Tribe and Tide: Navigating Island

TRIBE AND TIDE NAVIGATING ISLAND FAMILY LIFE

By Emma Elobeid Pictures Christian Warren

For all their beach-boy bravado six months of the year, my two are also at least 50% forest fey: full of mischief and happiest in nature. No matter how many soggy Sundays we spend exploring the Island’s extensive woodlands, our midwinter meanders never lose magic or mystery. Borthwood Copse has become somewhat of an all-time favourite; galumphing down the root-strewn path with Christmas morning-like gusto, the Narnian descent from wardrobe/car park to cathedral-like clearing feels almost (to the young and magically receptive alike) as if you are entering a fairyland realm, and we instinctively tread more carefully so as not to disturb them.

By water or wood, children are ever-fascinated by scale: while tales of tiny snails and humpback whales delight beachside, here in the forest, towering evergreen giants and flower fairies capture the imagination. We may not be able to see them (fairy-folk are notoriously shy) but we feel their presence as we tiptoe in between

Borthwood’s ancient oaks.

While my gaze wanders over knobbly stumps, hollowed out trunks, and secret tunnelling nooks, my mind’s eye wonders what it would be like to live there. Recently, I’ve realised that I’m not alone in indulging this whimsical train of thought: perhaps now, more than ever, many of us are instinctively drawn to the simplicity and seclusion that only a forest ‘teeny-tiny’ home can bring. For all my Isle of Wight property addiction, there are some days that I would gladly pick a mossy hillock over a glass house on a hill. Eager to involve the children in my imaginings, we talk about what ‘cosy’ means to us: for my eldest it’s the kitchen underlights glimpsed from the last few metres home from school on a rainy afternoon; my youngest cites Bonfire Night fireworks watched from the warmth of the bedroom window. Cosy contemplation turns to play as

A palace fit for a Fairy Queen?

‘Because really, how do we know if we are the Giants or the Thumblings; the Big People or the Borrowers?’

we collect and gather materials to build a wintery home in miniature. Contrary to popular belief, fairies aren’t fans of tinsel or glitter, preferring instead to read their festive bedtime stories by the warm white light of a winter wood anemone. As we build, talk turns (as it tends to do, at this time of the year) to the Big Day: what might Christmas look like for the inhabitants of these tiny homes? Does a single, lovingly roasted horse chestnut take pride of place on a polished table of bark? Do they clink acorn cups of morning dew and wear crowns spun from thinnest spider silk? Huddle around and listen to the Fairy Queen’s speech at 3pm? Legend has it that fairies have the power to train families of field mice to serenade them with Christmas carols. After rocking around every last fir tree in the forest, do they play Twister on the needle-soft forest floor – right foot rosehip, left hand lichen – before collapsing under a duvet of glittering wood moss?

Eventually, these practical ponderings take a more philosophical turn – “but Mummy, do the fairies know they are small?” – leading to questions that I can neither fathom nor answer. Because really, how do we know if we are the Giants or the Thumblings; the Big People or the Borrowers? In the grand scale of the universe and us,

Fairies prefer feathers

Bright and beautiful berries for the feast

we can never say for sure whether (to continue the literary metaphor) we are the Horton-esque Heffalump or the ‘Who’ on a speck of dust. Yet somehow, the process of noticing the magic in the minutiae – via a few strategically placed sticks and pine cones on a soggy Sunday afternoon – helps us appreciate the scale and wonder of our own existence. Either that, or we’re all part-fey.

Why not share your tribe’s festive fairy house creations with us on Instagram using our #tribeandtide hashtag – we’d love to see them!