco. Food was precious, and electricity a forgotten luxury. All modern communication and transportation devices were no longer a part of daily life. The MacKennons knew that storing crops for personal use was imperative, since farmers were isolated and less mobile. Fossil fuels were a thing of the past. Humans lucky enough to survive Earth’s troubled transitions had reverted to working with horses, harnesses, and simple hand tools; consequently, the storage barn also housed several old-fashioned wagons. One flatbed hay hauler was parked in a corner, piled high with neatly split logs and bundles of kindling.

At present, the sound of two men splitting firewood could be heard coming from the far side of the barn. The surrounding hills echoed with the pounding blows of the workers’ hickory-handled axes. Powerful thumps reverberated two or three times across the nearby duck pond, while a mellow, baritone voice could be heard chanting a work cadence to ease the men’s hard labor:

When the Sun don’t shine, and the rain falls down,

Dig a little deeper in the well.

When the world seems dark, and you wear a frown,

Dig a little deeper in the well.

Dig a little deeper in the well, boys!

Dig a little deeper in the well.

We appreciate your following the magic in Ghost Horse Hollow as our Family Adventure unfolds for the Holidays!
Next installment introduces two new characters!

THE HOLLY KING, A Family Holiday Tale #3

2011-11-23T09:08:00.001-07:00

Our story continues in the Appalachian Wilderness in the magical realm of Ghost Horse Hollow...

Farmer Jake MacKennon is an expert bowman, tracker, and knife fighter.
You will meet him in this installment of THE HOLLY KING.

Black Bottom pecked at a crumb and tilted his beak to the sky. The rooster had been eagerly awaiting the mare’s late afternoon neigh, for the dangers of dusk were at hand. Already the sun was slanting through the wire fence that surrounded his scratching yard, spattering the ground with purple, hexagonal shadows. Black Bottom paused in mid-strut to admire his home.

The chicken coop was nicely decorated with wooden nest boxes and a tin feeding trough. Fresh water trickled into a clay basin from an overflowing rain barrel. There were three windows facing east, north, and south. All were neatly trimmed with rosy, buttermilk paint from an old-fashioned recipe. Black Bottom did not wish to look westward, where the Moonlight Fairies played inside a murky graveyard. It was altogether too frightening! Besides, a window to the west would have disturbed his laying hens, and they were very particular about their nesting.

The rooster dunked his red comb into the sparkling basin and turned his head sideways to better view himself in the surface of the water. With his jade and ebony tail feathers fluttering softly behind him and his bright yellow toes extended with pride, Black Bottom was indeed a magnificent bird. The hens admired him greatly. After all, not every barnyard fowl had been accidently dusted with Sprinkle-Up Spray, while still in the lowly egg stage. The magic powder had lead to the hatching of an exceptionally large rooster with an enormous ego. To everyone’s dismay, Sprinkle-Up Spray had also blessed Black Bottom with the gift of gab. As the rooster matured, he discovered that he loved to crow and chatter; unfortunately, Black Bottom never knew when to stop talking.

All the hens were finally accounted for, even Speckled Fluffy, who was always the last of the rooster’s feathered beauties to retire for the evening. Mrs. Clack Klutz, a rather nearsighted chicken, had already stumbled in. Black Bottom heard her bonk into the nest boxes, followed by several loud squawks. With a disapproving shake of his comb, the rooster flung water droplets across the pebble-strewn yard. There were wild dogs running loose in the misty hills and lonely meadows! It was best for his hen harem to huddle safely together before sundown. Black Bottom crowed mightily and looked around for his farmer.

“Where is the Plow Man?” the rooster clucked to a nearby barn swallow.

“I just spotted him two pine ridges away down near the Blue Hole,” the swallow replied with a tuck and flutter of her wing. “He was looking for something in the creek. Intent, he was.”

“Humph! Fairy nonsense, no doubt,” Black Bottom grumbled aloud. He strode back into the chicken coup, knowing full well that the master of Ghost Horse Hollow would not be able to tend to the rooster’s needs for some time.

The Babbling Brook Fairy in Ghost Horse Hollow looks a bit like this famous illustration.
She loves lemon grass tea with honey and watercress snacks.

The barn swallow’s report was true. Jake MacKennon, affectionately known as the Plow Man to all the woodland folk, was searching for his wife’s missing buttons and silver thimbles alongside the Blue Hole. Here, a mountain stream gurgled into a glassy, fathomless pool. In this shady bend of the meandering waters, fairies gathered at night to sip acorn ale. The winged-ones were fond of spinning tall tales and passing gossip back and forth. The farmer bent low over the mossy shallows, deeply occupied with his task; for several sprites had used Lady MacKennon’s silver thimbles for their drinking cups and her shiny brass buttons for their serving dishes during last night’s party. It was not the first time Hannah’s sewing trinkets had gone missing.

“Looky here!” said Jake impatiently. His musical, country accent pleased the wee folk. The Plow Man appeared to be addressing a green stone, which served as an entranceway into a luxurious, miniature lily garden. Hidden behind a tumbling cascade, the garden was formed by a sudden drop in the mountain stream. A small triangular window twinkled off to one side, where clover curtains secreted a shy hostess within her watery home. MacKennon detected the sugary scent of honey and violets coming from a crystal teapot. Wedged into a nearby crevice, the pot was no larger than the tip of the man’s thumb. “You’ve got no right to borrow my wife’s best sewin‘ gear. Hannah will be needin‘ them things soon. Now hand ’em right up to me, or I’ll stir these waters with my cane,” warned the broad-backed woodsman.

There was no reply. MacKennon sighed with exasperation and swished the creek vigorously with his walnut hiking stick. The carved, hooded wizard at the top of the staff looked annoyed.

“I ain’t got time to stand ’round in this here pool. The shadows are stretchin‘! I’ve got many a goat to milk before supper,” MacKennon added hotly.

From behind the slippery entrance came a tiny tapping, followed by a light tinkling. Three silver thimbles and two brass buttons rolled outward and spun to a plop on a flat rock beside Jake’s outstretched hand.

“Thanky kindly,” he responded with a nod. “There’ll be spearmint tea and sunflower cupcakes on the back porch for the fairy folk tomorrow afternoon, as usual. Good evenin‘, Miss Babbling Brook Fairy.”

