The Realm of the Gnome – A History of Gnomes Revisited

This reporter initiated contact (over several years) with the legendary Willow Wimbley, elder spokesgnome of the International Gnome Awareness and Education Coalition. What follows is my journalistic experience, (after repeated requests for an interview) to learn the history, origin and characteristics of the elusive and private gnome. This is, I believe, a human’s first fully documented and personal contact with a Gnome.

Oct 5, 2004: I tried to follow his directions perfectly to the area where Willow indicated he would be waiting. I was thrilled. After years of trial and error of trying to meet and actually speak to a gnome in person, I had just about given up. But finally, Willow (who is no ordinary gnome) granted me an interview to finally set the record straight and educate humans on the true history and mission of the gnome : where they originated, their likes and dislikes, their lives and families. He said in his reply letter to me that the International Gnome Council had expressed joint concern about how gnomes were being portrayed in the media and wanted to make sure that the truth was made known.

Deeper and deeper into the forest I walked. It seemed as if time stood still in this place. I could smell it; the pungent scent of ancient pines, the sweet smell of wild honeysuckle. The stillness and purity of nature as it had been before man even existed.

I sat down to wait for Willow, to catch my breath and also to ponder this magnificent sight I instinctively knew I would never see again.

As the light fog started to lift, I saw him, walking quickly across the sun-dappled forest floor. He moved in complete silence, a tiny wisp of a being. I couldn’t help but stare; a mere 6” tall, he seemed so fragile, so tiny. Fearlessly he came up to me, gleefully jumped on my knee, bowed politely and said, “Welcome human! Your patience has been rewarded for you’ve been granted access to the land of legend and lore, of myth and magic. You’ve now entered the realm of the gnome.” He spoke perfect English with just a hint of an accent I couldn’t identify. He was dressed in loose-fitting khaki trousers, a bright red shirt and matching pointed cap. He had a full beard, rich with silvery grey highlights. Around his waist was a worn, leather belt with a pouch and he wore what appeared to be boots made of bark (birch bark, he later clarified). For a moment, I had no words. I just kept looking at him in amazement. Lightning-quick, he jumped off my knee and shouted, “Time’s a-wastin’, follow me!” He held out his tiny hand to help me up. I couldn’t help but laugh at such a sight, but to be polite, I took his hand. In a flash, I was up on my feet, with no effort whatsoever. I shouted out in surprise and Willow laughed out loud. “Gnomes are seven times stronger than a human,” he exclaimed proudly. I made a serious mental note not to be so condescending in the future.

While walking, Willow turned his head back to me and said, “I am glad you wished to speak with me. You have questions many have had and we want to educate the willing. Quick, to my burrow, and we’ll chat. My wife, Birch, should have the ale and oat bread ready.” Deeper and deeper into the heart of the forest we hiked. The trip took us longer than I anticipated as animals of all kinds kept popping out onto the path. Sensing Willow’s presence, they lost all fear of being seen or touched. They expressed no fear at seeing me either; this cumbersome, loud and awkward being in their presence.

“They seem to have absolutely no fear of you, Willow,” I said, a bit envious. “They just come up to you like a child to its mother.” As Willow continued to touch and speak to every animal in turn (in their own native tongue), he said, “These creatures are my joy. They are my patients, my responsibility, but first and foremost, they are my friends.” “Why your responsibility?” I asked. “Who gave you that huge responsibility?” As he gently patted each animal, mole to fox, fox to frog, he said, “Gnomes have been given the task of caring and tending to the earth and the creatures upon it. That is our purpose. That is why we are here.” He paused and turned to me and said, “Why, even the name ‘gnome’ says what we do.” “What do you mean?” I asked him, a bit bewildered.

“G is for guardians, N is for nurturer, M is for Mother and E is of course, earth.” He looked at me sweetly and said, “What does that say, human?” I responded, “Well, if I’m correct, the word gnome stands for: Guardian and Nurturer of Mother Earth. Is that right?” He laughed and with eyes twinkling, nodded in consent. “I never knew that! How clever,” I said.

We kept walking and as we did, Willow pointed out to me different flowers, herbs, trees and insects. He knew the name of every single one. He knew the habits, growth characteristics, what each needed to remain healthy, what each needed if ill. I was awestruck by his knowledge. I thought how ignorant I am of all the other kinds of life that surround me every day, and how little I knew of it or paid attention to it. I felt ashamed.

Before I knew it, we had made it to his burrow. Tiny candles flickered through the thatched grass curtains. I sat outside on a soft, mossy bank while he went inside his burrow to fetch his pipe and chair. In just seconds, out popped a female gnome; round and jolly, with rosy red cheeks and a big, purple hat. “Hello and welcome. I’m Birch, Willow’s wife,” she said. Her voice was soft and gentle. Close behind her trailed two of the tiniest beings I’ve ever seen. They couldn’t have been larger that 2” high. “I’m Acorn,” shouted one. “I’m Pod,” shouted the other. As Birch stood on tip-toe to hand me a thimbleful of ale, the tiny ones skipped off to play. “How old are your children, Birch?” I asked. “Oh, I think around 40 now,” she said. “Forty months or days……what?” I asked. “Oh, sorry, years,” she giggled. I almost fell off the bank. I couldn’t believe it. Those tiny specks of life were older than I!

