FAIRIES FOR JESSIE

My granddaughter Jessie is dyslexic. In layman's terms, this means she has trouble reading and writing. Jessie also has dyscalculia. Simply stated, this means she also has trouble with math. Each of these explanations is a vast oversimplification of Jessie's cognitive problems.

When my husband Paul and I moved here, Jessie was eight years old. More than anything, I wanted her to feel strong and confident when she visited us. Jessie wanted this too. We decided that she would get the mail every day she was here. To do this she would have to walk a mile to the post office.

Our problem was, she would have to memorize the way to the P.O., something she might have trouble doing. Over ice cream, we talked this through and decided that if we put a marker, or a sign, at every turn she would have to make, Jess could manage. But what kind of sign?

Our Homeowners' Association forbids lawn ornamentation. Most of the time I'm in agreement with this rule, as I'm not a fan of gnomes, gargoyles, or scrying balls. But we needed to set up a simple path Jessie could take to get the mail, maybe buy a treat at The Market, and return home, without getting lost.

On a mission, we went shopping, and in a small store in Manomet we found the perfect solution. We bought ten, six-inch-tall iron fairies. (Being Irish, I could tell some of them were pixies and sprites, but for our purpose, they were perfect.)

Now the problem became how to place them so Jessie could spot them, but the Decency in Lawn Ornamentation Police would not. We walked the path, tried a bunch of hiding places, and came to the conclusion that three of the statuettes would have to be out in plain view.

While we were placing them, we encountered a landscaping crew. The workers were burly guys who were a little intimidating. I knew the small iron pixies would be a pain to work around. But when Jessie and I explained the situation, each one, to a man, said he would protect her fairies…

Over the years the fairies have aged and rusted and become more difficult to see. But their story has taken on a life of its own. Other people's children have discovered them and fallen in love. Many of the smaller figures are borrowed to be quickly returned by embarrassed grandparents.

One of the more pivotal fairies disappeared in the winter. She returned in the spring with a note tied to her waist which read, "Our little girl was getting rusty, so I took her home, sanded her down, and polyurethaned her." It was signed, "A landscaper dad."

Another time a woman appeared at my door asking if I was "the fairy lady." Thinking I was in trouble, I cautiously admitted I was. She told me her visiting grandson, who was recovering from chemo, loved finding the fairies in our hiding places. And she thanked me.

We had tea and I told her I happened to have four extras, in case one or two were "borrowed." We worked out the plan that I would hide them in her yard for him "to discover." At night when I would walk my Golden Retriever, Bridget, I would move the tiny little sprites to different places.

It's been a trip seeing the way Jessie's little iron ladies have given so many children so much joy. Jessie is eighteen now. She knows the way to the post office. Her fairies are still "borrowed" and returned, many with sweet notes written by their kidnappers.

Recently, I asked Paul if I should pick them up as Jessie doesn't need them anymore. A little sad, he said, "I like to see them when I walk to the post office. They remind me of Jessie."
They're still there.
– Jonnie Garstka

Celebrating 25 Years

It's been a trip seeing the way Jessie's little iron ladies have given so many children so much joy. Jessie is eighteen now. She knows the way to the post office. Her fairies are still "borrowed" and returned, many with sweet notes written by their kidnappers.

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