The Legend of Butterfield Farm

Chapter Five

WHEN HENNA SNUCK out of the farmhouse, it took a while for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. After a few near misses and a stubbed toe or two, she made her way into the orchard using only the soft light of the moon to show her the way. She had packed a flashlight, but using it would have made it too easy for a certain gnome and fairy to see her coming, and that would not do.

She looked back. Just a smidgen of the coming sunrise was showing. It had begun to lift itself up from a good night’s rest, its pinkish orange fingertips gripping the gaps in the mountains to the east. There was no time to waste.

She kept going, and as she looked around she began to feel as though she was a natural part of the landscape—a moving part, sure, but a part of it nonetheless. Still, she was careful not to leave the well-worn path lest she get lost in the thick forest bordering Butterfield Farm; or worse yet, fall into the big stream and drown. She could hear it babbling nearby. In fact, perhaps because she could not see very well, she became aware of all sorts of other sounds around her: the hoot of an owl and the flup-flup-flup of its wings slapping the air, a coyote howling something to the moon, a chorus of croaking bullfrogs, and then nature’s noisiest came forward. The cicadas sounded like a dramatic drum roll, as if they were heralding a dangerous stunt. Henna would never again make the mistake of using the words quiet and country in the same sentence.

Before she knew it, she had crested the hill beyond the big orchard, and there she was—at the big tree in the meadow. She looked around for the best place to get her photographic proof. She chose a spot behind the forsythia bush, since it overlooked the knothole.

She shot a test video of the knothole. When she played it back, there was nothing on the screen. “Uh oh, it’s too dark.”

The moonlight had barely cast enough light for her to make it to the meadow, but it was definitely not bright enough for shooting video. She just hoped Iggy and Larry would not come out until the sun fully lifted itself above the ridgeline.      

Unfortunately, that was not going to be the case, because from inside the tree she could hear them stirring. The moment was at hand.

“Yo, Larry,” said Iggy as he came out of the knothole. “Come on up while it’s still dark. We need one last reading to get a bead on the wormhole.” Carrying something shiny, he took a couple steps out onto the big limb.

“Sure, my friend. I’m right behind you.”  

Iggy reached down with his free hand and gave his little buddy a lift to his shoulder. He then brought the shiny thing up to his eye and aimed it at a bright star over the farmhouse. It seemed to be winking, like it enjoyed the attention and was slyly flirting with him.

Henna recognized what he was looking through. She had seen a sextant before on a field trip to the Smithsonian, in a navigational exhibit. The gnome checked the angular scale on the side of the telescope to pinpoint their position. She knew she had to make her move. Soon they would disappear inside the tree.  Her only hope of capturing the moment would be to get closer and take a photo using the flash. From experience, she knew she had to get within a few feet for the flash to do its thing.

She made it to the base of the tree without drawing their attention. When she looked up, though, the limb they stood on blocked her shot. She decided to climb the tree to get a better view.

Initially it was easy to climb. The tree was way thicker at the bottom, and then it got a lot thinner right off. This allowed Henna to climb quite a ways before it became difficult. At that point, she clenched the camera’s wrist strap in her teeth and pressed herself close to the trunk. She grabbed on where she could and got a toehold in the deep ridges of bark with her purple Chuck Taylors. She was then able to climb higher and higher until she got really close. 

They were so intent on looking through the instrument, they did not notice the wannabe paparazzi in their midst.

Henna got one hand free and took the camera from her clenched teeth. Having never attempted a one-handed clutch of the camera, it slipped out of her grip before she could get off a shot. She was very smart, though. She had used the wrist strap, so it didn’t fall. She struggled to get the dangling camera back into shooting position.

“That’s it,” said Iggy, “three hectare hands left of Newton’s Wedge, two and a half knee-highs above the dwarf star Lentil. Therein lies one big, fat wormhole waiting to be shot through.”

“Let’s hope,” said Larry with an eye roll.

And with that, they scurried back into the tree.

Henna did not get the shot, darn it. But now was not the time to get down on herself. It was time, however, to literally get down. The tree was about to take a trip through some wormhole in the sky, whatever that was. She’d Google it later.

Her legs twitching and beginning to cramp, she realized it was going to be much harder to climb down than it was to climb up.

But just as she moved one leg toward a lower foothold, the huge oak ship quivered and jerked, causing the chunks of bark she was holding onto to break off in her hands. As she fell backwards, she realized her only chance was to grab the limb above her, and it was out of reach.

“Oh no!” she said, as she launched herself with the leg that still had a grip.