Several years ago my husband received a gift from his mother after she died. It was an amount of money for him to use as he chose. At the rear of our property the special gift materialized as he began to build a structure he had seen only in his mind. It grew into a place of wonder for children and adults alike. The “Margaret Cottage” took on a life of its own.
The wooden skeleton started simply and grew a little bit every summer day to the sound of hammer, saw and roofing stapler. The plan was to make a simple storage shed. It grew from the images in my husband’s imagination.
Humble wooden wall studs went up with the apparition of a soon-to-be small building. Soon he was standing on its roof as I held my breath and roof shingles took their place shaping the sturdy out structure. The skeleton was now sheathed with green-painted plank board walls with white trim. Flower boxes beneath the two windows adorned both sides of the entryway. Shutters hugged the space around the windows and a little porch was fitted there to stand on or to rest in a chair on. The lovely white door opened and closed so gracefully. The shed had become a wee cottage before our eyes. It added charm and a bit of mystery to the far region of our back yard. Dick’s mother would have been pleased. She had loved flowers, gardening and backyard loveliness in her time. Truly this was a tribute to her and brought a wonderful presence into the outdoors.
Seasons changed and with them the life of the “Margaret Cottage” enlarged with our growing family. My grandson Jake came running excitedly across the full length of our back yard when he spied two pumpkins out on the porch of the cottage. At age three this was an amazing new October discovery. “The pumpkins!” He held them. He ran his little fingers over their smooth, cool skin. He hugged them as if they held all the world’s riches. For many months afterward he fully expected to always see the pumpkins there. That was, after all, where they were first discovered and where he thought they would always be waiting for him no matter when he came.
Both he and his sister Penny, a few years older than he, wondered who was in the cottage. We would open the door and show them the inside which smelled magically of wood and had Grandpa’s tools on the handsomely crafted shelves. Still they were convinced that someone probably rather small lived inside there, coming and going when no one was looking.
Wee white candles were placed in the windows. They came on at dusk each evening with the suggestion that truly someone may be peacefully living inside. I looked forward to seeing them light each night. Often, the moon rose above the green cottage completing the picturesque scene.
Birthdays came and went with photos being taken of loved ones standing on the cottage’s porch. Parties were held in the yard with chairs all around, including on the cottage’s porch. Sometimes I would go there and just sit.
My husband installed a spotlight on the ground in front of the wee building. Every evening at dusk the light would turn on, illuminating the charming face of the seemingly enchanted cottage. Our next-door neighbor remarked how lovely it was for him to look out and see it in the night.
Our cat, Jack, enjoyed walking across the elevated porch. When he did, the spotlight enlarged his shadow making its way across so that the image was much more foreboding.
A new grandson soon appeared in our friendly backyard. When he could walk, the first thing he would do was to run with his little legs full speed all the way back to the Margaret Cottage and lean against the welcoming white door. It was as if he had arrived home.
One Father’s Day I presented my husband with a special sign to hang over the white doorway. It said “The Margaret Cottage” and completed the wee building’s dressing.
You could tell what season or holiday was current by looking at what was hanging on that white door. Be it a Spring flower sachet, a large Irish shamrock, an Autumnal wreathe in all its glory, or a colorful Christmas wreathe to spread backyard joy. Always, our grandchildren wondered who put those wreathes up. It must have been the little people who lived inside.
For the past several years there has been a new addition to the cottage’s Winter Christmas decor. Two large plastic “Noel” candles were placed just beneath the flower boxes. They stood like sentinels at attention, faithfully guarding either side of the Christmas door. Their illumination would turn on at dusk each evening and remain on until dawn. All was right with the world when they came on. The cottage was dressed in wonder and surely Grandma Margaret was smiling down.
One night shortly before Christmas I noticed that the large Noel candle light on the left was out. I walked back to it with a replacement bulb but never needed to use it. When I touched the candle the light went back on all on its own. It burned brightly all throughout the season and we decided the candles would stay up until Spring.
Then two nights ago we noticed the large Noel candle light on the right was dark. There was deep snow and great cold. Neither my husband or I desired to make our way out there. It was as if the cottage was missing an eye. Only one large candle lit up the darkness. There was a kind of missing symmetry and very real loneliness palpably felt now in the back yard.
On the third night I noticed something new! The right candle light was back on and the two “Noel” sentinels stood together once again in their posts of celebrating the little green cottage. I assumed my husband had made his way out there to fix the light. He told me no he had not. He thought I had been the one. We stood together looking out our kitchen window into the night now illuminated around the cottage doorway. There were no footprints of any kind visible in the snow. The “Margaret Cottage” sign hung happily above the doorway and all was right in this little world.
A chill went through me and then a warmth as I pondered how this light may have been turned back on in the middle of winter with no one around. Was it a pleased Grandma Margaret smiling down? Was it a wind gust coming by in meticulous perfect fashion? Or… maybe, just maybe the little folk living inside turned it back on for us when no one was looking.
Perhaps… I wonder.