A sharp complaint was heard over the flowing waters.

“No, I’ll see to it that the white cat is safely inside the kitchen door. I know that Dillydally is a troublemaker for your kind.” Jake spat sideways and wiped a calloused hand across his square jaw. “I suppose that fat feline could just sit on a mouse, and it would surrender,” he grinned. The fairy hostess chuckled in reply. There was a hiccup, and a colorful bubble emerged from beneath her emerald doorway.

The farmer straightened up slowly, his leather riding boots still straddling the foaming waters. MacKennon was well over six feet in height and very muscular, like a trim workhorse. Jake wore buckskin britches, a tan, homespun shirt, and a fringed leather jacket that had been lovingly pieced together by his wife, Hannah Rose. A battered felt hat shaded his brow. Stepping to one side, the farmer felt a wicked breeze spill down his jacket collar and clutch at his spine. Three harsh crow caws rang through the woodland canopy as MacKennon raised his penetrating, brown eyes to the thorny bank above the Blue Hole.

“So, the great Plow Man has lost his buttons,” a thin coyote snickered, as it emerged from the underbrush. The scruffy-tailed creature howled with laughter until he snorted through his wet nose and had to cough. Losing his balance, the coyote rolled clumsily down the embankment. He shook the sandy soil out of his ears and wheezed through his broken teeth.

“What do you want, Ol‘ Spit?” Jake asked casually while reaching for the long knife at his belt. “This ain’t your territory, not ’til dark, no ways. You know the agreement. Now git.”

The animal licked his slate gray lips and whined at the sight of the keen-edged weapon. MacKennon had quite a reputation as an accurate knife thrower, a skill he had learned from his maternal grandfather. Chief Arrowhawk had been a direct descendent from a northern tribe of the First Nations. A well-respected elder, Arrowhawk had taught his grandson to hunt, fish, and fight in the ways of old. To this day, MacKennon had never lost a close tussle with an enemy, seen or unseen, especially when knives were drawn.

Old Spit the Coyote is treacherous indeed!

“Pardon, pardon, pardon me, O Two-legged Seed-planter. I am only carrying out my master’s orders to deliver a message.” Old Spit circled his own tail and crouched low. His body trembled slightly, but his brittle eyes never wavered.

“What message?” Jake tested the sharpness of his knife blade on the fringe of his jacket. His grandfather had taught him to keep his weapons clean and ready. “The Coyote King would do well to remember that I’ll have no dealings with him.”

“My master is well aware of your aversion to his proposals,” Old Spit replied, coughing nervously. “Nonetheless, you should meet with him tonight under the Dead Oak Tree, north of Ghost Horse Hollow. It is urgent.” The mangy-looking animal seemed quite pleased with himself. With a twisted snarl, Old Spit added a bit of alarming news: “Tormac will be there as well.”

“The Autumn Fairy Prince?” Jake’s brow wrinkled with concern. He knew the seasonal prince for the fall months of the calendar year was mischievous and even malicious at times. His twin sister, the Autumn Fairy Princess, with her flaming hair and golden slippers, was the exact opposite of her brother. Aradia was warm and generous. She was like a glorious afternoon in Indian summer, a precious, warm interval in mid-autumn when the world was azure blue and bronze. Aradia and Tormac avoided each other in the Time of Falling Leaves. Jake wondered to himself how two such different children could have come from the same parents, the King and Queen of the Starlight Fairies. Then again, all eight of their offspring were individual and unpredictable. Besides, it was true that Tormac had begun drinking Sprinkle-Up Spray mixed with some forbidden blend of elderberry wine and herbal tinctures. The now seven-foot-tall swordsman, with powerful wings and a hot temper, was not to be taken lightly.

“What’s this all about?” Jake felt it best to press Old Spit for more information.

“At midnight, when the moon clears the Third Hill of Dendoran, be there, and you will find out for yourself. I can say no more,” the coyote teased MacKennon.

Old Spit sprang away with remarkable speed, vanishing behind a close growth of sumac trees. The dark, crimson berries stained his fur as he fled through the brushwood. Again, a crow cried three times, announcing Old Spit’s hasty departure. Even the dark, solitary bird was frightened by the coyote’s message. Her black wings whacked through the branches, scattering the sour fruit to the ground. She was warning the farmer, in the wordless language known to all creatures of the wild, that danger was very near.

“Whatever this means for Ghost Horse Hollow, I must go tonight,” Jake murmured to himself. “An alliance between Tormac and the Coyote King spells certain trouble for us all.” The Plow Man shook his head. There was just one person on the farmstead that knew how to speak Tormac’s tricky fairy tongue. Too bad she was only fourteen.

I hope you are enjoying THE HOLLY KING! You are most welcome to share this free blog book with all your friends on the Internet. Just use the handy share icons on the right scroll of this page.

Next installment:

Chapter II in which Farmer Jake MacKennon makes a life changing decision.

THE HOLLY KING, A Family Holiday Tale #2

2011-11-22T11:33:00.000-07:00

Crescent Moon Lake in Ghost Horse Hollow

Our story begins in the Appalachian Wilderness one hundred years in the future ...

Chapter I : Coyote Crossing

Enchantment is a tricky thing, even annoying at times, especially when a fairy wand is jabbing you in the forehead.

Dwoink!

“Ouch! You’re hurting me!” Genevieve MacKennon bristled, while keeping her eyes obediently shut.

Plink! Ploink! Thwink!

“Concentrate, Miss Genevieve. Use your mind to see, not your eyes. No peeking as I circle around your head.”

“Sir Finnias Glowgold, you are the best magical tutor a girl could ask for, not to mention a superior Household Light Fairy, but must you keep poking me with your dogwood twig?”

“I am trying to teach you a very important skill. Wind-sight is hardly a beginner’s subject. Now, tell me what you see, what you feel, while traveling outside your body. Don’t look down right away! One fairy apprentice threw up the first time I taught her this lesson, but that was long, long ago and far away from these blue mountains,” Glowgold trailed off regretfully.

