By Brigitte Schorn-Noonan

(Knockraha, Co Cork)

A long time ago I grew up in a small German village called Urft, not too far away from the City of Cologne. It was a happy and safe place for us kids, everybody knew everybody else and I treasure my memories of countless village festivals full of fun and laughter. To this day, whenever I visit, I just know that I belong.

Urft is a very nice village; it sits neatly in a valley and is entirely surrounded by beautiful dense forest. For us kids, the woods became our playground where we spent endless hours playing and exploring. As often as he had time, our father, who was a big nature and animal lover, would take us for long adventurous walks through the woods. He taught us about the different berries, showed us the ones you can eat and the kind that are poisonous; from him we learned the names of the different trees and which leaf belonged to which tree. He took us picking hazelnuts and showed us all the different mushrooms and fungi and told us which are edible and which are poisonous.

From him we learned how important it is to respect nature, because, he would tell us “without nature, we people cannot exist. The forest is home to many animals, so please do not run around carelessly, tread easy and do not wilfully destroy plants. Do not shout and scream because you will frighten the animals. Just be quiet, listen and look out for the beautiful things around you.” And he was right, we often watched deer with their young grazing on a clearing, we saw stags with the most magnificent antlers, we saw birds of prey high above us and even wild pigs in the undergrowth.

It was on one of these magical days, we were resting on tree stumps in the hazy sunshine when our father told us the story about the little people.

“When I was a boy”, he began, “my father, your grandfather, worked as a forest worker. It was his job to fell trees and draw them with his horses to the saw mill. As often as I could I would go with him, I spent hours exploring the woods. One day we went to a forest we had never been to before when all of a sudden, just as we came upon a pathway into the wood, the horses stopped in their tracks and would not go any further. Your grandfather, a very knowledgeable horseman did not force the horses to move on. “There has to be a reason for that”, he said, as he took my hand and told me to be really quiet. “This is a special place,” he whispered as we walked up the pathway and stepped into a deep soft carpet of autumn coloured leaves. It felt like stepping into a different world. As we walked on we came across hundreds of mushroom houses, some of them arranged like villages near fallen trees. These are the houses of the little people, your grandfather explained to me. The little people are actually happy spirits that have returned because they want to do more good work by passing on their exceptional gifts and talents, their knowledge and experience and their wisdom and visions to help make the world a better place.” And my father went on to tell us the most fantastic stories about the little people, about the way they lived, about their plans and ideas for a great future. “Please Dad,” said my brother, “can you take us there?” My father looked sad, when he shook his head, “No, I can’t, because the forest is no longer there.”

Many years have passed since that day. My father has long passed away; I left our village and moved to live in many different towns and cities, even in different countries. No matter where I lived, I was always drawn to the woods. For many years, wherever I went to a forest, I kept looking out for “the special place”, but I never found it. With time I even forgot the story about the little people.

I am very lucky that my husband Martin shares my love and passion for nature and the forest. Together we moved to a beautiful place just outside Knockraha village nearly 20 years ago now. Back then we spent every free minute exploring the area around us. We would take our 2 dogs, a Jack Russell called Patches and a Springer Spaniel called Zac, and walk for miles through fields and forests in and around Knockraha. One day we made our way through a little stream and walked across a field, when just in front of a pathway into a forest, both our dogs all of a sudden stood perfectly still.

Martin, who knows and understands dogs very well, said, “there has to be a reason for that,” when all of a sudden I remembered and I knew. With utter disbelief I took Martin’s hand and whispered, “Be very quiet, this is a special place,” and together we stepped into a deep soft carpet of autumn coloured leaves. Slowly and quietly we entered what felt like a different world. As we moved along we could see the most amazing mushroom villages. “We have found them, Martin,” I whispered, “we have found the little people my father told me about....”

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