fairytale friday with when the root children wake up

When the Root Children Wake Up
by Helen Dean Fish, Copyright, The Green Tiger Press, Inc., 1988
based on Etwas von der Wurzelkindern originally published in 1906

All Winter long the trees are bare, the wind in cold and fields are empty.
But very early in the Spring the Sun begins to grow warmer, the air softer and the sky bluer.  And boys and girls grow happier though they cannot tell just why.
Down underground something is happening.
Something secret and wonderful.
The root children who have been sleeping soundly all Winter are awakened by the Earth Mother.  She comes with her candle and her little firefly helpers to tell them they must be up and at work for it will soon be Spring.  They are very sleepy at first but soon begin to stretch and open their eyes and be glad that it is time to wake.

Wide awake at last, in their root house, the root children work busily on their new Spring dresses.  Each chooses the color she loves best--violet, yellow, blue, white, orange or red--and with needle, thread and thimble, sews happily till her work is done.
Above them, in the little village by the sea, the sky and water are growing bluer.

The root children take their dresses to show to the good Earth Mother, where she sits comfortably with her tea and her knitting.  Her busy ant helpers are about her.  She is pleased when she sees how well each root child has made her Spring dress.

It is time to be ready, for above them the ice on the little brook has melted and the water is slipping merrily over its pebbles.  In the barns the sheep and lambs feel the Spring air and wish to be in the green fields again.

While the little root girls are sewing Spring dresses, the root boys are busy with their share in making ready for Spring.  They wake up the sleeping insect--the beetles, grasshoppers, ladybugs, crickets, bumble bees, fireflies and june bugs.  They sponge them and brush them and paint their shells with bright Spring colors, while the filds over their heads are growing greener and the leef buds on the trees are swelling in the warm Spring air.

Then, when all is ready, Spring comes!
First the meadow grasses fare out over the countryside, green and lovely, waving in the wind.
Then the busy insects, eager to do their work in fields and woods and gardens, singing and humming and leaping.
Next the good grains push their heads above the ground.
Last, and most beautiful of all, come the flowers in a sweet and gay procession--snowdrop and stargrass, forget me not and aster, violet, dandelion, columbine, daisy and primrose; hepatica, lily, anemone and poppy, cornflower, clover and bluebell.
Out they troop joyfully, out of their earth home into the lovely world, where birds fly in the blue sky above green meadows.

The flower children scatter far and wide.  Some choose the deep woods, and as lillies of the valley and violets, bloom shyly under the trees.  Gay butterflies hover above them, scarlet mushrooms brighten the moss, and the slow snail creeps out of his house to play, glad that Spring has come again.  

Others hurry to the pond side and play there all day long, making it gay with water lillies, forget me nots and wild iris.  Spiders spin lovely webs that shine in the sun.  The reeds wave and rustle in the passing wind, and dragon flies dart hither and thither.

Still others play in the meadows, dancing merrily, under the sunny sky with the beetles and butterflies, to the music of grasshoppers' chirping and bees' humming.  Each little root child is now a poppy or a daisy, a cornflower or a bluebell, or a graceful yarrow flower.

And so they play all Summer long, until a day comes when the air is chill and the leaves, turned red and gold and brown, are fluttering down to earth.  The flower children come running over hills and valleys, from meadows, woods, and brookside, back to the Earth Mother, who welcomes them to their warm earth home to rest and sleep the cold Winter through, until Spring comes again next year!

little ida's flowers conclusion

Little Ida's Flowers by Arthur Szyk

Little Ada's Flowers illustrated by Arthur Rackham

Little Ida's Flowers by Arthur Szyk

But the flowers did not come, and the music continued to play
beautifully; then she could not bear it any longer, for it was too pretty;
she crept out of her little bed, and went quietly to the door,
and looked into the room. Oh, how splendid it was, what she saw!
 