“Oh, ALL RIGHT! But please stop calling me ‘Miss Genevieve.’ Everyone in Ghost Horse Hollow calls me Panther—except for you and Black Bottom the Rooster, who hates cats.”

The girl stood blindly before the window, with her muddy, calf-hugging riding boots planted on the floor. With the stance of an athlete, she focused on the only sound in the room: the steady thrum, thrum, thrumming of a four-inch pair of wings alongside her head. Having aced her latest exams with her usual attention to detail, this fourteen-year-old now faced a very different kind of test, should she possessed the courage to continue. Sir Finnias was stretching her boundaries beyond the family homestead, but Panther was ready for the future.

“I have no idea why the Starlight Fairy Queen assigned you such a ridiculously ferocious totem in her ceremony under the sycamore trees,” Glowgold rattled on. “I certainly would have chosen a more ladylike guardian.”

“I like the nickname Panther, and everyone else does too!” The girl with the dark honey hair opened her hazel eyes and glared at her mentor.

“Don’t look at me like that. You grow more and more like your mother every day, full of independent notions and rebellion. I shall always refer to you as Miss Genevieve.” Glowgold dismissed the girl’s protest by dusting off his gilded waistcoat and adjusting his wavy powdered wig. “As I was saying,” he continued briskly, “Wind-sight requires utmost mental control. Once more, if you please, from the beginning. Close your eyes and tell me what you see!”

Dink! Dink! Zwink!

Sir Finnias Glowgold tapped his student’s brow with his wand, as if he were conducting an orchestra. The girl instantly began an inward journey that took her high above Ghost Horse Hollow. Below, the autumn meadows opened out in blissful tones of pumpkin, crimson, and bronze, flecked with silver shadows and transparent ribbons of light.

“Those shimmering objects must be ponds and streams!” she cried aloud.

“You are too high, much too high,” complained the Household Light Fairy. Panther thought Glowgold sounded very far away, as if she were hearing a bird cry on the far horizon. “Move your gaze downward to something familiar. See if you can identify Crescent Moon Lake. That should be easy enough.”

Panther gazed intently within her inner landscape, feeling herself floating slowly toward a glistening expanse of water shaped like a crescent moon. Pearl-colored swans with jet black beaks floated in and out of the overhanging willows along the shores of a tranquil, mountain lake. A creamy colt with faint dapples and four white socks cantered along its stony banks, playing with his own reflection. The colt’s watchful mother-mare stood to one side with her head held high and her pale amber mane and tail wafting in the late afternoon breeze. Crumpled maple leaves dotted the shoreline, strewn with acorns and faded yellow stems.

Ellyon Elestial as Panther MacKennon

“I see it!” the girl murmured. “The images are becoming clearer and clearer, like someone wiping off a foggy mirror!”

“Ah, there you have it. My goodness, Miss Genevieve, you really are the most remarkable student that I have ever had the privilege of instructing,” Glowgold remarked excitedly. “Settle in to the spirit of the exercise and let the scene before you unfold, just like a grand story. Wind-sight will guide you through the present and into the future. But beware, not everything in the world is wholesome or good. There is something dark coming through the woods as we speak. Perhaps it would be best for us to discontinue our lesson. Come along with me to the parlor. Your baby sister is downstairs expecting her afternoon music lesson. We must not keep Miss Adeline waiting.”

“But…but we were just getting started! I don’t want to quit now!”

“Come away from the window at once. Open your eyes and desist! There is a disturbance in the Fairylands, making its way southwards. I cannot touch the shadow with my own mind, but I sense that it will reach its destination soon, very soon. You could not have possibly developed the skill to see that far in just one session.”

Panther MacKennon blinked. It was best not to contend with Sir Finnias when he was being so irritable and stubborn. The girl reached across her reading nook to close her second story bedroom window. The antique lace curtains fluttered in protest. Panther was obliged to take a few deep breaths to steady her nerves and re-enter physical reality. She glanced at her tutor’s retreating wings and sparkling dust trail as the Household Light Fairy flitted into the adjacent hallway. Glowgold had glimpsed something …or someone… that he did not want Panther to know about; otherwise, he would never have ended an enchantment so abruptly. She had seen the blue-eyed colt and his proud dam near Crescent Moon Lake, as well as Black Bottom the Rooster strutting about with his hens. Nothing seemed amiss.

“I’ll be along in a minute! I just have to get a sweater out of my wardrobe!” Panther called from beside her canopy bed. The girl cracked open the window once more and closed her eyes. Wind-sight made her a bit light-headed and swimmy. Glowgold’s tiny wand had awakened a powerful gift deep within the girl’s psyche. She could feel a new capability sweeping through her senses like the rumbling of a drum. Something was indeed moving through the forest, something larger than a fox, but smaller than a wolf. It had worn, yellow teeth and slanting eyes, and it was headed straight toward a tall, lightly bearded man dressed in buckskin clothing.

“Come along, Miss Genevieve!” Glowgold beckoned from the top of the stairs.

“On my way!” Panther grabbed her lilac-colored sweater out of nearby wardrobe and glanced in the oval mirror beside her door. She reached for two delicate, ivory combs before pinning up her braids. “Why is an old coyote hunting for my father? And why is Sir Finnias being so secretive?” Panther thought aloud. As the girl hurried out of her bedroom, with its home-stitched quilts and carved willow-wood furniture, she heard the protective mare whinnying loudly in the distance, like a battle cry over the pastures and hayfields. The eldest MacKennon daughter sighed with relief, knowing the sure-footed Ghost Horses would help to keep the farmstead safe. Still, Panther was certain an unwholesome creature was fast approaching Jake MacKennon and that her life would never be the same again.

Hensley's Ginger as the Mother Mare in this Installment of THE HOLLY KING

Visit our blog tomorrow for the next installment of THE HOLLY KING! Thanks for sharing this holiday treat with your friends on the Internet!

THE HOLLY KING, A Family Holiday Tale #1

2011-11-21T12:36:00.001-07:00

INVOCATION

The Opening Gallop

Through Fairy Halls an’ Woodland Dells

There reigned a Herald King,

Who played upon a silver flute

In a giant’s magic ring.

He called to life the leaf an’ blade

Of grass an’ twig an’ flower.

