FFunny story. Funny as in strange, odd, other-worldly. Would you like to hear it?

Several months ago, my children and I were traveling a stretch of deserted mountain road. Not the best time of year, what with the snow and all, but we had just been to visit my husband’s grave. We all dearly loved him, so no matter the weather, we made regular visits to his burial site.

The early snow had my attention glued to the path ahead. So did the thick fingers of fog that blurred the edges of the road, making the whole scene one mass of white.

Simon, my oldest child, sat beside me. A teen, he was flipping through radio stations at random, searching for something that he deemed listenable that the younger ones wouldn’t object to.

“Mommy, I’m hungry,” came a voice from behind me—that was Caleb, my second son. “Can we get something to eat?”

Simon chimed in. “Yeah, Mom. Let’s pick up a pizza.”

Ava, my youngest, took her thumb out of her mouth long enough to exclaim, “No pizza! Peanut butter!”

The boys groaned. “Aw, Mom, peanut butter again?”

“Come on, guys,” I said. “You don’t want to disappoint your baby sister, do you?”

“No disappoint!” She raised her wet thumb to the air and lisped, “The pwincess has spoken!

We girls giggled—as Simon and Caleb rolled their eyes and groaned again.

They couldn’t complain. They’re the ones who taught her to say that. I thought it was funny. Besides, I owed Ava one. I didn’t have the heart to tell my sons that the two dollars I had left in my pocket wouldn’t buy them a pizza of any kind. And it wasn’t as if I had my usual stock of canned vegetables at home to draw from. After my husband’s death, I just didn’t have the heart to make a garden grow. It seemed as if everything died that year. But the sad lack of put-up vegetables didn’t help the family food situation.

The children’s distraction took my eyes off the road for only a moment, but suddenly there was a huge buck directly in our path. I swerved to miss it, went over the bank, and crashed the car into a tree.

My second-to-the-last thought was, “Why wasn’t OnStar calling to see if we needed help like it does in the commercials?” My last thought was, “Right, I never paid their bill.” What can I say? It had been a rough year.

I reached out to my son beside me. He stirred—and I lost consciousness.

WWe’ve all heard of out-of-body-experiences, but I’ve always prided myself on being quite down-to-earth. However, when I regained consciousness, I was standing several yards from my car, barefoot in the snow. And the clothes I was wearing? Definitely not mine. These shimmered like butterfly wings in the sun.

Then a voice from the woods called to me. ”Laurel,” it said. Funny thing, though, my name is Lynnann. Somehow, though, I knew he was calling to me.

I began to move in the direction of the voice. Wondering why my feet weren’t freezing, I looked down and saw that I was standing in a perfect circle of soft, lush, green moss. In fact, moss grew beneath my feet before each step I took. No joke! It grew right under my feet! And the weird part? I didn’t even think it was weird. I kept walking into the forest until there was no longer any snow at all. Where I stood, it was Spring: birds singing, flowers growing, the works.

My attention, however, was focused entirely on the man in front of me. He had just emerged from an ancient oak. That’s the only way I can describe his sudden appearance. He didn’t come from behind, or from inside the tree, he emerged from it. As if he were the tree. He was by far the most beautiful man I’d ever seen, but not in a girlie way. His shoulder-length black hair shone almost blue, like the wings of a raven. And he had intense violet eyes that lit up when he smiled and reached out a hand to me.

“Laurel,” he said again.

My hand reached out too, and when I touched him, I suddenly knew that I was Laurel, and I belonged in this beautiful place with this beautiful man I have loved for who knows how many lifetimes.

“It’s time,” he said. “Welcome home.”

Other trees became other beautiful people, and I was surrounded by what I instantly recognized as my own smiling woodland family. These were my children, or more accurately, our children.

This realization instantly brought to mind my children still in the car—and possibly injured!

The raven-haired man reached out and touched my face, looking right through to my soul with those violet eyes. His silent communication told me there was trouble in the vast woodlands.

“I’ve loaned you to the world long enough. We need you back,” he said.

But how could I stay? Visions of my children possibly being sent to homes drove a chill down my back that the beautiful man suddenly and completely understood.

Just then I heard the pitiful wails of little Ava and the boys’ frantic calls for me. I looked in the direction from which I’d come.

“They need me more,” I said, speaking for the first time. My voice was like a breeze. That’s the only way I can describe it. A breeze holding a gentle command.

He smiled at me again. “Until they’re grown then,” he said. Those eyes of his turned playful with mischief, and he added. “Only this time, don’t forget who you are.” Then he came slowly forward and kissed me.

I gasped for breath. I was my normal self again, in my car, crumpled under the steering wheel. Simon was sobbing and holding what he could of me in his arms. They were all staring down at me, their little tears wetting my face. I was relieved to see they were unhurt. I must have rammed my own side of the car into the tree. Mother’s instinct, I suppose.

“Are you all right? All of you?” I asked.

Simon quickly wiped away his tears. “Yeah, Yeah, we’re okay, but you’re not!”

I thought about that a moment. I didn’t feel broken anywhere, just a bit bumped around. “I’m OK, guys, really.”

“No you’re not, Mom! We can’t get you out!”

It was then that I realized that my children’s hands weren’t the only hands touching me. A stranger rested one warm palm on top of my head. His face was turned away from me, and he was speaking quickly on a cell phone.

When I heard sirens approaching, he turned to me, his blue-black hair shining in sunlight. His violet eyes met mine, twinkling with mischief. He winked at me, gave my hair one last caress—and was gone.

WWhen the firemen cut me out, I didn’t seem to have a mark on me, No one could explain the large pool of blood on the floorboards under my seat. They insisted on strapping all of us to stretchers and hauling us, lights-and-sirens blaring, to the closest hospital.

But before they rolled me into the ambulance, I gazed once more into the forest—just in time to see the beautiful man wave to me before he blended back into the trees.

It’s been several months now since the accident. The kids and I are doing much better, especially financially. We decided to open up a greenhouse and nursery—a newfound passion of mine. The boys enjoy it as much as I do, and even my little daughter’s wet thumb has turned green.

My customers all exclaim how beautiful and healthy our plants and trees are and say they thrive when planted in their own gardens.

“How do you do it?” they ask. “Everything you touch seems to grow like magic!”

I always answer with the truth. “Don’t you know?” I reply, a twinkle of mischief in my eye. “I’m a fairy queen.”

And my own garden? Well, let’s just say that my family won’t be hungry any time soon. ❖