There was no nightlamp burning, but still it was quite light;

the moon shone through the window into the middle of the floor;

it was almost like day. All the hyacinths and tulips stood in two long

rows on the floor; there were none at all left at the window.

There stood the empty flowerpots. On the floor all the flowers were

dancing very gracefully round each other, making a perfect chain,

and holding each other by the long green leaves as they swung round.

But at the piano sat a great yellow lily, which little Ida had certainly

seen in summer, for she remembered how the student had said,

'How like that one is to Miss Lina.'

Then he had been laughed at by all; but now it seemed really

to little Ida as if the long yellow flower looked like the young lady;

and it had just her manners in playing—sometimes bending its long,

yellow face to one side, sometimes to the other, and nodding in tune

to the charming music!

No one noticed little Ida. Then she saw a great blue crocus hop

into the middle of the table, where the toys stood, and go to the doll's

bed and pull the curtains aside; there lay the sick flowers,

but they got up directly, and nodded to the others, to say that they

wanted to dance too. The old chimney sweep doll, whose under lip

was broken off, stood up and bowed to the pretty flowers: these did

not look at all ill now; they jumped down among the others,

and were very merry.

Then it seemed as if something fell down from the table.

Ida looked that way. It was the Shrovetide birch rod which was

jumping down! it seemed almost as if it belonged to the flowers.

At any rate it was very neat; and a little wax doll, with just such a

broad hat on its head as the councillor wore, sat upon it.

The birch rod hopped about among the flowers on its three red legs,

and stamped quite loud, for it was dancing the mazurka; and the

other flowers could not manage that dance, because they were

too light, and unable to stamp like that.

The wax doll on the birch rod all at once became quite great

and long, turned itself over the paper flowers, and said,

'How can one put such things in a child's head?

Those are stupid fancies!' and then the wax doll was exactly like

the councillor with the broad hat, and looked just as yellow

and cross as he. But the paper flowers hit him on his thin legs,

and then he shrank up again, and became quite a little wax doll.

That was very amusing to see; and little Ida could not

restrain her laughter. The birch rod went on dancing, and the councillor

was obliged to dance too; it was no use whether he might make  

himself great and long, or remained the little yellow wax doll with the

big black hat. Then the other flowers put in a good word for him,

especially those who had lain in the doll's bed, and then the birch rod

gave over. At the same moment there was a loud knocking at the

drawer, inside where Ida's doll, Sophy, lay with many other toys.

The chimney sweep ran to the edge of the table, lay flat down

on his stomach, and began to pull the drawer out a little.

Then Sophy raised herself, and looked round quite astonished.

'There must be a ball here,' said she; 'why did nobody tell me?'

'Will you dance with me?' asked the chimney sweep.

'You are a nice sort of fellow to dance!' she replied,

and turned her back upon him.

Then she seated herself upon the drawer, and thought that one

of the flowers would come and ask her; but not one of them came.

Then she coughed, 'Hem! hem! hem!' but for all that not one came.

The chimney sweep now danced all alone, and that

was not at all so bad.

As none of the flowers seemed to notice Sophy, she let herself fall

down from the drawer straight upon the floor,

so that there was a great noise. The flowers now all came running up,

to ask if she had not hurt herself; and they were all very polite to her,

especially the flowers that had lain in her bed. But she had not hurt

herself at all; and Ida's flowers all thanked her for the nice bed,

and were kind to her, took her into the middle of the floor,

where the moon shone in, and danced with her; and all the other

flowers formed a circle round her. Now Sophy was glad, and said

they might keep her bed; she did not at all mind lying in the drawer.

But the flowers said, 'We thank you heartily, but we cannot live so

long. Tomorrow we shall be quite dead. But tell little Ida she is

to bury us out in the garden, where the canary lies; then we shall

wake up again in summer, and be far more beautiful.'

'No, you must not die,' said Sophy; and she kissed the flowers.