O’ how he loved his pretty queen

Of royal mermaid power!

Come hear the tale upon the hearth

An’ stir the pot ‘til ‘morrow,

For ye be welcome, Babes of Men,

From labor, toil, an’ sorrow…

To wander through the Fairylands

An’ memorize Her gate,

A journey way to starry fields

Which blessed a kinsman’s fate.

He journeyed far, he journeyed wide

Through the land so fair.

An’ there he raised a goodly herd

Of stallion and of mare.

He held the Earth, ‘en from his birth

More precious than be gold,

And though his eyes were young as Spring

His crown was a thousand years old!

His Queen she bore a sword and spear,

A warrior princess, she!

They guarded all the lands they loved

An’ kept their creatures free.

An’ hand an’ hand, beneath the Moon

An’ the starlight glow,

They rode the wind, again an’ again

In sunlight an’ in snow.

So hear ye well this tale of hope

An’ breathless, daring deeds,

For who’d not wish to ride the back

Of Ellevar’s Ivory Steed?

An’ share the Lore with every youth

In the hour of their need,

That they might keep the Earth we love

From slavery an’ from greed.

The time has come to change our hearts,

Let courage lead the way!

The world must walk the Good Red Road

In beauty from day… to… day!

Ellevar's Ivory Steed
THE HOLLY KING is filled with real Ghost Horses!

160 Acre Homestead Ranch | Real Estate | Billings MT | recycler.com

2011-07-22T09:30:00.000-06:00

160 Acre Homestead Ranch Real Estate Billings MT recycler.com

Garbage to Gardens: Turn Throw Away Items into Useful Garden Tools!

2011-07-05T22:38:00.002-06:00

Gardening Brings the Whole Family Together!

So many people are busy this season in the Northern Hemisphere tending their gardens. Fresh produce is in demand. If you have never attempted to grow or raise your own food, you may be pleased to learn that many items that we throw away are very useful for starting seeds. We can process some of our garbage throughout the year and save money on garden supplies while preparing for the summer harvest. At Ghost Horse Prairie Ranch in central Montana, we have a short growing season. Sometimes snow is still falling in late May! Our best bet is to start plant seeds very early indoors, so suitable containers are in big demand. Here is small list of containers for growing seeds that many folks normally toss out:

Milk Jugs cut in half with a small henge left near the handle make great miniature greenhouses
Large Plastic Juice Jugs cut in half let in even more light for make-shift greenhouses
Newspaper torn into four inch strips, rolled and taped, make tiny inexpensive planters
Metal cans, cleaned and stripped of their labels, make super seed cups. Use a simple bottle opener to punch a few drain holes near the bottom
Old tires can be turned inside out and trimmed around one rim to create useful planters for non-edible products, like cut flowers and ornamental grasses

Prepare Your Beds in the Fall with Organic Material and Plowing

I hope these little tips help you and your family save money on seed starter items! Next blog, I will share with everyone the secrets of using garden scraps to make easy vegetable beds and rich top soil. For now, here are some great books to get started on growing your own food and herbal medicine. Enjoy!

Gardens bring smiles to you and your neighbors!

For the Love of the Sea: Making Waves of Change

2011-02-16T14:19:00.001-07:00

Join the Ocean Conservancy & Make a "Sea Change" Today!

February is the month when roses, hearts, and love come to mind as many people celebrate Valentine's Day. One of the things I love to do is to visit a beautiful, clean beach with rolling waves and circling gulls. Recently, I was blessed with an opportunity to stop by a small salt water conservation center near Manhattan Beach, California. I was so inspired by the beautiful creatures of the deep and by their intricately connected and diverse environment, that I decided this month's blog should be about what we can do to help restore and protect marine life. Saving the world's oceans is arguably the most important issue before humankind, because the health of the oceans determines the success of the global food chain. The Ocean Conservancy recently made this observation:

"Providing food, fresh water, and oxygen to the world, the ocean is essential to all life on Earth, but it is in serious trouble from overuse and pollution. Ocean Conservancy believes it's time to change our national policies to protect entire ecosystems as the surest way to solve the most critical conservation challenges we face. The ocean belongs to everyone and everyone is needed to protect it. To get there, we must collaborate across political lines and with new partners from all walks of life."

A few months back I visited the local library and notice a special new release: The World is BLUE by oceanographer Sylvia A. Earle. I had never heard of Sylvia Earle before, and when I read of her credentials and contributions to the history of sea explorations and conservation, I was a bit chagrined. She is one of the foremost authors and leaders in sea ecology, and one of the most prominent and highly respected female scientists alive today. She urges all of us to take care of the Earth's oceans with a fresh sense of what is at stake if we do not. Interestingly, National Geographic's recent article on the Louisiana Gulf included a message from Sylvia Earl, whose early diving career featured studies of these same waters. I was amazed by her description of the abundance of life beneath the waves just a few decades ago. It was painfully clear that much of the diversity and delicacy of the ecosystem of the Gulf had been eradicated in her lifetime. So what can we do to make a "SEA CHANGE" according to the Ocean Conservancy? Here are five simple steps:

We Can Restore the Oceans with Careful Conservation!

Don't pour harsh chemicals down the drain or into storm sewers
Volunteer to clean a beach, shoreline, river, or stream near you. To participate in the annual International Coastal Cleanup, call: 1-800-262-BEACH
For housecleaning substitute baking soda, vinegar, and borax for harmful products like bleach
Before going to the beach or boating on the water, eliminate packaging and debris that could blow into the water
Fill a plastic bottle with water and place it in the toilet tank to displace and save gallons of H20!

I grew up in the era when Jacque Cousteau's sea adventures were some of the hottest programs on TV. His contributions to the understanding and appreciation that human beings have for the sea were outstanding. If you have never had the chance to view his underwater explorations, try checking out some of the videos that have been recently made documenting his life and work. Cousteau represented a harm-not policy towards the creatures of the deep, more of an observe and appreciate approach to the oceans that once teamed with life and uncluttered currents. A big issue before all nations is the growing amount of plastic debris that is accumulating in the oceans. Did you know that a mass of churning, melting plastic the size of twice the State of Texas is floating in the Pacific Ocean? Clearly, we must recycle on a more diligent scale, with recycling centers available in every city and rural county. We must also address ocean "dead zones," where oxygen depletion in coastal areas is causing massive ecosytem collapse. These appaling ocean floor graveyards are found downriver from fertilzer run-off. Our food production practices need to start considering ocean health.

