The walls of the Great Hall seemed to be bursting at the seams. It was filled with the "little people" who had gathered from near and far. No human knew where the Great Hall stood; only the little people knew. All had made the tiring journey. They came from England and Japan, France and Germany, Ireland and Scandinavia, and more places than anyone could ever count.

    But where was the laughter that sounded like hundreds of crystal bells ringing with a rhythm that made you smile? Where was the sound of tiny dancing feet that made your own feet want to join in, should you be lucky enough to hear it? The Great Hall was silent. For it was a serious time. A time to consider what should be done.     

    For hundreds of years adult humans had told stories about them to their children. The stories were passed from generation to generation. Mostly the little people were good in these tales, but sometimes the humans told of mischief they had done or something to make the children frightened. But this was to protect the children so they wouldn't go to places that could be harmful; or to teach them to be neat, clean and do all their chores.

    The little people really meant no harm; mostly they did good deeds and were hard working. Oh sometimes, to be truthful, they might cause people to spill milk on each other's clothes, or tangle a young girl's hair, but this was rare and only done so they could giggle.     

    Now the "computer" age had come, the age of "high tech" and "state of the art," whatever that meant. The little people only knew no one believed in them anymore. Human adults were far too busy and human children only watched television. They had to decide if they should band together and move across the sea, or if they should simply "be no more."

    The crowd stood in hushed silence as Old Torvig, with his brown face wrinkled as a walnut, and his pointed hat that was sliding slightly over one eyebrow, came out of the council room to make an announcement. "Whether Leprechaun or Kobold, Pixie or Nixes, we will now be called Gnomes. We will cross the sea to a place called Minnesota. There we will go to a peaceful city called Dawson. This place has kindly people who love laughter. The fields are all colors of green in the spring and the plowed ground looks like rich chocolate. They have trees to shade you - or to live in - birds sing and there is a river gently running through the town where fish can be seen jumping and splashing. Squirrels scamper to pick up the soybeans spilled from trucks and wagons. There is not one, but three bridges, and one has no noisy automobiles that go over it. It is for walking over or maybe riding a bicycle. The people love music and fiddles play often. The children swing and play ball in the parks. A factory makes cheese of all kinds and a highway goes east to west on the north side of town. The Indians once walked the land, their arrowheads have been found in pastures. People from the country and town work together to make good things happen. You can hear the church bells ring and the chimes play, and the flags dance in the breeze. For us it will be a good place."

"When we get there we will show them we are neat, helpful, and will bring a smile to their faces. To those who have said in years past that we are mischievous, dangerous and have no heart, we will show we have a heart. We will wear it on our sleeves for all to see. And Dawson will be Gnometown, Mn."

What adventures will they have as they live 'happily ever after'? Ah....that's another story!

The Legends of Gnometown

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