Once upon a time there was a tiny tiny house that was all alone in the woods. It had been empty for so long that it forgot who used to live there. Every day its floral curtains faded, and more cobwebs cluttered the corners. The house was sad, and lonely. Most of all, it was cold. It had been so very long since a fire had warmed its hearth. Still, it could remember how it had once kindled its fire for whoever had lived there.
The little house wriggled itself hard and the cobwebs in the chimney fell down. Enough so that there was the basis of a fire. The house squeezed and huffed and puffed. Suddenly, a spark kindled in the fireplace. The cobwebs caught. The house huffed and puffed. Soon there was a wee fire burning in the hearth, and smoke swept up the chimney.
In another part of the forest was the young witch Jazmine, who was gathering herbs to make a tea for her Grandma. She lived on her own in a tent in the woods as she learned more and more about how to be a witch. Every two days she popped home to see her Grandma and learn some more magic from her. Jazmine wished she had a little home of her own, but a tent was all she had.
She straightened up from gathering herbs and saw small puffs of smoke in the sky.
“I didn’t know anyone else lived in the woods,” she said, and she followed the smoke.
“Why, it’s a little house, a tiny house,” she said. It was just her size, because she was still a little girl witch. “This is just my size. Look at the doorway, just a few inches taller than me. This would be much nicer than my tent.”
So the little witch walked back to her camp, packed up, and moved into the tiny house. The house wriggled with delight when Jazmine lit a fire in the hearth and began to sweep away the years of dust and cobwebs. Jazmine smiled. Her new house was happy.
But within a couple of years, the little house began to feel the strain. Jazmine had filled her bedroom with blankets, and a huge wooden bed. The wardrobe was full of forest coloured clothing, and sets of sturdy boots sat under the bed. The other bedroom was festooned with bunches of drying herbs and flowers, a cupboard of potions and lotions, and chests of drawers full of precious oils distilled from forest fruits and plants.
One day, as Jazmine ducked her head to come inside, she stopped and said: “Tiny house, I have grown, you haven’t. You are such a lovely, snug house, but I’m afraid I might have to move. Would you….do you think you’d like to…grow?”
The house creaked and swayed a little. It had always been a tiny house, perhaps sprouted from a mushroom. It had never been any other way. It was scary to think of being different, but if it didn’t grow, its beloved little witch, who was now a bigger witch, older and taller, might move away.
“I know it’s scary, little house, but perhaps, maybe, we can grow together.”
The house gave a small wriggle, right down to its wooden floor, and strong foundations of stone. If Jazmine could be brave about growing up, maybe it could be too.
Jazmine set her cauldron over the hearth fire, and set well water to simmering. She added calendula, basil, peppermint, lavender, vervain, mugwort, comfrey, rose petals, jasmine petals, oatstraw, blackberry leaves, and stevia. Slowly, steam rose from the cauldron, and the vital oils from the dried plants were released into the water, into the steam. A wild, magical aroma filled the kitchen, and then the air in the whole house. It crept into the bricks and stone the wood and mortar, the straw and cloth. Every crevice, and even the mousehole in the skirting board.
The tiny house felt very tight and full. Like it would burst. It wriggled and wriggled. Cups and saucers in the kitchen cupboard rattled. The rafters creaked, and as Jazmine watched, the house stretched upwards. Two inches, five inches, ten inches, two feet, six feet. Out of the side of the house popped two more rooms, and the kitchen puffed outwards. The front door creaked up and out.
The tiny house had become a middle sized house, big enough for a growing girl, and her mouse friend who lived in the skirting board. Mousie popped out of her hole.
“Oh my, now I can have my family,” she said. “It will be big enough for me to have some children.”
“Not too many,” Jazmine said. “I can’t be overrun by mice.”
“Oh no,” said Mousie. “Just maybe five or six, and as soon as they’re grown, they’ll be off to find their own homes.”
“Tiny house, look at you!” said Jazmine. “Now we’re both older and bigger. Let’s make bigger magic, just as soon as I learn it from my Grandma.”
And so, Witch Jazmine and her house, and Mousie and her five children were very happy living in the woods. They helped the forest grow, and flourish, and every day, more animals returned to the woods to make a home. Every few days, Jazmine walked to her Grandma’s house on the edge of the woods, and learned more magic. Potions, lotions, balms, plant magic, animal kinship, sacred dance and song, how to make and enchant candles, how to talk to bees, the wonder of knots and weaving.
One day, Jazmine arrived home with her Grandma. Grandma had broken her arm and couldn’t cook or clean for herself, so Jazmine had insisted that Grandma come live with her.
Grandma eyed the house. “It’s a little small for both of us,” she said. “Especially when my good friends the deer come to visit. They like to come right in the back door and sit in the sun room with me. Do you have a sun room?”
There was no sun room. And so Jazmine asked her house: “Sweet house, do you think we could grow again? I think my Grandma should come live with us now, because she is getting older, and the winter will be harsh this year. Would you like to be bigger?”
And the house, although it was afraid of what this might mean, could see that it would be even more loved if Grandma and her deer were there, and that would feel good. And it had been feeling tight in the corners and walls, because as Jazmine’s knowledge grew, so did her equipment. She now needed a whole room for her notebooks. The house gave a wriggle, and Jazmine set to work.
She put her cauldron over the hearthfire, and filled it with well water. She added the twelve herbs she had used before, and added a good amount of black ginger. Thirteen magical herbs. Maybe she overdid the black ginger, for as the aroma filled the house, the house creaked like it was about to fall apart. The ceiling rose, and the roof split four times, each section growing upwards into a high point. The house was becoming a castle, with towers, and even a moat and drawbridge. Every brick and stone shuddered. The wooden floors shot forwards, backwards and sideways, tipping Grandma onto her backside, and Jazmine onto her front. It felt like an earthquake. The rooms grew huge, and tapestries unrolled on the walls. More rooms pop pop popped out of nowhere filling the insides of the castle.
Mousie ran out of her mousehole to see what was happening and squeaked as her little home grew into a small mouse palace of its own, complete with its own drawbridge and moat, right there in the enormous kitchen. The hearth expanded so that three cauldrons could cook at once.
The front door flew open, and slowly the aroma dissipated. The creaking and groaning stopped and the castle stopped shaking. Jazmine helped Grandma to her feet.
“Well,” said Grandma, “we certainly all have somewhere to live now. I’ll just go find myself a set of rooms near the solarium, which will be much grander than my tiny sun room. My deer friends will be so happy to have a whole solarium to rest in, and sweet plants to munch. When I’m settled, you’ll be able to visit me every day for lessons.”
And off she went to find herself her own tower and rooms.
Mousie squeaked in delight. “Now I can have some more children!” And she disappeared into her little palace to make herself at home.
Jazmine patted the wall of the kitchen, right next to the hearth. “Dear little, what a lovely castle you are. Fit for a princess or queen. Shall we take a deep breath and jump forward into our bigger lives?”
The castle creaked at her, and together, they stepped forward into bigger lives, bigger magic.
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My young granddaughter is hungry for stories, and has discovered I can make them. So she asks for new ones. This is one I made up out of the following prompt: “It has to be about me, and you, Grandma. It should be in the woods, and have a little house, a middle sized house, and a castle. Oh, and a mouse.”
I thought I’d write it down because maybe it has legs and could be a children’s book one day. Besides, if I have it written down, I can tell it to her again during my next visit.
Blog of A Witch 