Moving forward is a process of looking back at our lack of awareness and then making steps each day toward a different tomorrow. Envisioning non-toxic beaches, clean springs in the mountains, fresh rivers, abundant marine life, and thriving estuaries is a great way to begin. Educating children in the ways of bio-diversity, non-invasive economic practices, and organic gardening is another step that our generation can take to preserve our planet on a long term basis. Together, we can make an inspirational SEA CHANGE.

It is an honor to share this planet with so many incredible creatures!
To Join the OCEAN CONSERVANCY: www.oceanconservancy.org

The Watercolor Art of the Fairy Folk!

2011-01-26T22:25:00.001-07:00

This Bing Fairy Image brings to mind the powerful blend of
reality and fantasy in Ghost Horse Hollow

Some of the happiest moments from my childhood included pouring over magical illustrations in picture books in the local libraries. I fell in love with fairy watercolors and delicate drawings by artists such as Arthur Rackham, Tasha Tudor, J.R.R. Tolkien, and Beatrix Potter. Their renderings inspired me to take up pencil and brush during my elementary school days and begin a life-long pursuit of illustrating children's books. Today's artists combine photographic realism with enchanting scenes of make-believe. Computer technology has certainly enhanced the book covers of contemporary fantasies. Still, I deeply appreciate the elegant and simple beauty of watercolors and the subtle tones of yesteryear.

This Bing Fairy Image reminds me of the character of Luka-shen,
Lady Titrimia's Eldest Green Maiden in The Fairy Lore of Ghost Horse Hollow

Painting with watercolor requires overlapping transparent layers of color, usually starting with pale, pastel tones and working toward darker hues. With oil painting, sometimes the opposite process is employed. Darker shades are applied to the canvas first, and lighter touches are dabbed on during the final stages of composition. Watercolors, especially those involving detailed facial expressions, demand the best possible brushes that pull downward to a tiny tip. Working with water frustrates many artists, because this slippery medium is unpredictable and difficult to control. My best advice is to develop a sense of the "beading" process in which the medium forms droplets that can be shifted along the surface of very absorbent paper. Watercolor paper is listed as "cold" pressed or "hot" pressed. I usually work with the 140lb cold pressed.

This Bing Fairy Image calls to mind the Fairylands that surround Ghost Horse Hollow

It is best to use quality paper with a nice "toothy" texture and the finest paints available. The better the watercolors, the more brilliant your finished product will be. Inexpensive paints often result in a pale or faded design. Raising your desk by two inches in the back and mounting your paper at a slight slant will also enable you to control the "beads" of water flowing from the tip of your brushes. I also work with a special acid-free masking tape to secure the entire perimeter of a single sheet of watercolor paper to my desk, so that the edges of the paper remain smooth and flat while the layers of color are drying. When working away from my art desk, I travel with a sturdy acrylic board that will hold one drawing at a time in order to keep the paper wrinkle free. Many artists lay out their paints in a specific order, grouping the "cool" and "hot" colors together before they begin. My favorite technique is to start with pen & ink and then apply the watercolors.

Miss Genevieve "Panther" MacKennon and Elestial's Opal Moon by Artist Steve Lillegard

When combining ink with this challenging medium, be sure to select a water-proof variety; otherwise, your base drawing will blend into your washes. Sometimes using non-waterproof India ink will result in a rich, dark mass that will dramatically contrast with your pure white paper. I have also used gold, silver, and pearl ink for special highlights. The trick to watercolor illustration is to experiment with your medium until you feel confident of your ability to control a water droplet or a splash of paint. Water will form a molecular edge that can be manipulated accurately with a little concentration and patience. Practice pencil drawing frequently, and purchase professional materials whenever possible. It's also good to keep in mind that accidents always happen with watercolor, but sometimes the results are glorious! Meanwhile, I hope you will enjoy browsing through these wonderful illustrations and books that are available through Amazon.com.

Peace : The Smart Global Choice

2010-12-27T10:06:00.002-07:00

Peace: The Smart Choice for a Small Planet

As the world embraces another decade in the 21st Century, we must face the fact that there will soon be over 7 Billion Earth Citizens on our relatively small and fragile planet. Ecosystems, economies, oceans, and continents are decidedly in need of solutions involving restoration, preservation, and growth. Limited natural resources, particularly the availability of fresh water and rich top soil, are of global concern. National Geographic Magazine has done a very good job over the past few years in documenting the difficulties we face. The time for contention based on political or cultural differences is long past. Peace emerges as not only a conscientious choice, but also as a pathway of smart progression. All nations need to reconsider their foreign policies in order to include green energy economics and human rights for both men and women of every race, creed, and cultural background. Why? Why is peaceful co-existence so important at this precise interval in planetary history? The answer is simple: Peace implies cooperation. Cooperation equals survival, not only for our human species, but also for all the members of the bio diverse fabric of life.

Ideas Change Ideas.

Many prominent figures from around the globe have spent their lives teaching humanity that ideas change ideas. When we think differently, we act differently. Some of my favorite heroes are Martin Luther King, Jr., Gandhi, Mother Teresa, Peace Pilgrim, Henry David Thoreau, John Muir, and Nelson Mandela. Perhaps one of the most inspirational heroines during the American Civil War, was Harriet Tubman, with whom I share the same birthday. We were both born on March 10th. Her involvement with the Underground Railroad was extremely courageous. She struggled to free others, in spite of terrible dangers and conflicting social opinions. At present, not everyone is in agreement that the Earth is under tremendous strain to sustain life, nor does everyone see peace as a necessary component for planetary survival; however, the time for the evolution of human behavior is at hand. We must create peace by transforming how we solve international problems and handle cultural differences.

Nations Bring About Peace by Honoring Each Other's Right to Exist

Peace has never come from dropping bombs. Real peace comes from enlightenment and educating people to behave more in a divine manner.

