Being Greene

By Rose Q. Addams

Trixie sighed and threw the imperfect blossom she’d just crafted. It landed in a pile of other discarded blooms.

“Why can’t I get it right?” she moaned, putting her head in her hands. The ancient wood of the table was a prime example of her great-great grandfather’s work. The aged pixie had been  proud of his favorite oak tree. It had lasted centuries before succumbing to a summer storm the year of her birth. And from that time, everyone had expected her to continue her family’s gift of Greening—the magic of plant creation and accentuation. Creating the most magnificent flora in all the realm. Too bad she had all the Greening talent of a rock troll.

“Are you ready for your first day of Greening?” her sister Varda chirped, fluttering into the room. Her grin faded when she looked at the cast-aside florets, and she sank back to earth. “Oh, dear.”

“You’re telling me,” Trixie said. “I’m a failure.”

“Those are pretty complicated flowers,” Varda patted Trixie’s shoulder, though she sounded unsure. “Maybe Father will assign you something… simpler for a starter.”

“But I’ve been practicing for years! I’m behind everyone I know.”

“Calytrix Greene.” Varda folded her arms and snapped her wings. “Stop sulking. At least you have a gift. Some fae…”

“I know, I know. In other countries, fae have to work all their lives to earn a gift.” Trixie sighed. Her mother had argued this point many times. “I just wish that I could use what I’ve got. It’s another problem entirely.”

Varda, never one to sulk, smiled and patted her arm. “There’s my sis! You’ll get better with practice. You’re just a late bloomer!”

“Mmph,” Trixie said, face pressed against the tabletop. “If you say so.”

“I know so! Now come on. Father’s already probably flown over the garden and chosen assignments for the day; we don’t want to be late.”

Trixie sighed, but followed her sister out of their cozy apartment in the oak tree that succeeded the one that now formed their kitchen table. Father had grown this one himself. Would she ever reach that level of skill?

“Good morning!” Father grinned at their approach, and Trixie felt a combination of excitement and guilt fluttering in her stomach. “How’re my two best girls?”

“Good morning,” Trixie replied, giving him a peck on the cheek.

“Nervous,” added Varda.

“Don’t you even think of leaving without saying goodbye,” Mom said as she came out of the tree above them and fluttered down to stand next to Father.

“Of course not!” Father gave her a big kiss, dipping her dramatically as he did so.

Varda stuck out her tongue.

“Daaaad…”

“Right-o!” he said. “Can’t be late on Trixie’s first day!”

“Good luck!” Mom called, waving as the three took off.

The early-morning air rushed over Trixie’s face and wings, exhilarating, as it always was, and it swept away her worries until she landed in the massive flowerbed. The plants towered overhead, looming as if anticipating her failure. She drew closer to her father, who was already giving instructions.

“All right, Varda, you’ve got the pink begonias today. Trixie, come with me. Since your mother said you were struggling, I’ve decided to give you something special.”

Great. Just great. Singled out. What was she getting stuck with, geraniums? You couldn’t kill those. They practically grew themselves.

She followed him through the giant foliage and stopped short as he gestured to the wide yard ahead of them. In amongst the grass were dozens of saw-toothed plants. The nearest one had a yellow-trimmed bud and a fading yellow flower that drooped, shedding golden powder.

“Dandelions?” she sputtered and turned to him, wings fluttering helplessly. “But— they’re a weed!”

“They might be,” he said gently, “but they’re green. We must care for them. They’re fairly hardy, so you shouldn’t have much difficulty with the yellow blooms. The white, seedy ones are slightly more difficult, but they’re essential to the plant’s survival.

“I trust you with them.”

His last statement silenced her verbal arguments, but she stewed as she slowly began the blossoming and restorative work.

Stupid weeds. Why? Everyone hates these. They don’t even need our help, do they? I bet this is just to get me to practice more…

As she worked, a giant, chubby hand came down near her, and seized a white bloom she’d just completed.

“Purty!” squealed the enormous human youngling. It burbled some syllables that Trixie didn’t understand before taking a deep breath and spraying the seeds all over, then laughing uproariously. She quaked beneath a leaf and watched as the child repeated this again and again.

Her initial fear fading, Trixie realized the erm, little one was absorbed in plucking and harvesting the results of her labor; the dandelions were disappearing faster than she could finish them, and the youngster giggled with each new discovery.

“Purty! Purty f’owers!” the babe chortled, and she fluttered farther away while its back was turned. The child would run out soon, and she hadn’t finished the yard! Trixie the failure.

No.

Greene pride surged in Trixie’s breast, and she took flight, busily coaxing the plants to bloom, bloom quickly!

The youngling gasped. “Bu’erfy?”

Oh, no. She’d been seen! She huddled beneath the flower she’d just completed, praying the child would not find her. Ponderous footsteps approached, and she stared up as the round face bent over her.

“Bu’erfy made it purdy. Dee-doo!” the babe laughed and proffered a now-wilted dandelion.

Dee-doo?

“Dink-oo?” the child tried again, pushing the flower a bit closer.

She was… being thanked! She looked up at the flushed, earnest face, and she smiled, taking the shrivelly gift in both hands.

“You’re welcome,” she said, and the face grew radiant.

Maybe weeds weren’t so bad, after all.

They were still green.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rose Q. Addams loves cheesecake, wears many hats, and blames her expansive, loving family for her love of reading. Some of her earliest memories are hearing stories of Heidi, Winnie the Pooh, Paul Bunyan, and the prophet Ehud who stabbed King Eglon— which explains how her taste runs wildly throughout genres. She can be found searching her hometown for a rumored giant bird (or pterodactyl, stories differ), or scribbling madly on any paper she gets.

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