Willow came out with pipe in hand, sat down and said, “Let’s begin. I think we are ready now, are you comfortable?” “Oh, yes, I am,” I said, “but Willow, what about your children?” I stammered, “Are they really 40 years old”? “Yes,” he smiled, “but don’t look so surprised. Our life span is 4 times that of a human. Usually, we live around 400 years in this realm. We are very durable!” “Indeed you are,” I said in wide-mouthed wonderment. “Oh, and we always have twins,” Willow added. With a mischievous wink he said, “We think it saves time that way, don’t you?” Again, I had to agree. “Yes, Willow, it does definitely save time, no doubt about it,” I laughed.

With notepad in hand, I began my official interview. I asked if I could turn my tape recorder on and Willow said, “You won’t be able to pick up my voice, human. It is inaudible. The only reason you can hear me now is because of the magic of the forest; the timelessness and purity of this place. It takes my sounds and turns them into noises you can understand, what you call ‘words.’ Your tape recorder is pointless here.” Once again, I was overwhelmed at the magic and the legend that enveloped me. I had read fairy tales in my youth, but had dismissed them all as fiction. But, here I was, living an actual fairy tale, in the presence of an actual legend.

With respondent awe and respect, I asked, “Where did gnomes originate Willow, their birthplace, if you will?” Willow puffed on his pipe and said, “We were born in the clear and wholesome lands of the Nordic countries; Switzerland, Denmark, the Netherlands. Some of us still wear wooden shoes! We are known in those countries as Tomte or Nisse. We migrated from the Scandinavian countries when we started hearing of cruelty to our charges in the lowlands. This was about 449 in your years.” Willow paused thoughtfully and continued, “We had heard of the destruction and cruelty from human to human and creature to creature and couldn’t believe it. Once we actually saw what was being decimated by impure and unintelligent species, we knew we had to come and help restore and heal what was being destroyed. We gnomes decided to start spreading out, so we could help more creatures in need. That’s what we do, that’s our purpose. Now, every country has its own population of gnomes. In fact, I daresay there’s probably not one country left that is ‘gnomeless,’” he laughed.

“So, if that’s true, then why are so many gnomes ‘for sale’….you see them everywhere,” I stated. “Why are they for sale if they’ve migrated themselves?” Willow frowned ever so slightly and replied, “Your culture thinks they are ‘buying’ gnomes, purchasing them to own them. Gnomes can’t be bought. Why, that’s just plain silliness. That’s like saying ‘I just bought a day of sunshine,’ or ‘I’ve just purchased a warm summer’s breeze.’ We go where we are needed. We are ‘adopted,’ never bought. We go where we are wanted and where we know our work is required.”

“What about a government? Do you have some gnome form of governing body with laws and regulations to keep naughty gnomes in check?” I asked. At this statement, Willow cried out in laughter. Minutes later, as he was wiping his eyes and trying to regain his composure, he looked at my shocked face and said, “No, we have no government, not the sort of which you are familiar. We have no need for laws and regulations. We are peace-loving, hard-working, truthful and honest. In fact, in our native tongue, we have no sounds, no ‘words,’ for hatred, war, envy or jealousy. We believe that good lies in us all and likewise, if one creature suffers, we all suffer. There is no point in selfishness or greed. It infects like a virus, spreading to all. It’s almost unstoppable. I’ve tried many remedies, and selfishness is by far one of the most difficult illnesses to treat. Does that make sense to you?” he asked, looking deep into my eyes. “Yes, it makes sense,” I replied thoughtfully, and as I uttered those words I realized at that exact moment that his culture was so far advanced from my own, and I was ashamed. “Where have we gone so terribly wrong?” I thought to myself.

“Just two more questions, Willow, if you please,” I said quietly.

“Do gnomes experience death? Do you ever die?” Willow puffed on his pipe, leaned forward and gazing into the forest behind me, he said, “We do pass from this realm, into another, as all creatures do. We have no sadness at this passing. We feel no fear or sadness at death, for we recognize that death is merely a door into another realm.”

“To conclude this interview, Willow, what message would you like to convey? What legacy do you wish to leave?” At this, Willow suddenly became very solemn. He put down his pipe, leaned back and closed his eyes. He said in a whisper, “I would want our gnome legacy to be that all life is inter-connected. All living things that share this earth share also the same air, water and soil. As such, we need to nurture, care and protect those around us, whether human or non-human. We need to be aware that our choices and actions have an effect, an everlasting one. What you send out to the universe reverberates through time and does come back to you and in some cases, to those after you.”

After a long while, Willow sat back up, adjusted his beard and cap, and back to his normal, friendly voice said, “I believe the interview is at an end, human. Thank you for your time and trouble. Remember what I’ve said and repeat it carefully to all who will listen. I will be watching, ready to help when you need it.” He bowed once more, gazed thoughtfully at me and then said, “Close your eyes.” With those words, he clapped his hands once and when I at last opened my eyes, I was back where I started—the foot of the forest entrance. The mist had returned, too dense for me to re-enter. I had to turn back; back to my home and my history. I hope I’ve repeated Willow’s message as he would’ve liked, with purity of heart and vision. Willow, if you are looking, I hope you’re proud. Long live the realm and history of the gnome!

Copyright 2006 www.OutdoorDecor.com

Kay Stone, OutdoorDecor.com Staff Writer