A Seed Grew by the Sea

Once upon a time, a woman looked out at the sea. Behind her stood a forest, thick with evergreen trees, their trunks as wide as boulders. She stared at the gray and white crashing waves, feeling salt on her lips and wind through her long, dark hair. She wrapped her thick shawl tighter around her shoulders and felt resolute in her decision. This is where she would stay. This was best for her, for everyone.

Over time, Eleri built a cottage. It was small and imperfect. She’d never built anything before, so she spent many nights sleeping in the rain and many days discovering hours of work wasted from simple mistakes. But, she kept going. Eventually, she had a warm, dry home that slanted a little but otherwise held up to time and nature. It stood in a clearing of evergreen trees and smelled at all times of salty sea air and rich, damp earth.

Her favorite thing about the cottage was that it was far, far away from the village where she grew up. She’d walked three days west to find this place and she hadn’t been back since. Why would she? There was nothing for her there but petty gossip and mean spirits. From the moment she’d opened her eyes to this world, Eleri was on the receiving end of everyone’s bad mood. Her mother who blamed her for her terrible pregnancy, her father who’d wanted another boy, her older brother who wanted all the attention. Her teachers told her to speak up, her classmates told her to stop reading so much. They told her she was cursed with shyness and that there was no place for her there. After a while she believed them. Not about being cursed – that’s nonsense– but that there was no place for her there.

But here, in the cottage she built facing the sea surrounded by sentinel trees, she felt at home for the first time in her thirty years. She had a large garden patch and a well of clean collected water, a growing library of books she picked up from the village down the road and the odd traveler who crossed her path. She made bread and sold it along with fruit and vegetables from her garden at nearby markets. She went weeks without speaking to anyone, but that suited her. She’d never found anyone much worth talking to anyways.

The local villagers whispered about her.

“That woman from the forest, what’s her name? She always keeps to herself. So strange.”

“Her strawberries are lovely, but she always has her head in a book. She barely looks up when I say hello.”

“I think her name is Eleri. I’ve never seen her smile.”

The thing about whispering, especially amongst villagers, is it’s never as quiet as the whisperer thinks. Anyone passing by could hear, and some ears are more curious than others. Which is how I came to be knocking on Eleri’s cottage door.

It was a clear, cold winter day. Eleri was going about her routine: she’d lit the fire in her hearth, had her morning tea and toast, tended to the bread in her oven, and was settling into her chair with her book. She was just getting comfortable when the knock rebounded around her quiet cottage. Freezing for a moment, she considered doing nothing in the hopes I would go away. But with her fire going, it was obvious she was home, and Eleri was a recluse, not a liar. So, she walked to the door and cracked it open just enough for her face to show.

I stood before her, a tiny, hunched old woman in a patched and worn traveling cloak. I’ve looked many ways in my many years, but I find this one reveals the most useful information about people. Eleri was clearly surprised that a woman of my age could make the trek to her front door. The trail through the forest was bumpy with roots and rocks. But here I stood with a smile and an open hand.

“Pardon the interruption, miss, my name is Ludivine. The villagers down the road said you make the finest sourdough in the area. I’m very hungry – would you spare me a loaf?”

Eleri, surprised, furrowed her brow. She was not one to give out her goods for free – selling her bread and her crops was how she sustained herself through the winter – but I smiled innocently and looked hungry, and Eleri knew what it was like to go without. And, I suspect, she calculated that giving me what I asked for was the quickest way to return to her solitude.

“Sure, give me a moment.” She pulled the freshly baked loaf from her oven and wrapped it in a towel with a string. A few moments later, she handed it over to me.

“Thank you, Eleri. I don’t have much to give in return, but for your kindness, here is a seed.” I held out my gnarled hand. In it rested a tiny seed, the color of the ocean on a clear day. I dropped it in Eleri’s hand. It was the most unusual seed she’d ever seen. Looking confused at the gift, she thanked me. The dear.

“Plant it on the first day of spring, not a moment sooner or later. Water it once a day and sing to it every night. It will bloom on the fourteenth day. Take good care of it – I will be back for it seven years from the day it blooms.” I turned to walk away, the warm loaf tucked under my arm. Eleri began to close the door, no doubt wondering what kind of plant would bloom for seven years, then suddenly opened it again.

“Wait. How did you know my name? I didn’t say.”

“Oh, the villagers mentioned it, dear.” Whoops – sometimes my age does show. I smiled and made my way back down the trail.

