Writer’s Block

Some say this elflike creature is mythological, but one young girl and her grandma know better

Icannot remember a time when Arnfinn did not live with Grandma, yet I have never seen him. Arnfinn is a nisse (a small mythological creature from Scandinavian folklore). Grandma says he followed her here from the old country to keep her company.

“Grandma, how old is Arnfinn?” I asked as I crawled into bed during one of our summer sleepovers. “As old as the mountains,” was her reply. “Is he older than you?” “Oh, yes. I am only as old as the fir tree that grows on the mountain. Arnfinn is much, much older.”

I loved to go to sleep at Grandma’s because that’s when Arnfinn would visit and leave a small surprise under my pillow.

One night, he left a small a packet of seeds. I showed Grandma.

“Why would Arnfinn leave me wildflower seeds?” I asked.

“He probably likes them,” said Grandma. “These wildflowers will come back every summer, year after year. They won’t forget.”

Grandma and I sowed the seeds in the meadow. And sure enough, they did not forget to grow. I pressed one of the bluest flowers between the pages of my favourite book so I’d remember Arnfinn’s gift.

One time, he didn’t come. In the morning, there was nothing under my pillow. I woke Grandma up. She had fallen asleep in front of the television after a long day of playing with me. “Is Arnfinn sick?” I asked. “Arnfinn doesn’t get sick. He is as old as the mountains, but he will always be here,” said Grandma. “He probably fell asleep in the meadow, among the flowers he loves so much. He’ll come tonight.”

And she was right, he did. It was good to know that Arnfinn would never really forget.

Then one dark winter day, Grandma, who was as old as the fir tree, was gone. Mom cried and cried after the phone call. I went to my room. I took out my favourite book, opened it and softly touched the dried petals of the little blue flower.

Many weeks later, at breakfast, I noticed a robin on the lawn.

“Mom, do you think it’s spring on the farm?” I asked. “Yes, it’s spring there, too,” she answered. “Can we go out to Grandma’s farm today?”

“No. Maybe someday, but not today,” she replied. “But Arnfinn’s lonely, I just know it.” “He’ll be just fine,” Mom said. I could tell Mom missed Grandma as much as I did.

I asked again after the wild roses blossomed in our backyard. “Can we go out to Grandma’s farm today?” “No,” she answered once again. “But the wildflowers are blooming, I just know it.” “No. Maybe someday, but not today,” she repeated. And so the wildflowers bloomed without us.

When the apples began to fall from the trees, I reminded Mom of the wonderful apple pies Grandma used to make.

“Can we make a pie to take to Arnfinn?” I pleaded. I’m sure he is lonely and misses Grandma as much as we do. I think he misses me, too.” “How do you know that?” asked my mom. “Because I miss him,” I explained. Later that day, Mom packed our overnight bags and loaded up the car with food, including a tiny apple pie just for Arnfinn.

Grandma’s place looked the same, except the grass had grown high around the house. I noticed that the wildflowers were still standing, dry and crisp in the meadow. I left Arnfinn’s pie on a rock alongside the wildflower patch.

That first night, when the house was still and silent, I heard something scurry across the kitchen floor. Mice, I thought drowsily, and drifted back to sleep.

The next morning, as the sun shone brightly through the small bedroom window, I hurried to make my bed. I was anxious to see if Arnfinn liked the pie. As I lifted my pillow I discovered a wonderful surprise: one of Arnfinn’s bluest wildflowers, freshly pressed between my pillow and the sheet.

It was true. Arnfinn, old as the mountains, would never forget.