At that moment the door opened, and a great number of splendid

flowers came dancing in. Ida could not imagine whence they

had come; these must certainly all be flowers from the king's

castle yonder. First of all came two glorious roses, and they had

little gold crowns on; they were a king and a queen. Then came

the prettiest stocks and carnations; and they bowed in all directions.

They had music with them. Great poppies and peonies blew upon

peapods till they were quite red in the face. The blue hyacinths

and the little white snowdrops rang just as if they had bells on them.

That was wonderful music! Then came many other flowers,

and danced all together; the blue violets and the pink primroses,

daisies and the lilies of the valley. And all the flowers kissed

one another. It was beautiful to look at!

At last the flowers wished one another good night; then little Ida,

too, crept to bed, where she dreamed of all she had seen.

When she rose next morning, she went quickly to the little table,

to see if the flowers were still there. She drew aside the curtains

of the little bed; there were they all, but they were quite faded,

far more than yesterday. Sophy was lying in the drawer where Ida

had laid her; she looked very sleepy.

"Do you remember what you were to say to me!" asked little Ida.

But Sophy looked quite stupid, and did not say a single word.

"You are not good at all!" said Ida. "And yet they all danced with you."

Then she took a little paper box, on which were painted

beautiful birds, and opened it, and laid the dead flowers in it.

"That shall be your pretty coffin," said she, "and when my 

Norwegian cousins come to visit me by and by, they shall help me

to bury you outside in the garden, so that you may grow again

in summer, and become more beautiful than ever."

The Norwegian cousins were two smart boys. Their names were

Jonas and Adolphe; their father had given them two new crossbows,

and they had brought these with them to show to Ida. She told them

about the poor flowers which had died, and then they got leave

to bury them. The two boys went first, with their crossbows on their

shoulders, and little Ida followed with the dead flowers in the pretty box.

Out in the garden a little grave was dug. Ida first kissed the flowers,

and then laid them in the earth in the box, and Adolphe and Jonas

shot with their crossbows over the grave, for they had neither guns

nor cannons.

little ida's flowers part one

Little Ida's Flowers illustrated by Edna F. Hart

Hans Christian Andersen

Little Ida's Flowers illustrated by Edna F. Hart

Wind Anemone

Little Ida's Flowers
written by Hans Christian Andersen (1835)

"My poor flowers, you are wither'd!" said little Ida. "Yesterday evening 

you were so pretty, and now all your leaves are drooping! 

What is the reason of it?" asked she of a youth sitting on a sofa, 

and whom she liked very much, because he told her the most 
beautiful fairytales, and cut out pasteboard houses for her,
and such wonderful pictures too; he could cut out hearts with little
ladies dancing in them; flowers he could cut out, and castles 
with doors that would open. He was a very charming youth.

"Why do these flowers look so faded?" asked she again, 

showing him a withered nosegay.

"Don't you know what ails them? answered he; 

 "your flowers have been allnight at a ball, 

and that's the reason they all hang their heads."

"Flowers cannot dance!" exclaimed little Ida.

"Certainly they can! When it is dark, and we are all asleep, 

then they dance about right merrily. 

They have a ball almost every night!" said the youth.

"May children go to the flowers' ball too?" asked little Ida.

"Yes," answered the youth. "Little tiny daisies, and lilies of the valley."

"Where do the prettiest flowers dance?" asked little Ida.

"Have you never been to the large castle, just outside the gates, 

which is the King's country house, and where there is a beautiful 

garden with so many flowers in it? You have surely seen the swans 

that come swimming towards you on the lake when you throw them 

crumbs of bread? The flowers have regular balls there, I can tell you."

"I was in the garden yesterday with my mother," said Ida; "but there 

were no leaves on the trees, and I did not see a single flower. 

Where were they, then? There were so many of them there in summer!"

"They are in the palace now," said the youth. "As soon as the King 

leaves his summer palace, and goes to town with his court, 

all the flowers go directly out of the garden into the palace, and make 

merry there, and enjoy themselves famously. 