The winter passed uneventfully. Eleri went about her routines. Occasionally she would peek at the seed, resting quietly on her windowsill. A few times during visits to the village she would glance around, looking for me. She had half a mind to ask the villagers about an odd old woman handing out strange seeds, but always decided against it.

Early in the morning on the first day of spring, Eleri made her way to her garden patch, the seed in hand. She dug a hole, laid it gently at the bottom, covered it, and let fresh water dampen the dirt.

That night, and every night for the next fourteen days, she sang to the seed in the moonlight, wrapped in a blanket against the chill spring air, before going to sleep. She sang a song she made up about the sea and the forest and sunlight through leaves.

After a week of dutifully watering and singing, she saw a tiny sprout appear. It was the color of honey fresh from a comb. How unusual, she thought to herself. Whatever will you be?

The sprout continued to grow, and on the morning of the fourteenth day, Eleri jumped out of bed to see what had bloomed. As she rounded the corner of her patch, she gasped. There, nestled on the earth in a warm patch of sunlight, lay a baby. She looked around, convinced someone had left it, but there was no one. She walked over quickly and saw that his hair was the same honey comb color of the sprout. His eyes, opening as she knelt beside him, were the color of the ocean on a clear day, just like the seed.

“You are what was growing this whole time?” Eleri spoke softly, lifting the baby boy from the dirt and tucking him against her body. “How? How are you here?”

The baby yawned in response and looked up at her.

What would she do with a baby? How was this possible?

She didn’t have any answers, but she felt the boy’s heartbeat against her own and his soft skin under her fingers and realized she was already walking to her cottage. She brushed the dirt off of his skin and wrapped him in a blanket. She sat in her chair and looked at his downy hair.

“I suppose I should go to the village and try to find you a home. My tiny cottage is hardly big enough for two people. Though you are just a little thing, and the old woman Ludivine told me to take care of you. She’ll be back for you in seven years, she said.” His ocean eyes looked heavy with sleep.

“You must be tired after all that growing.” He wrapped his fingers around hers.

“Perhaps after you have some rest we’ll go to the village. And perhaps… perhaps I can make some room for you here, just for a little while.” He closed his eyes, his breath puffing softly on her neck.

“Yes, perhaps.”

The first year of Sylvan’s life felt like it might be the last of Eleri’s. Although he’d grown from a seed in her garden – a fact she didn’t tell anyone and instead accepted the sideways glances and intensified whispers from villagers – he behaved like any other baby. He cried, he ate, he barely slept. There were many nights when she longed to be building a cottage again instead of rocking a screaming Sylvan.

To feed him, she’d received fortified milk from a local woman in exchange for bread. When he got sick, a villager offered her a remedy then taught her how to make it for future illnesses. Families walked by her stall and gave her old clothes and shoes their children no longer wore. These kindnesses surprised her, especially when she had nothing for them in exchange, but then she’d see Sylvan grin and a villager’s reserved expression melt into a smile, and she understood that it was him. He was sunlight on their faces after a long, cold winter.

One autumn day, Sylvan asked, “Mama, where did I come from?”

He’d asked this question before. Her answer remained the same.

“You were gifted to me by an old woman named Ludivine. She said she would be back to visit when you were seven.”

That – and the fact that he grew from a seed – were the only parts she wasn’t truthful about. He was smart enough to know he wasn’t grown from her. Her dark hair and eyes like soil after a hard rain stood in stark contrast to his honey hair and ocean eyes.

“Will she take me away when she visits?”

He’d never asked that before. Eleri paused, unsure what to say. Then, she decided on the truth.

“No, my love. You belong with me.”

Before long, Eleri and Sylvan were like the moon and the tide, ebbing and flowing in a rhythm all their own. Her cottage, once neat and tidy, was softly messy with sticks and rocks and books and toys from the village. They worked together in the garden, Sylvan digging holes while Eleri planted, and he helped her make daily bread to sell. Sylvan was quick and eager to learn, and Eleri enjoyed hearing his questions and curiosities. When all their tasks were done, they walked by the sea looking for shells and making up stories. Everyone in the village came to know them as a pair, the question of how he came to be long forgotten or forgiven.

Eleri often looked for me out of the corner of her eye in the village, sometimes mistaking me for any old woman. I didn’t take it personally. The older Sylvan got, the more I could see her resolve shifting. He brought a softness out of her, as only a child can. A few times I was sure she would disappear with the boy, whisking him away somewhere she hoped I’d never find them. For whatever reason, she stayed, and it wasn’t long before it was time for me to collect.

