A miniature gardener is happy and silly. In pursuit of this absolutely useless endeavor, I scoured nurseries for dwarf-leafed plants that stay small, gently scraped mosses from cracks and crevices and endlessly shopped online for whimsical garden furniture and accessories.
My backyard is now a refuge for mythical creatures. Inside an heirloom birdcage, nymphs dine on fanciful white bistro bedecked with silver teapot on a tray sheltered by Boston ferns, baby tears and succulents. Giant mushrooms shroud a mossy path where gnomes meander amidst frogs and snails before fading behind a keyed red door perched on gnarled roots of a mature redwood.
Tiny earthen footprints lead to where fairies rest on a bench watching splatters from a birdbath or ride a bike whilst savoring wee vegetables grown in a fenced plot guarded by a thumb-size copper-wire scarecrow dressed in overalls, straw hat and green rubber boots.
Pass the pixie dust.
– Contributed by Cynthia Ruehlig