If you could but see it once! The two most beautiful roses 

seat themselves on the throne, and play at King and Queen. 

Then the red cockscombs range themselves in rows on both sides, 

and make a lowbow; these are the gentlemen of the bedchamber.

Then the nicest flowers enter, and the great ball begins. 

The blue violets are midshipmen and cadets, and they dance 

with hyacinths and crocuses, which they call young ladies. 

The tulips and great yellow lilies, they are old ladies who look on 

and see that the dancing goes on properly, 

and that all is conducted with propriety."

"But," said little Ida, quite astonished, "may the flowers give a ball 

in the King's palace in that way, and does nobody come in 

to disturb them?"

"No one in the palace knows anything about it," answered the youth. 

"It's true, sometimes the old inspector of the palace comes 

up stairs in the night with his great bunch of keys, to see if all is safe; 

but as soon as the flowers hear the rattling of his keys, 

they keep quite still, and hide themselves behind the long silken 

windowcurtains, and peep out with their little heads. 

"I smell flowers here somewhere about," says the old inspector; 

 but he cannot find out where they are."

"That's very droll," said little Ida, clapping her hands. 

"But could I not see the flowers?"

"Of course you can see them," answered the youth. "Only peep in 

at the window when you go again to the palace. I looked in today, 

and I saw a long pale white lily reclining on the sofa. 

That was a maid of honor." 

"Can the flowers in the Botanic Garden go there too?" asked she. 

"Are they able to go all that way?"

"Certainly, that you may believe," said the youth, "for if the flowers 

choose, they can fly. Have you not seen the pretty red and yellow 

butterflies, and the white ones too, that almost look like flowers, 

are in reality nothing else. They have grown on stalks, 
high up in the air, and then they have leaves given them
to jump from their stems, they move their leaves as if they were wings,
and so fly about; and as they always behave well, they are allowed 
to flutter hither and thither by day, instead of sitting quietly on their
stems, till at last, real wings grow out of their leaves. 

Why, you have seen it often enough yourself. However, it may be that 

the flowers in the Botanic Garden did not know that there was 

such merrymaking in the King's palace of a night, and so have never 

been there. But I'll tell you something that will put the Professor of 
Botany, who lives beside the garden, into a perplexity;

when you go there again, you have only to whisper it to one flower, 

that there is a ball to be given at night at Friedricksburg, and one will
tell it to the other till they all know it, and then all the flowers
are sure to fly there. Then when the Professor comes into the garden,
and does not find any of his flowers, he will not be able to
comprehend what is become of them."

"Ah!" said little Ida, somewhat vexed at the strange story, 

how should the flowers be able to tell each other what I say? 

Flowers cannot speak!"

"No, they cannot properly talk; there you are quite right," 

continued the youth; "but they make themselves understood by
gestures. Have you not often seen how they bend to and fro,
and nod and move all their green leaves, when there is
the gentlest breeze? To them this is as intelligible as words are to us."

"Does the Professor understand their gestures, then?" said little Ida.

"To be sure he does. One morning he came into the garden 

and remarked that a great stinging nettle was conversing on very
intimate terms with a pretty young carnation.

'You are so beautiful,' said the nettle to the carnation,' 

and I love you so devotedly!' 

But the Professor would not suffer any thing of the sort, and tapped 

the nettle on his leaves - for those are its fingers; but they stung him 

so that from that day forward he has never ventured to meddle 

with a stinging nettle again."

"Ha! ha! ha! that was good fun indeed." laughed little Ida.

"What's the meaning of this," said the Professor of Mathematics, 

who had just come to pay a visit, "to tell the child such nonsense!" 

He could not bear the young man, and always scolded when he saw 

him cutting out pasteboard figures as, for example, a man 

on the gallows with a heart in his hand, which was meant for 

a stealer of hearts; or an old witch riding on a broomstick, carrying 

her husband on the tip of her nose. The cross Professor could not
bear any of these, and then he used to say as he did now, 

"What's the meaning of that - to teach the child such nonsense! 

