Paige's Tales 1 LbNA #5064 (ARCHIVED)
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Add Location| Owner: | N/A |
|---|---|
| Plant date: | Aug 5, 2003 |
| Location: | |
| City: | Ashford |
| County: | Windham |
| State: | Connecticut |
| Boxes: | 2 |
| Found by: | burning feet |
|---|---|
| Last found: | Mar 22, 2010 |
| Status: | FaFF |
| Last edited: | Aug 5, 2003 |
Paige’s Tales 1
the Old Fort had served them well, but,....
.... many and varied are the tales that tell of how the Pixies came to the falls.
Editor's Note: The dragon has flown! While noone was there to see or hear exactly when or why, the fact is, the dragon is gone. This means a new discription of the starting point. From the west, the first crossing of the Nipmuck over the Eastford/Westford Road. From the east, the first crossing of the Nipmuck after Moon and Axe Factory Rds.
'Early Winter it was and the snow lay, already, on the ground. Not early Winter as told by the sun and moon and stars, but, Winter, come early, while the last of Autumn’s bountiful harvest lay, still, on the bosom of the land. Pumpkins and squash, turnips and parsnips, acorns and hickory nuts and chestnuts, too. All of these and more had been covered by Winter’s early arrival.
The Pixies, caught as they were, up on the ridge, by the winds and weather that had prowled through the wood, for the last three days and more, sought the advice of their queen, Oldest of the clan. Vast was her knowledge, not only of what had been, but also, of what might come in the future. “Grandmother, what has happened, for Winter to spring upon us so suddenly, and so ferociously, that we cannot finish with our harvest?”,came the question from the youngest of the tribe’s elders. “Shelter is what you need now, for Winter is hard upon you!”, came the reply, from the most Revered One. “No,” was the chorus, for surely none of the youngsters of the tribe could remember when, even though it got cold, Winter wasn’t beaten back by Autumn, not to return until well after the greatest of Feasts, RETNIW ECITSLOS.
“Listen to Grandmother, you of few years,” cried the senior elders of the tribe. “Though You don’t remember, We remember well Winters of cold and snow and deprivation.” “Few and far between have been these Winters of old, but, time was when the landscape was covered with snow and cold, from early until late.” “Heed well the warnings given you, and prepare to depart this beneficent place.”
“What of our Hunters, should we not wait for them to return?” , cried the young lover of one of the tribes most able hunters. “No, we must leave now! They are well equipped to care for themselves, no matter what the Great Mother throws at them.” “We will leave a Message Box here, telling them our direction of travel.” “They will find us, I am certain,” replied Grandmother. “Now haste is our ally, we must not tarry!”
...and so, they packed up their lives, and headed down off the ridge, across the old Droftsew-Droftsae way. Cold it was, but, on they traveled into and through Dragon Meadow. Much anxiety was raised by this, but, cold as it was, the dragon was sleeping. Years later, this same dragon, frozen completely, would be mistaken by the Minstrel Chuck, as being an old motorcycle, though legend has it that his companion Molly, when ever they passed that way, tried to convince him of the nature of the beast.
On they went, into the wood and on, over and through the Dragon Ridges, and on, fighting the fierce winds from the north and west. And they came to a split in the trail, and the young ones cried, “We must go left, down away from these vicious winds, that tear at us and gnaw our spirit!” “No”, cried the Old One. “That way lies Death, for it leads to the Valley of the Hunters!” “Who are the Hunters”, asked the young ones. “They call themselves Coyote, and they are vicious and completely untrustworthy”, was the reply.
So down they went, into the teeth of the winds, and down until they came to a small river. Harrowing it was to cross that tide, in the midst of the snow and cold. In later years a bridge was built to commemorate The Crossing, as it came to be known. On they trudged, half frozen and hungry, coming suddenly into a place of respite. A natural amphitheater it was, in olden times, the Great Meeting Place of all the tribes, Pixies, Gnomes, Elves, Dwarves, Giants, and Trolls. “Here, we can stay for a time”, said the Grandmother, for the high ridge protected from the biting winds. But, the next morning, the winds had shifted. Cold and wet they came from the south and east, blowing across and through the unprotected side of that place. “We must away”, cried the Old One, “but another Message Box must we leave for our hunters.” “Though, they will come to here, they will not think we dared pass on into the land of the Trolls.” So she instructed the placing of the Box, halfway around and halfway up, the ridge that protected three sides of that glade.
