It wasn’t until I finalized my soon to release memoir, From First Breath to Last, when I fully appreciated how skilled and prolific Mom was as a writer. In this “soon to be released” memoir, I don’t mention the volumes of other writing she produced, most of it during her second to last decade. Mom compiled volumes for each of us five adult kids, and two volumes of work and stories for her much adored grandchildren.

This is in addition to the years of work she put into genealogical research to produce nearly a dozen albums about various members of my dad’s family. Volumes that made my writing of my first book and memoir, My Music Man, much easier. After she died, I found fictional stories saved on her computer; stories she imagined for her beloved grandchildren. I particularly remember her telling my daughters continuing sagas of a character named Mr. Higgenbottom. In each of these stories for grandkids, the key protagonist was one or all of her grandchildren.

Although I’m certain I’ll never be as prolific as my mom, here is my first story for my now wee first grandson. Based on a true story, as we say.

Emerson and Gnome

When Emerson was but a wee baby, he noticed figures in neighbors’ yards. Statues with white beards, colorful beanie caps – even if faded by weather- and fanciful expressions. Grandma noticed also, and together each time they walked in his neighborhood, they kept an eye out for the little folks. It didn’t take long to find several gnomes living in their neighborhood. Emerson and Grandma made sure during their Friday visits to visit each gnome, creating new friends with them, as they strolled the neighborhood. On one doorstep lived two gnomes, and Emerson and Grandma peered back-and-forth between them. Grandma wondered if they should give the gnomes names, but they decided not too. Emerson would turn his head looking between the two, and then back at Grandma, seemingly entranced.

As Christmas neared, Grandma thought Emerson noticed how gnomes looked a lot like the Santas that seemed to be popping up. Grandma talked to Emerson about what was similar and how they might differ, and Emerson added his thoughts in a language only those close to him might understand. Christmas morning, Emerson helped his parents unwrap his package from his grandparents. It was Gnome! A cute little gnome with a white beard and a red suit and a blue hat. Grandma shared the legend around gnomes, how many believed they brought good luck to land and crops. How gnomes are the opposite of the sometimes troublesome trolls.

The next day, Emerson helped his parents put Gnome in the yard, selecting what they thought to be the perfect spot. And it was for two days. But on the third day, Gnome disappeared. Emerson hadn’t even had a chance to name him yet. His family thought, Oh My! Why would somebody take our Gnome? But deep down, Emerson and Grandma knew something important must have happened. What might it be? Maybe Gnome was lonely. Although he was among a fairy garden, maybe he felt too different as the only larger figure in the yard. Maybe he wanted a buddy more like him, like the two on the porch not far away? Yes, they began to imagine what had happened. And this is that story.

The day before as the sun shined through Portland’s winter gray, Martha strolled through the neighborhood, as she did every morning except those few days when her creaky knees were just a bit achier than normal. Martha had lived in this particular neighborhood for nearly 60 years, and knew each yard and space as the seasons changed. Many years before she began learning about gnomes. She came to believe they were at their best when they had a companion. As Martha walked Emerson’s street, she noticed Gnome and recognized him as a new neighbor. She paused, closely examining his expression, as only gnome lovers might. They locked eyes. She knew that, although whoever placed Gnome in the yard loved him, all the other moments of the day and night he felt lonely in his solo spot in the yard.

Martha inched along with her cane, carefully up and down the sidewalk, trying to figure out what to do. She didn’t want to steal Gnome, that would be terrible! But it felt worse to leave the little guy. Finally, she believed that true gnome lovers would understand. Gnome needed a pal. Finally, after even more deliberation, Martha stepped off the sidewalk into the yard. She moved carefully, making sure she didn’t lose her balance. She didn’t look around because she was sure that would make her look guilty: after all, she was really just rehousing him. She picked up Gnome and nestled him into the crook of her elbow, sharing soothing thoughts, as she walked down the sidewalk.

Martha walked for some time. She could feel her legs tiring and knew it might get dark soon, but she knew it had to be a perfect spot. It was then that she felt other eyes lock hers. And there it was, another gnome staring straight at her. He looked sad, but curious. As she neared, Gnome tucked in her arm, a light glimmered in his eyes. She was close enough to touch him but didn’t know if he was shy of touch, but was certain his expression cracked a wee smile. This time she looked around; she wanted the gnomes to share a mostly private moment. Martha hesitated. She didn’t want the owner of Gnome to feel sad when they noticed he had left. But she knew it was more important that Gnome find happiness. She believed that the wee boy and his Grandma, whoever they were, would understand. She positioned Gnome near the other, not too close, not too far. As Martha walked away, she was almost certain the gnomes tipped their little beanie caps toward her.

From Grandma, January 2024

With Gnomes you just don’t Gnome.