That's your stupid Imagination, I suppose!"

But little Ida thought it was very amusing, and could not leave off 

thinking of what the youth had told her about the flowers. No doubt 

her flowers did hang their heads because they really had been 

to the ball yesterday. She therefore carried them to the table 

where all sorts of toys were nicely arranged, and in the drawer 

were many pretty things besides. Her doll lay in a little bed, 

to go to sleep; but Ida said to her, "Really, Sophie, you must get up, 

and be satisfied with the drawer for tonight; for the poor flowers are ill, 

and must sleep in your bed. Then perhaps they may be well by
tomorrow." So she took the doll out of bed; but the good lady
did not say a single word, she only made a wry face at being obliged
to leave her bed for the sake of the old flowers.

Ida laid the withered flowers in her doll's bed, covered them up 

with the counterpane, tucked them in very nicely, and told them to lie 

quite still, and in the meantime she would make some tea 

for them to drink, that they might be quite well by tomorrow morning. 

And she drew the curtains close all round the bed, so that the sun 

might not shine in their eyes.

The whole evening she kept on thinking of what she had heard, and
just before going to bed she ran to the window where her mother's
tulips and hyacinths were standing, and she whispered quite softly
to them, "I know very well that you are going to the ball tonight." 

But the flowers seemed as if they heard nothing, and moved not a leaf; 

but little Ida knew what she knew. 

When she was in bed, she lay for a long time thinking how delightful 

it would be to see the flowers dancing at the King's palace.

"Have my flowers really been there?" But before she could think about 

the answer, she had fallen asleep. She awoke again in the night; 

she had dreamed of the youth and the flowers, and the professor 

of Mathematics, who always said the youth stuffed her head 

with nonsense, and that she believed every thing. It was quite still
in the sleeping room; the night lamp burnt on the table, and her father 

and mother were fast asleep.

"I wonder if my flowers are still in Sophie's bed!" said she. 

"I should like so much to know!"

She sat up in her bed, looked towards the door which was half open, 

and there lay the flowers and her playthings all as she had left them. 

She listened, and it seemed to her as if some one was playing 

on the piano in the next room, but quite softly, and yet so beautifully 

that she thought she had never heard the like.

"Now, then, my flowers are all dancing for certain!" said she. 

"Oh, how I should like to go and see them!" 

But she did not dare to get up, for fear of awaking her father and mother.

"If they would but come in here!" said she. 

fairy tale review

"Fairy Tale Review Press is dedicated to helping raise public awareness of the literary and cultural influence of fairy tales, and to appreciating their power and depth as an art form.  It celebrates fairy tales as one of our oldest and most underestimated pleasures.  Fairy Tale Review Press seeks to improve the critical understanding of new works sewn from fairy tales, and welcome the public to revisit old tales across borders and time, to celebrate their transfixing power, and to protect them for future generations of readers.  Fairy Tale Review Press also publishes Fairy Tale Review, an annual journal."

Fairy Tale Review
Founder & Editor:
 Kate Bernheimer
Guest Editor, The Brown Issue: Timothy Schaffert
Managing Editor: Alissa Nutting
Web Editor: 
Brian Oliu
Assistant Editor: Lucas Southworth

Advisory Board

Donald Haase, Wayne State University
Lydia Millet, Tucson, AZ

Maria Tatar, Harvard University

Marina Warner, University of Essex

Jack Zipes, University of Minnesota


I find it dearly exceptional and hope you can wriggle over to their site, purchase the written words, and submerse your consciousness.

classifications of folk tales

The Seven Ravens



Jack and the Beanstalk



Tortoise with Wings



The Twelve Months

A classification of European folk tales exists and was first published in 1910, called the Aarne-Thompson classification system.  The tales are grouped by Animal Tales, Fairy Tales, Religious Tales, Realistic Tales, Tales of the Stupid Ogre, Jokes and Ancedotes, and Formula Tales.  A breakdown of the system can be seen here.  The Aarne-Thompson system catalogues some 2500 basic plots, for countless generations, which European and Near Eastern storytellers have built their tales. As Europeans and Near Easterners travelled to the New World, the Far East, Africa, and other distant places, their tales migrated as well.

