Spring Tonic

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In Minnesota USA, where we live, the fern are beginning to unfurl and the rhubarb is almost ready to pick. If I peek underneath those magical leaves I just might find a doorway to the world of fairies and Pippsywoggins. I can imagine that they might be rolling up their winter cloaks and sweeping away the debris from their front steps. Along with those thoughts come visions of fairy gardens springing up in backyards and parks across the land.

In the meantime, there is much in our world to reflect on besides fairy doors and tiny brooms sweeping away the dust. There are ponderings over diversity, inclusion, representation and compassion. There is real heartache and division. Grief. Anger. Despair. And joy. And, always, love. Somewhere. Waiting to be realized. For me, making art and telling stories is one way to process those feelings and sift through my thoughts.  I may be creating a world of fairy folk and what looks like fluff, but embedded in all of that is a very serious “medicine”. Making art is a tonic that gives me a voice, expresses a message and reflects back to me who I am in the world. Looking at what I have created makes me smile but it also causes me to ask questions of myself. To reflect. To change and to grow.

If you’d like to explore a little bit of “fairy medicine”, consider making a wee character similar to the ones pictured here. These are made from Super Sculpey Living Doll polymer clay, pipe cleaners, fibers and felt. The faces, hands and feet are made from our molds wf1, f11h and f12f. Choose colors and materials that reflect your story in the world. Have a conversation with your little creations to see what it is that they have to say. You might be surprised! At least you’ll smile at the thought. At least that’s my hope!

NOTE: For help with the structure of the characters, see our 28-page FREE ARMATURE TUTORIAL athttps://www.weefolk.com/getting-started-making-doll-bodies.pdf

NOTE: The following is about an interaction that I had with the Pippsywoggins, “Little Friends from the Edge of Imagination”. In times like these the Pippsywoggins often show up to share their wisdom with me.

I WAS SITTING BY THE SLIDING DOOR, reading the morning paper, when a slight movement caught my attention. I’m always on the lookout for evidence of wildlife in my garden, so without much thought I put the paper down and walked to the window. At first I didn’t see a thing. Then, as my eyes adjusted to the flickering shadows along the picket fence, I saw that between every post, on top of the highest crossbar, there was a Pippsywoggin, standing at attention. Completely still. Looking up. Arms raised as if in celebration … or praise. Or was it a greeting? I couldn’t tell. And I didn’t want to say anything that would disturb the scene that was playing out in full unbelievable poignancy right there in front of me, not more than 15 feet from my nose.

At the end of the line, or maybe it was the beginning (Pippsywoggins arrange things quite differently than humans do), was Gertrude Gretchen, the Pippsywoggin spokeswoggin. She turned her head towards me. Looked me directly in the eye. Then disappeared. No poof or anything. Just gone.

Of course I was startled.

The rest of the Pips stayed still for what seemed like minutes but was probably no more than a heartbeat. Then they lowered their arms and in unison flipped upside down so they were standing on their heads! Laughing. The tinkling sound of their laughter rang through the air with such a fierce joy that soon I was laughing, too, though I didn’t know why.

I still don’t understand what happened, nor do I know what the laughter was all about. But I’ll find out. I’m sure that I will because just before all of the Pips scrambled off the fence and down along the banks of Sand Creek they looked back at me and, in unison, blew me a kiss.

Brigitta had long anticipated a magical day at the annual Medieval Faire. She had designed her costume with multiple frills, capacious bags and dangerously pointy shoes. Topping it off were the warrior gloves. Perfect! What she never imagined was the owl which at precisely 3:00 PM would plummet from the sky to become a living accessory.

brigitta5a10Brigitta never imagined it, but, from that day on, she was different. The story that she now told about herself included the experience of the owl. Her world was bigger. There were clearer windows, wide-open doors and lower walls. She had made a connection with mystery.

In my own life, I remember a few “owl” times that changed how I saw myself. Some involved interaction with a person. One happened while reading a book. One was a face-to-face with a squirrel. Funny thing is that the more that I pay attention, the more “owl” times that there are.