The night before Sylvan turned seven, Eleri couldn’t sleep. She crept out of the cottage and into the cool night. She knelt by the patch where he’d grown and sang the song she’d made up all those years ago. Finally, she walked to the sea. Its vast enormity and endless crashing waves were the only thing calming her, the only thing matching the way she felt inside. She closed her eyes and whispered to the sea. When she opened them, she felt a new kind of resolve.

In the morning, Eleri and Sylvan ate a special breakfast of bacon and eggs and fresh baked bread. By afternoon, villagers were arriving for a celebration, bringing cakes and small gifts. They spilled out of the tiny cottage, sharing their favorite stories of young Sylvan. Eleri greeted their guests and did her best to settle her nerves.

Finally, there was a knock at the door. It rebounded through the cottage just as it had seven years ago, despite it being considerably louder inside. A few villagers looked amongst each other, wondering who was missing.

Eleri walked to the door. When she opened it, I stood before her once again.

“Hello, Eleri!”

Eleri stepped out and closed the door behind her.

“Hello, Ludivine.”

“I’ve come for my seed. I trust you’ve taken good care of it these past seven years.”

Eleri crossed her arms and adjusted her shoulders.

“I have. I’m sure you know, but the seed bloom was a baby boy. He’s grown into a child, and he’s happy.”

“Wonderful. Thank you. Tell him I’m ready to take him with me now.”

“Mama?” Sylvan peered around the door behind Eleri.

“Hi, love,” Eleri said with a tight smile. “I’ll be right in.”

“Who is this? Are you Ludivine?” The boy looked from Eleri to me.

“Why, yes I am. You must be Sylvan. It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Mama said you would come visit when I was seven.” Sylvan stepped outside and stood next to Eleri. She put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him snuggly against her. “I’ve been excited to meet you.”

“Oh? And why is that, my boy?”

“She told me I was a gift from you. I wanted to say thank you. I’m really happy you gave me to her.” He rested his head against Eleri’s body. “Would you like some cake?”

Eleri looked at me with glassy eyes. “That’s very sweet, but Ludivine was just leaving. She only came by for a quick hello. You go back inside. I’ll be there in a minute.”

When the door shut behind him, Eleri turned to me.

“I won’t let you take him. He belongs with me.”

“Well, this is interesting. Seven years ago you barely opened the door to my knock. Villagers gossiped about you being strange and distant, always with your head in a book. You built this house far away from anyone who ever has or could hurt you. You went weeks without speaking to anyone.”

“How do you know that? How do you know so much about me? Are you a witch?” Eleri asked.

“Some might call me that, though what is a witch really? Someone who pays attention, who can create things from nothing, who offers remedies? One might call you a witch then, hmm?”

Eleri opened and closed her mouth.

The old woman chuckled. “You stand before me now in the same cottage, in the same forest, beside the same sea. But nothing is the same, is it? Your cottage is full of villagers, friends. Your resolutions have changed. Where you once built walls you now build bridges. And your heart. It’s not the same at all, is it? No, not at all. It’s funny what power a single seed holds.”

“Is this some sort of game to you? Seven years ago you knocked on my door out of nowhere asking for bread. I gave it to you and in return you gave me a seed that turned into a boy. I don’t understand what magic that was and I probably never will. But it happened and it’s real to me. It’s real to him. This is our life. Please, leave us be.”

“And what of your solitude?”

Eleri looked confused. “What of it?”

“You’ll never know that kind of peace again. Look at your home.”

Eleri turned toward the hubbub inside, then back to me.

“Once, yes, I wanted to be alone. I was alone. And now, I am not. Now, I’ll never know a moment’s peace – and neither will you – if you take him from me.”

Ah, at last. This is my favorite part. You see, the right gift for the right person is transformative. I’m not afraid to admit that I’ve gotten it wrong before. But when I get it right - ah, it is something to behold.

“Well, I do enjoy my peace. I’ll be off then!”

Eleri stood stunned. I offered her a wide smile that I hoped was reassuring. “Take care, Eleri dear.”

“That’s it?”

“Did you want me to put up a fight? You gave a lovely, impassioned speech and I believed every word. These check-ins are generally just to see how my gifts are faring anyways. I rarely need to take them back.”

I moved to walk back down the path, then turned back once more.

“Oh and Eleri, you really do make the finest sourdough around. Just one suggestion: a pinch more salt. That should do it.” I winked and disappeared with a pop.

Eleri continued to stand unmoving for a few moments. Then she laughed and laughed and laughed. What else could she do after seeing a witch disappear into thin air? Then she composed herself and walked back inside her crowded cottage.

She couldn’t wait to tell Sylvan the story of a seed that grew into a boy.