The system was overhauled and extended by Hans-Jörg Uther in 2004.  He had a few criticisms for the system and listed these revisions:
1. Classifying narrative implies a scientific exactness that does not in fact exist, and that works as an “ideal type” only for certain texts in a limited region.
2. The descriptions of the tale types are in many cases too short and are often imprecise. Many are sexist, in that when the variants refer indiscriminately to a man or a woman, the summaries assign men to respectable roles and women to ignoble ones.
3. Incorporating the so called “irregular types”,those in small print, is a dubious practice. Often these types have a long and continuous distribution.
4. The emphasis on oral tradition often obscures the older, written versions of the tale types.
5. The inclusion of oicotypes with only a few variants expands the system unnecessarily and blurs the picture of the general tradition. Often new types are proposed from nationalistic sentiments, which should rightly be placed under existing types.
6. The Aarne-Thompson catalogue covers European folktale traditions unevenly: for example, it lacks references to eastern and southern European tales.
7. The catalogue is oriented towards traditional genres and does not take smaller narrative forms into consideration.
8. It often lacks references to relevant secondary literature.

Vladimir Propp, from Russia, analyzed many of his country's folk tales and identified common themes within them.  He broke down the stories into analyzable chunks that comprised the structure of many of the stories.  He identified that “Five categories of elements define not only the construction of a tale, but the tale as a whole.”:
1. Functions of dramatis personae
2. Conjuctive elements (ex machina, announcement of misfortune, chance disclosure – mother calls hero loudly, etc.)
3. Motivations (reasons and aims of personages)
4. Forms of appearance of dramatis personae (the flying arrival of dragon, chance meeting with donor)
5. Attributive elements or accessories (witch’s hut or her clay leg)  While not all stories will contain all of Propp's narratemes, it is surprising to find stories that contain none, and many modern books and movies fit nicely into his categories.  His breakdown of the categories can be seen here.

This summary does not even begin to touch on the vast amount of folk tales throughout all the world. It is a brief summary to European and Russian tales.

kay nielson

Kay Nielsen (pronounced "kigh")(1886-1957)
was a Danish illustrator who was popular in the early 20th century,
the "golden age of illustration" which lasted from when Daniel Vierge 
and other pioneers developed printing technology to the point that 
drawings and paintings could be reproduced with reasonable facility.
He joined the ranks of Arthur Rackham and Edmund Dulac in 
enjoying the success of the gift books of the early 20th century.  
This fad lasted until roughly the end of World War II when economic 
changes made it more difficult to make a profit from elaborately 
illustrated books.

pogo

Pogo
Fagottron
An emerging electronic music artist in Perth, Western Australia. He is known for his work recording small sounds from a single film or scene and sequencing them to form a new piece of music.

His most notable track, Alice, a composition of sounds from the Disney film ‘Alice In Wonderland’, was received with much success gaining over 4 million views on YouTube as of December 2009. Pogo has since produced tracks utilizing sounds from films like ‘Mary Poppins’, ‘Harry Potter’, ‘The Sword In The Stone’, ‘Hook’, ‘Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory’, and ‘Up’.

lutins

Arthur Rackham

Two girls were once forced to spend the night in a stable.
They were so tired that they immediately fell
into a deep sleep, dead to the world.
When morning came, they found that a Lutin had visited
them in the dark. Their hair was so tangled and knotted
that it was impossible to comb out.
All their 'lutined' locks had to be cut off.