Carlos Santana

September 1, 2004 Associated Press interview

Peace is not an easy choice, because humans tend to violently defend their freedom and their supplies. We also tend to aggressively snatch goods and opportunities from others. Finally, we are inclined to use our intelligence and our technologies to falsify evidence and obscure truths. Powerful individuals have always known that humans blindly follow leadership, if reward and punishment are ruthlessly distributed. The human race must progress and act with a greater amount of self-control. It is not enough to question authority. We must examine what we are doing and what impact our compliance is having on the society. May 2011, be a year of progress towards peace, compassion, and integrity for all nations!

The Time is at Hand for the Evolution of Human Behavior!

Magical Meals from Ghost Horse Hollow!

2010-12-01T07:39:00.000-07:00

Garlic is the King of the Kitchen!

During the Holiday Season in the magical world of Ghost Horse Hollow, Lady Hannah MacKennon is busy in the homestead kitchen creating magical meals. The fairies drift and flutter in and out the pantry helping the busy MacKennon family prepare for the Winter Solstice Celebration. Each cake & cookie, pastry & pie, fritter & festive treat is made with love and joy. Magical meals are connected to the intentions and reflections of the cooks. Just as in the movie Chocolat with Johnny Depp and Juliette Binoche, the Ghost Horse Hollow chefs add a touch of enchantment to their kitchen offerings. Cooking is a process through which healing and grace are transmitted to those who are sitting down to enjoy the feast.

Pumpkin Bread with Pecans and Baked Apples makes a wonderful Holiday Dessert!

Another amazing motion picture that links food and human emotions is Like Water for Chocolate, in which the lovely young cook pours her heart out in her delicious creations. A Walk in the Clouds is also an excellent romantic film intermingling the making of wine with a young couple's awakening passions. Keanu Reeves is the star. Interestingly, both of these richly entertaining stories were brought to life by director Alfonso Arau, who demonstrated his appreciation of the link between reality and both conscious and sub-conscious thought.

Fairies Love to Guard their Magical Brews!

The Ghost Horse Hollow adventures are full of homestead delights such as butter biscuits, cornbread, bean soup, and dragon coffee. Visit the website www.ghosthorsehollow.com for some of the special recipes from Lady Hannah's Fairy Cookery, including Three Toe the Bear's hot cocoa topped with wild flowers. Magical meals are beautiful to behold! Next time the Holiday dinner seems a bit overwhelming, try dedicating each dish to a unique and uplifting quality like Hope, Gentleness, Kindness, and Courage. The meal will be magic indeed with surprising results for you and your guests! For a happy beginning try the recipes from the Enchanted Broccoli Forest by premiere chef Mollie Katzen. Enjoy the season with cooking from the heart!

A Tribute to Lewis & Clark

2010-10-19T10:01:00.000-06:00

This past September, I had the good fortune to visit Lewis & Clark Middle School in Billings, Montana. Librarian Elizabeth Waddington hosted my presentation for a special group of 7th and 8th Grade students. What a wonderful time I had sharing the Ghost Horse Hollow adventure series at this terrific school! The library was beautiful and inviting with a bank of windows overlooking a peaceful courtyard. The Holly King made a grand splash as the opening event for the library's Lunch and Learn program. Visiting schools is one of my favorite things to do as a writer for Middle Grade fiction.

The students and I talked about some of our favorite books like Julie of the Wolves, Eragon, Island of the Blue Dolphins, and The Hobbit. We also discussed the changing world of reading due to the fast-paced Internet. I am finding that people today prefer shorter sentences, simpler phrases, and crisper dialogue. I believe this is due to the trend of reading small computer screens very quickly. Abraham Lincoln and Thomas Jefferson would surely have to edit their manuscripts these days. Classic children's literature is very wordy compared to contemporary children's literature. Still, I think young readers in the 21st Century appreciate thoughtful, powerful writing. Readers tend to quest for ideas and insights. Not every reflection can be conveyed in a few words. Computer screens compel the viewer to think is short bursts. Opinions and reactions crystalize almost spontaneously, in order to filter the wide field of bombarding Internet information. As technology changes, reading and thinking transform to match the pace of communication.

As we watched the book trailer for the Ghost Horse Hollow adventure series on the overhead projector, I thought about how important it was in today's book market to provide visual stimulation. Our modern world conveniently showers the average reader with pictures, video clips, and tantalizing commercials. The students at Lewis and Clark Middle School reminded me, however, that good readers will always enjoy creating their own pictures inside their minds. The infinite world of the imagination is yet alive and well. These curious, bright 7th and 8th Graders, and their marvelous librarian Elizabeth Waddington, are still devoted to good books and thoughtful writing. I am blessed to have visited with them. May the Ghost Horses continue to gallop for the Earth and bring great entertainment as well as good ideas to young readers around the globe!

Creating a Character

2010-09-02T15:44:00.000-06:00

What makes characters come to life in a fantasy series? Is it their physical descriptions or their patterns of speech that spark the imaginations of curious readers? Perhaps we are enchanted by a character’s resourcefulness or bravery in the face of terrible odds. Our favorite personalities engage us in a single paragraph. The character of Miss Genevieve MacKennon caught my attention as a writer from the very first chapter. I fashioned many of her features and qualities after the actress Ellyon Elestial, who served as a young teen sounding board for the Ghost Horse Hollow series, as well as the model for our popular book trailer.

Panther MacKennon on Elestial's Opal Moon
Illustrated by Steven E. Lillegard

Many contemporary musicians also inspired me to create a character with grit, independence, graciousness, and intelligence. I listened to Avril Lavigne’s Let Go album, Green Day’s popular hit song “Boulevard of Broken Dreams”, the Jonas Brothers, and Jewel, while searching for a Middle Grade/YA romantic element to add to Miss Genevieve’s scenes. I always imagined the action in the book saga unfolding as if I were seeing a major motion picture, complete with a background score, unfolding before my eyes. Spending much of my life choreographing dances helped me with this process. The book trailer on Youtube features a terrific score by Nashville composer Jason Morant, whose work evokes the strength and courage of the twelve- year- old apprentice to Lady Titrimia, the Starlight Fairy Queen. One of my favorite movies that encompasses awesome musical themes, as well as startling characters, is The Lord of the Rings directed by Peter Jackson.

