There was this red cottage somewhere in the deep forests of the Slieve Bloom Mountains.
The cottage had a deep, slanted roof and it was red, because, its owner had read somewhere in a book that, copper powder mixed with fish oil and made into a paint protected the house from rot and damp.
The book she had read that in had come from a traveling pixie on her way back to Sweden.
The hag that lived in the cottage was called NóinÃn and she was a herbalist, coming from a long line of herbalists performing their craft all over Ireland.
I would not be able to tell you how old NóinÃn was, but what I can tell you for sure is that she had seen the seasons passing over the silky mountains hundreds and hundreds of times.
Her looks were those of a well preserved, taken care of woman. It was obvious she had out of this world knowledge about herbs and plants. Her skin was free of wrinkles and her dark, like covered in flour hair, was braided in two long, thick braids framing her beautiful face.
Her eyes were the color of amber and when she first met him, the shock of stumbling over a human being in her woods almost made them black with anger.
She tried to get rid of him, to scare him away, but for some reason, the seasoned hunter would not allow himself to be pushed aside.
Out of all these forced interactions a beautiful companionship blossomed.
The hag and the hunter would spend interminable days walking the forest picking plants, chatting and enjoying each other’s company.
As a favor to her, the hunter stopped hunting, and the hag was humbled by such a significant action. It proved how important her company was to him. Until then she had been perfectly fine by herself, but now she discovered that when he was away it felt like she was missing something, although she was not able to put her finger on what it was exactly.
Things went like this for about two or three months, and then NóinÃn, the hag, had to travel to one of her sisters across the bog and the fields, to honor a time old family tradition. The hag and the hunter said their good byes and vowed to see each other in two weeks’ time.
The hag left with a heavy heart, but at the same time looking forward to see her sister and share all that had happened. Across the bog and across the fields the hag walked chatting across the way with the wind and the world.
On her way back, the closer she got to her woods, the more her heart grew anxious with the desire of being together again. NóinÃn walked faster and faster until, she could not bear any longer, and started running across the fields, up the hill to her red cottage in the woods.
He had promised to wait for her there, but the closer she got the stranger the feeling she had in the pit of her stomach grew.
The cottage was dark and quiet. NóinÃn called out to him, but nothing moved just the forest animals stirred, scared by her shouts. He was not there. The hunter, her beloved, was nowhere to be found.
NóinÃn was heart broken until she got into her cottage and then she was angry.
He had robbed her. How did she know it was him??? The cottage was magical and only beings that were allowed by her could pass the threshold. And right before she left she allowed him to go in without her. And now … all her precious books, all her mementos gathered over hundreds of years were gone, stolen, by him.
The hag was not sure what made her angrier, the fact the he had stolen her things or that he had fooled her, and she had actually fallen for him.
NóinÃn locked herself in the cottage, put a new spell on it making it invisible in the forest and fell on her bed crying, her hurt and anger pinpointing her into inaction.
I would not be able to tell you how long she sat there crying her heart out, berating herself for her foolishness How did she not see the signs? How did she not see beyond his kindness and good humor? She wanted to be fooled that is how, it was all just her fault.
And the crying continued until one day when something snapped inside NóinÃn and she decided for the first time in hundreds of years to leave her cottage and go out in the world looking for him.
She had no idea of what she would do when she found him but she knew that if she stayed there she would just cry herself away until she melted completely into her tears.
With nothing but a small bag of creams and potions NóinÃn left her beautiful red cottage and ventured into a world that was totally foreign to her.
‘I am such a fool!’, she whispered to herself as she started her journey.
Days and nights passed and soon NóinÃn was out of the woods finding herself entering a busy town filled with the strangest things. Big, round, things that were floating across the sky with little baskets attached to them, seemingly carrying objects. With people dressed in very colorful clothes, each having a long stick supporting their walk.
NóinÃn was not sure why they were all walking like that as they seemed well able and not needing a crutch. She was surprised to see, when she went to the inn looking for a room, that even small children had their own little sticks and were walking awkwardly supporting themselves with the sticks.
As she watched them she saw that actually the sticks were more of an impediment than a support. The poor children could not run and jump and play, they were hindered by the sticks nobody ever let go of.
After a good dinner consisting of steamed broccoli and cheese, while she was sipping a hot cup of ginger tea in the dining room NóinÃn ventured a question to the inn keeper, a sturdy, round woman that skillfully maneuvered her stick among the busy tables.
‘Excuse me, may I ask you a question?’
The woman seemed surprised by the formal way of addressing her and amused got closer to NóinÃn’s table.
‘Of course darlin’…’
NóinÃn tried to find a way to ask without breaking any unknown boundaries.
‘Aham … the sticks. I could not help but notice how beautifully decorated they are. Is this a long tradition here?’
The woman smiled, a wise smile, slightly tinted at the corners with sadness. She came and sat down, gently placed her stick by her side, and with her hands crossed in her lap she told NóinÃn all about their sticks.
‘A long time ago, longer than anyone here can remember, there was a very naughty boy whose father was the mayor and the richest man in town. One day the boy refused to listen to his teacher, got up a tree and he fell. He broke his leg so badly that he could never walk without a crutch ever again. The boy was extremely unhappy and hated the fact all the other children were jumping around and playing things he could not because of his crutch.
So, the father, because he loved his son so much, and he had the power to do so, he forced all the children in school to carry a stick. The parents tried to speak up, but the mayor had too much power.
To make it easier for their children the parents also started to carry sticks, so the young ones don’t feel different or punished. Soon everybody in town was walking carrying a stick and using it as a crutch, and it has been like that for ages and ages. That is us now, as unusual as it might sound.’
NóinÃn was grateful to the inn keeper for her openness and her story and when going to bed that night she thought a lot about the people walking with crutches as a tradition.
The next morning she said her goodbye to the inn keeper.
‘This is for you, a cream that will help you walk without your stick if ever you want to do so. Thank you for your hospitality!’
As she was waving good bye the inn keeper threw the cream in a bin, there was no need for that, they were fine as they were and had been so for generations.
NóinÃn decided that she had quite enough of traveling and that the hunter can do whatever he wants, she will not waste one more minute of her life on him.
Once she was back in her wonderful, red cottage she did a through cleaning and made space for all the new books she needed to find.
Sometimes, when she was wondering through the woods looking for herbs, NóinÃn would think about the stick people and wish them the best wondering if they ever used the cream she had left … altough she had a good idea of what the answer to that was.