It's always time for a story 'round
the camp fire here ...
In the land of Nanastee at the midst of a mountain forest grew an incredible daffodil, fresh as springtime but already in full bloom. A raven landed nearby in search of interesting bits of this and that. “Oh look at the sunrise,” exclaimed the flower. “My friend the Sun has come again to bring goodness and life to all the world.”
The raven had been preening in his reflection within a drop of dew, now fading with the warming rays. “That may be true for you, but in fact it is neither good nor life for all.”
“But it must be,” cried the blossom. “My gardener says that that the dew will return again this night. Without this faith he would have no job or purpose. Just ask any of the plants here in the meadow -- they know about rebirth.”
“I have flown to distant places,” whispered the raven, “where the land is parched and dry and there is never any dew, and to oceans where any dew is lost in endless waves.”
“Those must be evil lands indeed,” sighed the saddened daffodil. “To think that there are places with no life at all!”
“Oh, there is life – it is a fact, but in truth you would not recognize it, for there are no flowers or trees.”
“That is not possible – you must surely have one or the other. That is the way the world is made, and all of the other flowers tell me so. And I have asked such questions of the trees and hear nothing, so they must agree.”
“What of the ferns there at the edge of the woods – they have no flowers but would seem to be alive and hardy?” queried the raven.
“What!” exclaimed the indignant flower. “You can’t consider their views at all! They do not reproduce naturally with pollen and bees, but with corms that grow underground – and we all know how terrible and insidious that is. That is why the gardener comes every Sunday – to chop out this evil that would invade our beautiful meadow. I pray that he will come soon.”
“I think that the ferns were here first,” mused the bird, “and covered this meadow with gentle laughter long before flower seeds were dropped here – by birds, I imagine. As I don’t know for sure I can only guess -- I doubt that I can gain as much wisdom flying around as you can here in touch with Mother Earth."
"You're not siding with those awful ferns are you? I thought you liked us flowers -- anyone can see we have more to offer."
"Oh yes, I like flowers very much, " chuckled the raven while liking his lips. Such nice seeds -- so many -- I don't have to wander far to help with my own rebirth."
"Dear gardener, protect me," wailed the trembling daffodil. Those seeds are the product of true love and raised with tender care. They are my source of reincarnation -- my immortality!"
"Fah! You don't even know who the father is and never cared a scratch for them until now. And your belief in bees is wrong too. You were probably pollinated by a mosquito!"
"Shame and damnation on your soul. Everyone has a guardian bee and you know it. Here comes the gardener -- he'll show you what for!"
The gardener did come -- and carefully cut down the daffodil and all of her friends. He took them home and placed them in a vase by his daughter's bed. He didn't pick lilies to place beneath a cross as some did. He didn't dry the flowers for use on his altar. He just grew daffodils because he liked them -- and that was their purpose after all.
The raven Munin flew home to Odin to bring him news of what he had learned, and the Sun believed it was time to end the day. The ferns just danced in the silent breeze and enjoyed the shade of the elder trees. And that's the truth.