Filming the book trailer for The Holly King on location at Ghost Horse Prairie Ranch
Enjoy the video on our Youtube Channel!

Genevieve’s original name was Pheonyx. Shortly after I had typed four or more chapters of The Holly King, a friend casually informed me that J.K. Rowling had written another book in the Harry Potter series that was entitled The Order of the Pheonix. I thought the name of my heroine would then be considered too common, yet I felt inspired to keep the first letter “P” for my character. After much contemplation, the name Panther was born. Panther is a fresh and distinct young leader, with hope and a wild strength that blesses all she embraces. It is a delight to write her dialogue and to witness the exciting scenes in which Panther’s character triumphs! I greatly appreciated the support of the Kentucky Foundation for Women for assiting me with a grant to develop Panther's role-model personality.

Actress Ellyon Elestial as Miss Genevieve (Panther) MacKennon
Photo by Monica Bedsole

Creating a character is like meeting someone extremely special in your imagination and then introducing him or her to your favorite friends. Enjoy the adventures in The Fairy Lore of Ghost Horse Hollow!

Riches in the Grass

2010-07-05T19:06:00.000-06:00

A Grasshopper & a Mosquito Share a Piece of Crested Wheat Grass

by Monica Bedsole

There are so many tiny things of great value in the world of Nature that we tend to overlook! Their importance to our sustainment, nourishment, and healing is undervalued by civilization. From wild flowers to wild grasses, from herbs to seeds, from raindrops to top soil, the small pieces of the Web of Life gives us our food, our water, and our future. Each person on our planet should be taught to respect Nature and to cherish our planet. This wondrous globe is our home and the more we all know about Earth science and green economics the better.

Landscape View of the Montana Prairie by Monica Bedsole

Some people respect only money. Some people respect only power. Some businesses and governments focus on their survival through destruction and consumption, rather than through conservation and preservation. These limited perspectives are crippling the planet. The little things in Nature remind us all that everyone is responsible for solving garbage, energy, and pollution issues. A shift is happening across each continent, in which human beings are becoming increasingly aware that they must embrace our dependence on the health and diversity of our ecosytems. It is necessary for all nations to look beyond money and power into a horizon of peace and cooperation in order to preserve life on Earth.

Sage and Crested Wheat Grass by Monica Bedsole

The grasses of the windswept prairie provide rich graze for the gentle Ghost Horses and protective cover for many wildlife species. Rain from the north and west enable these grasses to grow. The overall health and temperature of Earth's atmosphere affect the yearly rainfall for this region. The energy policies of all nations influence the weather conditions across the globe. It is evident in this very simple chain of sustainment that the seeds of tomorrow's harvest are connected to international decisions. Our collective consciousness is facing the reality that humans are far too wasteful and far too greedy. For our species to flourish on Earth, we must take a closer look at environmental links that connect all creation. Small matters are leading to BIG changes!

Montana Sunset by Monica Bedsole

I Stand

2010-06-17T20:30:00.001-06:00

"I Stand" was written last night after watching Avatar once again and reflecting on the Gulf oil crisis. This poem is a tribute to those citizens in the region that are doing all they can to protect and clean the beaches and wildlife areas which are being contaminated by tar balls and drifting sludge. I admire these Americans for their courage and their love for the shores and magnificent marine life of their homeland. A green and blue Earth is a healthy world, with diverse, well-managed ecosystems and massive territories for wilderness. We must set aside more Nature conservatories for posterity, allowing for educational excursions, quiet tours, and non-disruptive recreation.

The oceans, in particular, should include additional pristine park lands and preserves. We also must work together for the benefit of all nations in the development of clean, green energy and the non-invasive management of natural resources. The term "non-invasive" suggests that human beings should not disturb the soil, air, and water of a region in order to extract minerals or fossil fuels.

Bristol Bay in Alaska, is in particular peril at this time, and I urge my blog followers to learn more about this important Native salmon watershed. The Natural Resources Defense Council offers many informative articles : www.nrdc.org/naturesvoice. The Ghost Horse Hollow adventure series continues to stand for family entertainment, environmental awareness, and the resurgence of old traditions that fostered humankind's sense of honor with regard to our planet. Please feel free to share this poem with others. I am delighted to stand with you.
Anne Severn Williamson.

The first photograph was taken by our Intern Monica Bedsole. The other photographs on this blog are from iStock. They are a part of our Book Trailer "The Song of the Earth."

“I Stand” © 2010

I stand across a wavy line with soldiers in the blood,

With fools and tools and techno – pools before an oily flood.

A blackened wake from sea - charred smoke

And tides of tar and foam,

From distant smells that wrench and drench

The seaweed and the loam.

I search for kindness and for peace, for cleanliness and sweet release,

For never have the oceans cried nor wept red tears of grease.

Who would have thought the next great war

Would be a battle place

For leverages from black to green

To save the human race?

Look not for pressure valves to blow, nor crevices to seep,

Without the heart of Earth’s deep crust boiling havoc in the deep.

I stand … I STAND … and stand again,

But not alone stand I,

The tide of change is coming NOW,

Do not stand idly by!

A Presidential Letter

2010-06-11T13:57:00.000-06:00

Our Ghost Horse Hollow summer intern Monica Bedsole from Pensacola Beach, Florida, wrote a marvelous letter to President Obama before coming to Ghost Horse Prairie Ranch in Montana. I am very please to share with our followers on Blogspot the White House's response to her plea for conservation and wise management of the Gulf Coast oil crisis. It is heartwarming to know that President Obama responded so quickly to a citizen's concern for this tragic event. Please enjoy Monica's photography of Pensacola Beach, Florida and Gulf Shores, Alabama. The pictures were taken shortly before the arrival of the oil and tar upon the snow white sands. We invite you to read The Holly King with the spirit of global preservation in mind. The adventure series celebrates life one hundred years in the future during the aftermath of climate transformations.

