wishing and whimsy: a journey through fairy town

All photos in this post were taken by yours truly over the last few days in Capitol Hill, Seattle. There are approximately 7000 pictures in this post, and I am not sure why I have zero self control (sorry).

In honor of Women’s History Month, this post is dedicated to Louisa Boren, a badass woman in STEM and one of the pioneer founders of my city. Her gorgeous park and overlook can be found at the very top of Fairy Town, across from Lake View Cemetery.

Welcome to my humble abode—where only the names are make-believe.

*Warning: Do be careful when visiting Fairy Town. Not all fairies are friendly, but all fairies are magic.

Once upon a time, there was a village called Fairy Town, where the puddles are portals and no two houses look the same.

From the outside, Fairy Town doesn’t seem all that extraordinary. It’s made of old homes and even older buildings. Ancient vines twist along cracked and stony walls, threatening to take over.

You have to walk it for yourself to know when you’re in Fairy Town. You have to walk it for yourself to truly feel it.

You know you’re getting close when the streets start to quiet. Moss thickens along the trees and walls. The forest creeps in, growing denser with every step. Little sprouts root up through the bracken. Tiny purple flowers pop up to have a look about.

Every now and then, a break in the trees illuminates the mountains towering over a vast and endless lake. When you’re surrounded on all sides by mountains and water and woods - that’s how you know you’re almost to Fairy Town.

I get off the bus at a whimsical stop and count forty-two bird houses lining the block.

You guys, this wasn’t an exaggeration. 42 bird houses ran along this one block.

Two charmingly plump cats guard the entrance to Fairy Town - Morty and Maze. To go any further, you must bring them offerings, maybe an ear rub or a belly scratch. You must linger on the bench in their garden, a gentle purgatory, and speak slowly of your intentions. Only then will your path reveal itself.

Morty and Maze, the guardians of Fairy Town

There are many different paths into Fairy Town. You will rarely take the same one twice.

Without further ado, I cross the threshold into the small village at the edge of the hill. Everything goes still.

An elegant Camellia tree welcomes me like a celebrity, laying down their vermillion carpet.

Fairy Town has hazy boundaries. Not everyone knows they’re truly here. They get caught up in the noise, stuck on another frequency. They zip by on bikes, in cars, in running shoes. They have places to be.

But not me.

It’s the first moment in days that I can truly breathe.

Here in Fairy Town.

Swaying pines whisper and creak. An old wooden door opens eerily - phantom doors in the middle of nature.

Religiously quiet. Not muted but softened. This is a sacred place. Even the birds sing in hushed tones.

Strings of frogs creep up the sidewalks and snake around the hedges. Fuzzy bumblebees forage for flowers.

Blue Violets drip color so vivid they make your eyes hurt and pucker with song.

Two blue jays congregate into a patch of cherry blossoms, disappearing too fast to be trapped by my camera’s claws.

I can hear clicking in my ears, like footsteps down the hall, but it’s only the tapping of the leaves around my head.

Rows of cherry blossoms devour the sidewalks, too busy holding court with their fleeting reign. Fickle monarchs rousing from a year long slumber, basking in adoration before vanishing again.

Zippy starlings beep-boop their robotic tune, buzzing loudly in earnest until they meet your gaze. Falling abruptly silent and vanishing into stillness.

Little bunnies plop across tiny fenced meadows, burrowing deep into their earthy hutch.

At the apex of Fairy Town rests the cemetery - it sees everything and knows everything, in every direction all at once. Everyone meets here, everyone ends here, sooner or later, in Fairy Town.

I approach a tiny table surrounded by seats made of logs, like gathering toadstools. Peach petals spill across the table, blending with orange tags and golden jars.

Giant branches hang low and shade this banquet. Children and dogs bound rambunctiously down the path, racing to climb the walls and pay tribute.

Scores of travelers journey miles and miles to visit this holy tree.

The Wishing Tree

What do you wish for? What is your wish? Write it down for The Wishing Tree.

Anything is possible in Fairy Town.

“I wish to win the license plate alphabet game!” shouts one boy.

“Oh yeah?! Well I’M wishing for a puppy!” his buddy retorts.

“I wish that she wouldn’t be sick” (that was mine).

Be sure to write down your wish, but absolutely do NOT place it on the tree! The magic of The Wishing Tree comes from community, from giving space for everyone’s wishes to be heard. Pull another wish from the jar, and hang it on the tree. Leave yours for the next person.

“Remember when we came and strung up all the wishes?” a little girl asks, having solidified her karmic payload for eternity. (I would brag about it too.)

Everything is peaceful under The Wishing Tree. Hopes and dreams cannot be contained. Even the roots cannot be contained.

The mountains are ever present in the distance, watching over everyone here in Fairy Town.

Mythical trees, angelic statues, secret gardens, covens of crows. This is what you can expect to find, here in our humble abode.

Fairy Town is my favorite place. Fairy Town is my favorite season. Fairy Town is a state of mind.

Fairy Town forever.

Or you can just buy me a string of frogs if the spirit moves you.