Then, on they moved, into the land of the Trolls, and shortly thereafter found the Falls, on a cold and snowy evening. Desperate, now, for shelter, they huddled in the rocks, and in the morning, when they ventured out and saw the beauty of where they were, they were happy. “Here we will stay, ‘til the end of time”, spoke their Grandmother, and they did.
the Old Fort had served them well, but,....
.... many and varied are the tales that tell of how the Pixies came to the falls.
Editor's Note: The dragon has flown! While noone was there to see or hear exactly when or why, the fact is, the dragon is gone. This means a new discription of the starting point. From the west, the first crossing of the Nipmuck over the Eastford/Westford Road. From the east, the first crossing of the Nipmuck after Moon and Axe Factory Rds.
'Early Winter it was and the snow lay, already, on the ground. Not early Winter as told by the sun and moon and stars, but, Winter, come early, while the last of Autumn’s bountiful harvest lay, still, on the bosom of the land. Pumpkins and squash, turnips and parsnips, acorns and hickory nuts and chestnuts, too. All of these and more had been covered by Winter’s early arrival.
The Pixies, caught as they were, up on the ridge, by the winds and weather that had prowled through the wood, for the last three days and more, sought the advice of their queen, Oldest of the clan. Vast was her knowledge, not only of what had been, but also, of what might come in the future. “Grandmother, what has happened, for Winter to spring upon us so suddenly, and so ferociously, that we cannot finish with our harvest?”,came the question from the youngest of the tribe’s elders. “Shelter is what you need now, for Winter is hard upon you!”, came the reply, from the most Revered One. “No,” was the chorus, for surely none of the youngsters of the tribe could remember when, even though it got cold, Winter wasn’t beaten back by Autumn, not to return until well after the greatest of Feasts, RETNIW ECITSLOS.
“Listen to Grandmother, you of few years,” cried the senior elders of the tribe. “Though You don’t remember, We remember well Winters of cold and snow and deprivation.” “Few and far between have been these Winters of old, but, time was when the landscape was covered with snow and cold, from early until late.” “Heed well the warnings given you, and prepare to depart this beneficent place.”
“What of our Hunters, should we not wait for them to return?” , cried the young lover of one of the tribes most able hunters. “No, we must leave now! They are well equipped to care for themselves, no matter what the Great Mother throws at them.” “We will leave a Message Box here, telling them our direction of travel.” “They will find us, I am certain,” replied Grandmother. “Now haste is our ally, we must not tarry!”
...and so, they packed up their lives, and headed down off the ridge, across the old Droftsew-Droftsae way. Cold it was, but, on they traveled into and through Dragon Meadow. Much anxiety was raised by this, but, cold as it was, the dragon was sleeping. Years later, this same dragon, frozen completely, would be mistaken by the Minstrel Chuck, as being an old motorcycle, though legend has it that his companion Molly, when ever they passed that way, tried to convince him of the nature of the beast.
On they went, into the wood and on, over and through the Dragon Ridges, and on, fighting the fierce winds from the north and west. And they came to a split in the trail, and the young ones cried, “We must go left, down away from these vicious winds, that tear at us and gnaw our spirit!” “No”, cried the Old One. “That way lies Death, for it leads to the Valley of the Hunters!” “Who are the Hunters”, asked the young ones. “They call themselves Coyote, and they are vicious and completely untrustworthy”, was the reply.
So down they went, into the teeth of the winds, and down until they came to a small river. Harrowing it was to cross that tide, in the midst of the snow and cold. In later years a bridge was built to commemorate The Crossing, as it came to be known. On they trudged, half frozen and hungry, coming suddenly into a place of respite. A natural amphitheater it was, in olden times, the Great Meeting Place of all the tribes, Pixies, Gnomes, Elves, Dwarves, Giants, and Trolls. “Here, we can stay for a time”, said the Grandmother, for the high ridge protected from the biting winds. But, the next morning, the winds had shifted. Cold and wet they came from the south and east, blowing across and through the unprotected side of that place. “We must away”, cried the Old One, “but another Message Box must we leave for our hunters.” “Though, they will come to here, they will not think we dared pass on into the land of the Trolls.” So she instructed the placing of the Box, halfway around and halfway up, the ridge that protected three sides of that glade.
Then, on they moved, into the land of the Trolls, and shortly thereafter found the Falls, on a cold and snowy evening. Desperate, now, for shelter, they huddled in the rocks, and in the morning, when they ventured out and saw the beauty of where they were, they were happy. “Here we will stay, ‘til the end of time”, spoke their Grandmother, and they did.