26 Jan A Fiddler in the Orchard
A Fiddler in the Orchard
It was late October, and William was in the barn preparing batches of cider for winter storage, when Henry came for a visit.
“Is that cider ready yet?” Henry said jokingly, entering the barn.
William was busy dismantling his Apple Press, feverishly going through his tool chest. “It might not happen this year.” William said, “The top brace is cracked, looks like I’m making a trip to the blacksmith.”
“Well, I’m on my way to town, I can drop it off?”
“Thanks, that would be a great help. I’m almost done here.”
“Speaking of cider,” Henry’s tone changed, “Clara told me a story about Margaret pouring cider over the roots of a tree in the orchard.”
“Yes, it’s called ‘Wassailing’, a blessing for the orchard… European custom I think.”
“Yes, I’ve heard of it. Clara said that Margaret got the idea from a mystic named Isadora Blackwood.”
“Ah, yes. She mentioned that name to me years ago.” William recalled.
Henry stepped closer, “It got me thinking, I could ask Ms. Blackwood to stop by and talk to you about your ghost problem.”
“Well, thank you for the offer, but …”
“Clara can voucher for her, she’s a good friend to the family. She does tarot readings for her Mom on Wednesday’s. I’ll tell her to stop in. It’s worth a conversation at least, she knew Margaret well.” Henry urged.
The following Wednesday morning, the sun was coming up, and William could see a woman walking up the lane towards the farm.
She wore a flowing burgundy dress made of heavy fabric. She had long, wild, charcoal black hair that spilled over a tasselled shawl draped around her shoulders.
Her abundance of jewellery made clinking sounds as she walked: heavy rings with cloudy stones, dangling earrings, strings of beads layered across her chest. Around her waist was an embroidered pouch. Most likely containing charms, bones, dried herbs or coins William thought.
She didn’t look like a polished ‘Victorian Lady’ from the city, nor someone impoverished, she looked theatrical. What you would expect a mystic to look like.
As William watcher her approach from the kitchen, he noticed a raven flying behind her, skipping from tree to tree. As she neared the front porched ,William went out to greet her.
The Raven landed on the ground beside her, strutting strangely with two-footed hops to keep up.
“Hello” William said, “Welcome to Pyle Orchards. Isadora, I presume?”
She spoke in a deep, raspy voice, “May Margaret’s beautiful spirit find eternal peace, and may her light continue to shine in your heart.”
“Well, thank you. I heard that you knew Margaret well. My name is William. Please come inside.”
“I prefer the openness out here, in the morning light.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Besides my Raven, Edgar, would rather watch us for a while.”
“Certainly, please have a seat.”
Isadora sat in the rocking chair on the porch, wasting no time opening the conversation, “I was told a spirit of the orchard is paying you special visits.”
“Yes. It’s a little unsettling. I am not sure what it is.” William said.
“Margaret told me it came from a tree, she called it ‘The Elder’.”
“Actually, my father named it that. The orchard has been in my family for many generations. We believe the tree is a few hundred years old.”
“Yes. The lineage of this tree holds the collective spirit of your family. It is powerful, it can sense it.”
“Well, this is what I wanted to talk to you about. A strange obelisk has emerged, perhaps from the tree, and it floats around the farm. Marg saw it several times, and now I have as well. In fact I have photographed it.”
“You are blessed having a spirit crossover for you. It is very rare that one ever takes physical form, especially allowing itself to be photographed.”
“Before Margaret passed, she would pour cider over the roots, a blessing for the orchard. Is this why the spirit has come?” William asked.
“I instructed Margaret to pour the cider, but this is not the reason. Did Margaret ever fall asleep below the tree?”
“No. But she used to sit beneath it and play her fiddle.”
“Interesting. What can you tell me about the fiddle?”
“It was a family heirloom, brought by her mother from Scotland nearly 70 years ago. Margaret loved playing it as a child but it was in disrepair. Its back plate and neck were cracked and the sound post had fallen inside. Eventually, we had a furniture maker fix to for us using some apple wood from the farm.”
“Apple wood?”
“A storm broke away a large limb from The Elder several years ago. My friend, Henry, knowing much about trees, said that the apple wood was prized by furniture makers and we could get some good money for it. He told me to dry it in the barn and then he would have his father’s sawmill prepare the boards for us.”
“And this wood was used to repair the violin?”
“Yes, and my Tailboard camera as well. We traded the furniture makers labour for all the wood, he did a great job.”
“Playing music to a tree with an instrument made from its own wood, is white magic.” Isadora explained.
“It was not intended” William said in defence.
“Now, the tree hears itself, calling from another realm. That is why the spirit has come.”
William looked concerned, “OK, what now?”
“Is it mischievous?”
“No, it just floats around the farm. Even the animals aren’t spooked by it.”
“This is good,” Isadora said.
“What do you mean?”
“Since you had no intent in summoning the spirit, it came of its own volition. That makes the doorway clean and open, not tainted by human purpose.”
“Doorway?” Willam asked.
“It has left a door open, into the spirit realm but not just for spirits. It is clean, you may pass through it as well.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“You love Margaret don’t you? You want to see her again?”
“Yes, I do. But she is gone.”
“You are a being of light, as she is… only separated by realms. The doorway connects you to her.”
William looked troubled, “How could that be possible?”
“Your camera was repaired with the same wood, the wood of The Elder, and so it is a tool like the violin. It can bring you through.”
“To the spirit world?” William sounded doubtful.
In a flash, the sun broke over the peak of the barn, illuminating the porch were Isadora and William sat. Edgar was cast in full light as well, shuffling his black wings, producing shimmering reflections.
He produced a croak and gurgle from his throat, which prompted Isadora to lean forward in her chair, “You see… Edgar will help you.”
“Help me? He’s a bird.”
“He’s a messenger with a thousand years of spirit world under his wings. He can guide you to Margaret.”
“Look, this has been very entertaining… but a camera captures impressions of light on a piece of film or metal plate. You don’t travel into a picture.” William said, getting frustrated, “Besides, a photo is an instant of time, why would I want to be trapped in a single moment?“
“You don’t load the camera, William.” Isadora explained, “You open its back so light streams through its lens unimpeded… “
“I don’t know, this sounds sort of…”
“… then, you place a dressing mirror both in front and behind the lens, creating an infinite echo of light. Once you move into the camera’s field of view, fire its shutter, you will be born again inside its stream.”
This shook William deeply, “This is… too much.. this is ridiculous… into infinity.. there’s no way back!”
“The shutter’s speed brings you back William. The flutter of its mechanism both sends and brings you home.”
“But, for a split second, a shutter works very quickly, it … “
“The relationship between mechanical time and spiritual time is not linear.” Isadora said forcefully, “A split second in the physical world will be hours in the infinite. Set your shutter and go.”
William began to stammer, “This is crazy… what if… ”
“Its white magic, Willam,” Isadora said in a reassuring tone, “Don’t be afraid. So many people pray for a way to see diseased loved one’s. Now you have a machine to do it.”
“Who fires the shutter? … for how long? .. if I need to be in full view of the camera, I cannot reach …”
“Edgar will be the one to help you. He is the guide. He will release the shutter.”
~CJ~
