The Silver Bell and the Fairy Ring

The October air was cold, crispy, and sweet, like a cookie left on the counter by Grandma Lalli. My cousin Atlanta and I skip-jumped down the ivy-clad path behind Grandma’s cottage. We were nine and were the perfect pair of wide-eyed, curious apprentices, eager to absorb every bit of herbal wisdom from our grandmother.

”Hurry up, Gabs!” Atlanta called over her shoulder. Her wild red curls were bouncing with each step. I quickened my pace, careful not to drop the woven basket Grandma had given us for our foraging expedition.

The forest welcomed us like always, with a song of rustling leaves and the beloved autumnish earthy scent we loved. The soil was damp after the light evening rain, and we could feel the magic at work through the undergrowth. We ventured deeper on the path toward our secret place, a bit beyond our dear clearing where the birds would come to feed even during winter. The trees with their gnarled branches were not scary for us, but we considered them wise old souls.

”Remember, girls,” Grandma Lalli told us before we left, “Samhain is approaching. The veil between worlds becomes thin, and magic is at its strongest, especially in nature. Be careful and be observant.”

Atlanta suddenly stopped. “Look!” she exclaimed, pointing to a ring of mushrooms at the base of an old oak tree covered in moss. Their caps were a deep, rich red-brown, speckled with white dots. Those were poisonous but good for our witchy experiments.

”These are fairy rings, Atlanta! ” I breathed with innocent excitement, remembering Grandma’s tales about fairies.

We carefully circled the mushrooms. It was the first time we saw such careful formation with our own eyes. So we made sure not to disturb their perfect circle. The magic was present, and we felt the prickle on our skins. Atlanta took a small silver bell from her pocket, received on her birthday from our grandparents. I also had one, but not with me on that day. It was lucky that my cousin had brought it to the forest.

”We have to ask permission,” she reminded me. The bell rang softly, its twinkle lingering in the air for far longer than it should have. It was eerie, but we had grown up with eerie all around us.

We waited and held our breath. Something stirred in the rustling of the leaves, both in the air and underground. There was a shift around us, and we even noticed some sprinkles of fairy dust flowing in the air.

We realized we had been granted entry into the fairy ring. We knew that one wasn’t supposed to disturb the ring otherwise. We felt special.

We began to gather the mushrooms carefully. We expressed our deepest gratitude as we plucked them one by one, wearing some leather gloves Grandma Lalli had given us, to protect our hands from potential poison.

Time passed, and we continued our search deeper into the forest. Our basket slowly filled with treasures like mushrooms, sprigs of wild rosemary for remembrance, sage for cleansing, and vibrant orange marigolds to honor our ancestors.

Atlanta started humming a foreign song, and the whole forest seemed to accompany her. Imagine buzzing insects, dancing in the sweet yellow light, birds accompanying my cousin with their chirps, and the red ants drawing happy circles around our feet.

We both felt connected to the earth and were amazed by the curious little creatures eager to join in our whimsical dance. At one point, a squirrel came down the old oak tree, its eyes smiling, and brought us a golden acorn. Was that a sign?

”Grandma taught me this old song to call forth the wisdom of our ancestors,” Atlanta explained. I knew the song well, it just didn’t cross my mind to sing it at that moment.

Atlanta continued: “Grandma says it’s been passed down through generations of women in our family.”

“Yeah, but how did you know when to sing it?” I asked her.

“We needed the acorn, and only if the squirrel hears the song would she bring it. It works a bit like a message system here,” my cousin explained wisely.

“Is it this acorn that will guide us back home? The sun is setting soon. We really should go back,” I whispered to Atlanta, and she nodded. I was always the more careful one.

The sun was already setting behind the trees, casting long shadows. Yet the musty air was filled with fairy dust, showing us the way back to the path. We were ready to go home and tell Grandma all about our day.

Atlanta and I chattered excitedly about the rituals Grandma Lalli would teach us using our foraged treasures. We wanted to learn how to make strong brews, cast protective circles like we’ve seen in the old books, and communicate with spirits on Samhain night. We were witchy that way, and that was part of our precious childhood.

Grandma was waiting for us on the porch and smiled warmly as we arrived. “Well done, my little witches,” she said, kissing our red cold cheeks and approving of our full basket. “You’ve brought back so much more than just herbs and mushrooms today, didn’t you? Come darlings, let’s have some tea and you can tell me all about it.”

We followed her inside the warm cottage, feeling the cozy scent of simmering herbs. Grandpa was working with wood in the corner and his eyes twinkled when he noticed us. “I’m making a game for you too, as tomorrow it will rain. You can play inside and practice your numbers.” We were curious and knew grandpa’s imagination would fuel our learning journey too. He was more into numbers and practical things, so his style matched perfectly with grandma’s more spiritual side.

Right then, I felt deeply connected to something greater than myself. This October day had awakened something within us, and I was eager for more knowledge. Atlanta caught my eye and grinned, ready to jump into a dance by the warm fireplace. I knew she felt it, too. Our journey to rediscover our heritage had only just begun.

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Author’s note:

The other day, while reading about foraging mushrooms, I first found out about fairy rings, and it stuck in my mind. Right about then, I started imagining a story for My Cousin Atlanta and I series, just in time for Samhain. There are many legends linked to fairy rings, most likely because they were usually made of poisonous mushrooms, and the horror stories were meant to keep those without the knowledge away from the rings from making some deadly mistake. So these legends illustrate both cautionary tales and notions of wonder surrounding fairy rings.

I particularly like how they were illustrated in literature. You can read more about it here. My favorite was this illustration in A Midsummer Night dream book. I found it on Wikipedia.

Fairy rings are often linked to magic and supernatural events, and people view them with both wonder and fear. Shakespeare mentions fairy rings positively in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, where fairies say:

And I serve the fairy queen,

To dew her orbs upon the green…

As the weather cools and summer turns to fall, fairy rings pop up around the world, sparking our imaginations to create stories and bridge the gap between the worlds. If you see one in your yard or while hiking, be careful where you step. You might even want to listen for the faint sounds of laughter and joy that people have claimed to hear from these magical circles for centuries.

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Thanks for reading one of My Cousin Atlanta and I stories. I will publish the others here on Vocal.Media soon, one by one. Meanwhile, you can find the series on Medium.

I originally published this one here.