Botanica Fabula

vii: Botanica Fabula

Evergreen Periwinkle: a fairy story

Amanda Edmiston

Periwinkles (Vinca minor and major) have a creeping habit. They crept into a Swiss story I'd been given to share in The Very Curious Herbal podcast recently, making a subtle, unexpected appearance in a story which opened with a Larch tree (Larix decidua). As I was adapting some of the details, omitting as mindfully as I could those elements we may no longer want to reinforce, as the story left my lips, as I told, I couldn't help thinking how interesting it was that the story had been told to me just when I was looking for a Periwinkle story to share with you.

The tale was brought to me by a lovely Swiss woman, Virginia, who came to one of my workshops a few years ago. Virginia is an activist and storyteller who I'd got in touch with when I was researching Larch. The Larch is a rather magical, phoenix-like tree, which I often use subtly, as a presence or a flower remedy to enhance creative confidence. It’s not native to Scotland, so here its folklore is a bit thin on the ground, whereas in its native Switzerland it occupies a rich and valuable place in legend.

I guess I shouldn't have been too surprised at Periwinkle's appearance in the story. Again, it's a plant that features in Swiss folklore— used in decorative bunches to dispel evil spirits and bring good luck —which, in many ways, is the role of the child in the story I'm about to share.

The story begins with a fairy woman who lives deep within the roots of a Larch tree, a transitional tree with the power to renew itself every year. The fairy, like the tree, seemed to regain her strength every Spring, even though she was immortal, like the evergreen Periwinkle creeping around the edges of the forest floor where the tree grew.

This fairy loved the beautiful mountains, the blue skies, the fresh air and the flourishing, verdant land around her, but she longed for company and would hide on the edges of the village, watching the people, listening to the children play and wishing she had a child of her own. Although she was beautiful, there was something about her that stirred up mistrust in the villagers. ‘Too different’, they thought. There was something unexpected, something a little unusual that set her apart, and intolerant voices sent her away. She took, instead, to sitting and watching from her Larch tree home, from a distance— sad and even lonelier now, but unable to leave as she had nowhere else to go.

Every day, there passed a young man who made a living harvesting from the forest; cutting the fast-growing Birch for firewood, watching to see which trees he could take for timber; always ensuring, as good woodsfolk always have, that he left the trees he knew needed to grow. The fairy did not realise it, but the young man was a little in love with her and was stricken by the thought she might be sad and lonely. He had noticed her tears when ignorant folk had mocked her and sent her away and, eventually, he found the courage to speak to her and ask how she was. The two got chatting and spent many hours in the woods, sharing a passion for plants, exchanging their views and knowledge of the way things grew, sitting watching the sun set as day closed and, in time, whispering words of love.

A year went by and the woodsman, sipping a cup of Larch bark tea, found the courage to ask the fairy to marry him. Raising her own cup to her lips she promised she would, on one condition— that he never cursed her for being a fairy. Her husband-to-be smiled and vowed he would not.

Within the year the couple had welcomed a baby, a child with bright blue eyes— the colour of Vinca —who smiled with happiness and completed their world. They named the child Periwinkle and as long as their mother was near, they laughed and slept, played and gurgled, with never much more than a restless night’s teething to unsettle the days. And so life went on. The couple were happy and the child grew, always happy, strangely wise, but filling their world with joy.

But the woodsman still went to the market and the voices of those who dislike anything different still rose above the throng. They mocked him and refused to buy his wood, told him his wife should be banished, that he was wrong for marrying her. On and on they went, until one night worried about how they would make ends meet, he lost his temper and called her “an accursed fairy”— the one thing he'd promised never to do...And in that one moment, she was gone. His beautiful wife vanished.

Periwinkle let out a cry— sharp, searing —then paused in the way they would if their mother had entered the room. The woodsman turned, but there was nobody there. He left to search the land around their home. Surely, there would be a sign… But there was none. So, he sat and watched the child fall asleep, seemingly calm, whilst he berated himself for his stupidity, for that rash moment when he'd said something he didn't mean and hurt the person he loved.

Time passed, and every day the woodsman regretted what he'd done. He could not believe that in a moment of worry he'd uttered words he'd repeatedly heard but would never have thought. He felt his mouth had betrayed him and he didn't know what to do.

Unbeknownst to her husband, the fairy returned every day as a breeze, or a bird, and tended the child. Periwinkle knew, and they watched, remaining happy and strong.

Finally, the time came when the woodsman had searched every hollow tree, every covert, every glade for miles. Still finding no sign of his wife, he turned to the child and asked them what he should do. The child told him to stand beside the fairy's old Larch tree home, now at the foot of the cottage, look out over the wood and explain out loud, his remorse and regret, promise again to never mistrust his wife, declare his constant love, then stay still and not turn, whatever might happen. So he stood, and he watched as the sun set. He explained how wrong he had been. Heexplained his love and trust. Then he stood and imagined her beside him, watching the roseand gold tones disperse into deep blue as the moon lifted into the sky. He did not shift afraction, not even when something started to slide round his ankle. He sensed the snake as itscool, desiccate scales wound around his leg, upwards, slithering now around his waist. He didnot flinch as the reptilian eyes investigated his. Fearing the creatures bite, he closed his eyes.Feeling its skin caress his lips, he remained motionless.

Then a moment...

He sensed his wife and returned the kiss and then there she was, in his arms, returned... And of course, being a fairy story, everyone lived happily ever after.

Now, as endings go, that might seem a little trite in troubled times, but I'd like to add that I am very aware that stories are invaluable; they offer a safe place to retreat and shelter the mind for a moment, a place to explore your emotions. They help to ground us, so we can act from a place of calm…So, I think it's important to keep sharing small stories that reflect how we value one another. And, hopefully April will bring peace, calm and tolerance.

Acknowledgement

Many thanks to Virginia Bjertnes for sending me the translation of the folktale I’ve adapted toshare with you.

Image:

Marianne Hughes