Garden bloggers like Carol of May Dreams and Frances of Faire Gardens report the presence of wee fairy folk in their gardens but I've never seen evidence of them here. Luckily for me, an experienced maker of fairy gardens happened to be visiting Austin a couple of weeks ago and she graciously consented to a consultation - accepting root beer floats, barbequed brisket and gift shop souvenirs in place of her usual fee.
The Fairy Garden consultant liked many parts of the garden. She appreciated the deep fuchsia color of an emerging anemone but felt that the most likely place for the fairy folk to dwell was in the Secret Garden, kept warm in winter by a brick wall and southern exposure, but shaded by deciduous trees in summer.
This small garden is planted with a fig tree, shown with summer leaves in the photo above - how many fairies would it take to eat one ripe fig?
Apparently, the fairies didn't feel at home because they had no small benches to perch upon. The cute little caps of the live oak acorns weren't set out on tiny tables.
Pot feet that could be useful to fairies weren't placed in the secret garden but were stacked on shelves. Seashells from a vacation were kept inside a large plant saucer. How could the fairies use them if they weren't handy?
The consultant arranged shells, rocks, wood and terra cotta in a more pleasing way. She liked a heart-shaped rock and some tumbled glass mulch.
Some fairies don't mind manufactured items but these fairies are the Austin hippie type, disdaining all but natural materials ...the pot feet get by because they're clay
and the tumbled glass started out as silica sand.
The stars were cut from paper, which used to be wood.
It's possible that I won't see any fairies attracted by these efforts but I'll keep watch for traces of them dwelling in the secret garden.
The consultant rested on the bench for a moment, looking at her work.
I started to believe that there had been a fairy in my garden after all.
This post, "The Left Coast Garden Consultant", was written for my blogspot blog called The Transplantable Rose by Annie in Austin.