Live sand dollar

Monica's Initial Letter

Dear President Obama:

First of all, I want to let you know that I voted for YOU. I want to express my concern for what is going on in the Gulf of Mexico. It really seems that you and your administration are mainly making BP take full responsibility in the cleanup of the oil, as well as the prevention of more oil being dispersed into the waters. I am currently a third key manager at a children's store. I have noticed the dramatic drop in sales and customers because fewer people are visiting the Gulf Shores/ Foley area due to the threat of oil on our beaches. That in itself is a big concern of mine and many families I know. We depend on tourism, seafood, and recreational water usage. Although the oil has not reached us, it is already causing a negative impact on our economy. Also, I have lived in this area my whole life. I plan on raising a family here. I do not want them to miss out on days at the beach because no one would stop the oil from coming to our beaches. Please save our economy, ecosystem, and family days, all of which depend on how quickly this issue is resolved.

Sincerely,

Monica A. Bedsole

Pensacola Beach Sunset

President Obama's Response

Dear Friend:

     Thank you for writing to me about the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico. I am going to stand with the people of the Gulf Coast until they are made whole, and I appreciate your perspective as we continue to do everything we can to address this crisis.

     The Gulf is one of the richest and most beautiful ecosystems on the planet. For centuries, its residents have enjoyed and made a living off the fish that swim in its waters and the wildlife that inhabit its shores. The Gulf is also the heartbeat of the region's economic life, and this oil spill has upended whole communities.

     My Administration will continue to leverage every resource at our disposal to protect coastlines, to clean up the oil, to hold British Petroleum and other companies accountable for damages, to begin to restore the bounty and beauty of this region, and to aid the hardworking people of the Gulf as they rebuild their businesses and communities. For information about response efforts, how to help, or available assistance, I encourage you to visit www.WhiteHouse.gov/deepwater-bp-oil-spill, www.doi.gov/deepwaterhorizon, or www.epa.gov/bpspill/. Small businesses may also find resources by visiting www.sba.gov or calling 1-(800)-659-2955.

   Thank you again for contacting me. I encourage you to visit WhiteHouse.gov to learn more about my Administration or to contact me in the future.

Sincerely,

Barack Obama

To be a part of our agenda for change, join us at www.WhiteHouse.gov

Tribute to the Sands

2010-06-05T17:38:00.001-06:00

Why is conservation so important? Humankind is faced with the growing need to answer this question in order to survive on our irreplaceable, fragile, and splendid planet. We have long struggled to overtake and tame the forces of Nature, only to belatedly realize that we are unltimately linked to the Earth's diverse ecosystems and to their preservation. We cannot survive without fresh air, clean water, rich topsoil, protective atmosphere, and freedom to relax, rest, and grow. As people leave their footprints in the sands of the future, let them be steps towards a peaceful globe where Nature is cherished and honored. Our humanity is defined by our capacity to uphold the beautiful, and not by our abiltiy to destroy the inconvenient.

The Gulf Coast oil spill catastrophe is a worldwide wake-up call to turn our needs and our greed into a conscientious channel of positive, organized action. Green energy, green economy, and green life-styles make sense. It is only logical to care for our planet and not to abuse Her resources and our theater of existence. Clearly, the use of fossil fuels must go the way of the dinosaurs. We can make adjustments and improvements through innovations and new energy technologies. Recycling and the re-use of human waste and garbage have not been fully explored. Our practical steps towards clean environments will be an honorable legacy for the next seven global generations.

Why read The Holly King: Part 1 of the First Triad: The Fairy Lore of Ghost Horse Hollow? The family novel launches a series of magical adventures that are set one hundred years in the future. The locations inside the book are none other than the endangered ecostystems of the Appalachian Mountains, whose breathtaking scenery and medicinal plants are part of humankind's planetary heritage. The foothills of the wilderness provide wondrous landscapes for daring deeds and marvelous exploits involving the MacKennon homesteaders and their equine companions, the legendary blue-eyed Ghost Horses. Each chapter in the series is filled with insights into humankind's relationship to the plants, animals, rocks, water, and soil of our globe. The wisdom pours out, drawing each reader into a deeper and deeper journey of thrills and revelations.

If you enjoyed reading Harry Potter, The Lord of the Rings, Fablehaven, or The Chronicles of Narnia, then The Holly King is the READ for you. If the movie Avatar stirred your soul to conserve and protect our world, so that it remains green and blue, then please join us in spreading the news throughout the Internet that the Ghost Horses are galloping for the Earth! We invite you to share our video, our blogs, and our Web site with your friends and family. The Ghost Horse Hollow series is for all citizens of our remarkable world. As the Seven Laws of the Fairy Lore unfold in the coming years, may the wisdom enrich your life personally, and may the characters set an example of harmony within the People... A ho. All My Relatives.

Anne Severn Williamson

In Tribute to the once pure white sands of Pensacola Beach

Ghost Horses Gallop for the Earth: Enchanting New Book Series Captures Worldwide Attention

2010-06-05T13:38:00.000-06:00

Ghost Horses Gallop for the Earth: Enchanting New Book Series Captures Worldwide Attention

A few months ago, Anne Severn Williamson published an article about Ghost Horse Hollow and its book series. If you would like to read this article, please click on the link above.

The Holly King Book Trailer : "The Song of the Earth"

2010-06-04T21:04:00.000-06:00

Our First Post

2010-05-30T17:05:00.002-06:00

Hello all,
We are very excited to begin the journey of blogging. Anne Williamson (author) or Monica Bedsole (author's niece) will be the primary authors of these posts. I first want to invite everyone to visit our other hoof prints or websites that are helping us promote this enchanting book saga, including twitter, you tube, face book, and our own website. We encourage comments with questions, concerns, advice, and congratulations.

Here at the Hollow, we have had many guests stop by. Currently, we have a young ranch hand and the author's niece visiting for the summer. We may even have a Japanese exchange student visit for almost one month towards the end of the summer. Everyone has been extra helpful with taking care of the critters, tidying up the home and grounds, and promoting the Holly King.

Anne is currently working on a radio show that will broadcast around the world. When more information becomes available, that information will be posted on here as well. We just tallied up how many hits we have attained on the website (www.ghosthorsehollow.com) since its start one year ago: a total of 122,162!

I hope everyone has a blessed day! Thank you for reading our blog and being a part of the extended Ghost Horse Hollow friends and family.

With Best Regards,
Monica Bedsole