My Life with Fairies and Devas
In January, 2004, Paul and I moved to Whidbey Island, in the state of Washington, to start a permaculture and survival farm on two and a half acres.
Permaculture is organic farming plus growing food like nature does—including many different species growing together, which makes the whole more resilient and stronger than its parts. The farm had been pastureland for 25 years. We planted fruit and nut trees, 12 kinds of berries, currants, herbs, wild flowers, and a 3,000-square-foot vegetable garden from scratch.
The first week we were there I went out into the field and prayed out loud. I asked for help from the spirits of the land, soil, insects, birds, reptiles, animals, and plants to help me, guide me, and teach me the way of nature. Then I asked that the whole area (including neighbors and a nearby gun club) to be brought into one harmonious family. I blithely thanked everyone and went back into the house. I had no idea what would emerge from my asking.
The next week I was sitting at our dining room window, looking out at our embryo farm.
Our dining room with stained glass windows
I could see hundreds, maybe thousands, of tiny bright lights flying into the field. Although I had never seen fairies before, I knew instinctively and from reading that they were fairies. The fairies celebrated that night with a huge party, then settled onto a large fir tree, making it their home. In the ensuing years, whenever I had a problem with the farm, I would go to the fir tree and talk to the fairies. They either advised me what actions to take or took care of the problem themselves. Both methods worked quite well.
Whenever we needed manure or compost, materials, or help, I asked. Whatever we needed showed up, sometimes within hours.
Truckloads of composting material showed up, but after six months we noticed that the rodent population had exploded. We could see mice and voles running all over. I commented to Paul that maybe we should visit the nearest animal shelter and get some barn cats. The fairies must have overheard us because the next day three feral cats showed up, a hefty tabby I named Mr. Kitty, his wife Diamond, and his son Slick. We fed them, got them fixed, and they stayed with us for eight years. The three of them quickly reduced the rodents to manageable numbers. Over time, whenever I noticed the number of mice and vole numbers climbing, I talked to Mr. Kitty and showed him mental images of catching the critters. Within a day our porch was littered with half-eaten rodent carcasses.