In honor of International Fairy Day, which is celebrated this week, I’m sharing a story that proves that a bit of magic—and a sprinkle of sand—can make a lasting memory. 

My six-year-old granddaughter, Maria, hurried up the walk to our house and asked, “Do you have the magic key, Grammy?”

“The what?”

“The magic key to open the upstairs closet,” Maria explained, her eyes wide.
I’d forgotten the “magic key” game from their last visit.

While Maria and her four-year-old sister Vanessa flung off their coats, I grabbed the magic key, an old charm bracelet, and up we climbed to the dormer storage area.

“Try to open it, Grammy,” Maria said.

I made a show of trying to fit one of the charms into the lock.

“Nope,” Vanessa said.

At the third charm, Maria beamed. “I heard it click.” She opened the creaky door.

The girls could stand in the low-ceiling space, but I had to walk bent over. “A treasure chest!” Maria cried. “We’ve never looked in here before.”

I was about to lift the lid when Maria shouted, “No, Grammy, you have to use the magic key.”

Well, of course.

I did, then slowly lifted the antique trunk lid. 

Maria paged through the scrapbook Aunt Heidi had made for her beloved pet guinea pig while Vanessa tried on a Halloween mask with goofy glasses and a big nose. After Maria pulled out a magnifying lens, she said, “Let’s go fairy hunting.”

The girls raced down the stairs in a whirl of excitement, squealing all the way to the water garden. It was here, among the lily pads and waterfall, that they’d spent countless hours washing the figurines, naming them, and giving them rides in the small wooden carriage.

Maria dashed to the carriage, peered through the lens, and announced, “They’re not here!”

“I found one!” Vanessa cried. “Sitting on the Halloween pumpkin. It flew all the way over here.” She laughed.

Maria stared at a flower pot filled with sand. “Grammy,” she said in a soft voice, “do you think if we sprinkle sand on our backs that we could . . . that we could grow wings?”

“I’m not sure,” I said. “Let’s try it.”

We each sprinkled sand on our backs. “Oh!” I said. “I think I feel a tingling.”

“Me, too,” Vanessa said. “Let’s fly to the fairy tower.” 

We flew to the tower. 

Landscape bricks made the base. Three poles laced with string supported the Morning glory vines that formed the roof and the perfect secret fairy hideout.

“Here they are!” Maria smiled, picking up Sunflower and Violet. She held them out.

“We’ve been looking for you,” I said.

“They’re going to climb the tower.” With a fairy in each hand, Maria stepped on a landscape brick. She stumbled, dropping both fairies onto the cement.

Maria picked up the pieces. Sunflower’s head and leg! Violet’s wing! Broken!

“I didn’t mean to hurt them,” she whispered, cradling the pieces. Her eyes welled with tears.

“It’s all right,” I said. “Don’t worry. A little glue will make them all better.”

The visit was over too soon. Weeks passed. As snowflakes fell, covering the water garden, I found the table where I'd laid the broken fairies heaped with wrapping paper, ribbon, and battery-powered toys. On Saturday, I made some progress wrapping gifts and discovered poor Sunflower and Violet patiently waiting for attention. I examined the toys I'd bought; I shoved them aside. As I gently picked up Sunflower to assess her injuries, I felt a little itch on my back. Then a twinge, then a shiver. I turned my head to look. Could it be?

In honor of International Fairy Day, I hope to spend time out in nature and reconnect with imagination, magic, and childhood wonder. I hope to grow some wings.

Adapted from an earlier column printed in my book “Laugh, Cry, Reflect: Stories From a Joyful Heart.”