Who or what are the story-changers in your life?

NOTE: The pictured character was designed by me, Maureen Carlson, from Premo! brigitta7a10Sculpey Polymer Clay plus a bit of wire and foil. Tucked into the concept is a dash of  imagination, the influence of Harry Potter and James Christensen, a fascination with birds that was nurtured by my mother, AnaBel Zelenak Crowell Peck, and a delightful polymer clay technique that I learned from Maggie Maggio called Color Washing.

The face was created using a What a Character Push Mold #F27 that was created by me and produced by Wee Folk Creations: https://www.weefolk.com/molds_list.htm#moldf27 .

Polymer Clay is a heat-set clay that comes in a variety of colors.


It’s Sunday morning. I’mriver2 sitting in my kitchen at the old rural school desk that is tucked in between the refrigerator and the corner cupboard. I’m drinking coffee and practicing being present, being aware. It helps that I’m on my 3rd cup of coffee! I’m trying to get back into a daily spiritual practice, and, am doing so, in bits and spurts. I’m reminded of what Yoda said, “Do or do not. There is no try.” Hmmmm. I breathe slowly, in and out, and notice what I am seeing.

Out my window is Sand Creek, which is just visible if I stand up and peer over the fence.  I see a red squirrel racing from limb to limb. Surely she has had more coffee than me thissqauirrel6 morning! I keep losing her among the limbs, but then she stops and investigates something. Is the sap starting to seep out of the Maple Tree? And do squirrels like it?








Across the river I can see a pair of gray squirrels chasing each other up into the highest limbs of the cedar tree, then leaping into an old willow, going round and round the trunk, then disappearing into the depths of a snowbank. Up they pop. Off they go again!


Once summer day Dan and I were sitting on the deck, half way down the river bank, when we heard a PLOP.  There in the middle of the creek was a squirrel which hadn’t quite made the leap from limb to spreading limb from one side of the riverbank to the other. Learned something new that day! Squirrels CAN swim.

I stare up into the trees and imagine what it will be like in a few months, when the leaves will nearly block the view of the houses that are nestled onto the opposite river bank. In summer it is almost like we are living on the edge of the forest. That thought leads me to thoughts of the forest, and then, as thoughts often do, this one turns into contemplation. Pondering. Thinking about how the interweaving branches of the trees, those that allow squirrels to travel across the forest and even over the river, never touching the ground, are a great metaphor for the connections that we make in life.

I take up my pencil and write this, which, now, I offer to you.

I imagine myself as a tree, standing in the woods. You. Yes, you. You are one of the trees in that interlocking forest of my life …  branches touching, weaving together to create a network of relationships. Challenging. Supporting. Protecting. Inspiring. Applauding. Critiquing. Reacting. Denying. Questioning. Bristling. Loving. Pondering. Caring. Growing. Sharing stories. Apart. Separate. Yet together, grounded in the same earth, breathing the same air, drinking the same water, being shone on by the same sun. I can’t imagine being a single tree, standing alone in the meadow or on a mountaintop. I am thankful to be one tree in a forest full of trees with branches that connect with mine.


As I write this I’m listening to the song “When Everything Old Is New Again”, sung by Peter Allen ( on You Tube).  The song, co-written with Carole Bayer Sager, so fits where I am right now. june2017

These lines, especially, resonate with me:

“Dreams can come true again
When everything old is new again”

So true! They make me smile. Remind me to grab hold of my imagination and fly. Encourage me to keep on dancin’ down that path.

I took this photo today, June 1, at 6:00 PM. The scene is the path that leads to the steps that go down to Sand Creek here at our place in Jordan, Minnesota, USA. Those of you who have been here in the summer will recognize the ferns and the bench. Same old place. Nothing new. But not so. It’s different now. It’s different because as of yesterday this is the backyard of our home as well as our business. Yes. Dan and I have moved in! The Prior Lake house now belongs to another family with dreams and plans of their own, while we are re-configuring the former Maureen Carlson’s Center for Creative Arts into a space and place that will nurture both our Wee Folk Creations business as well as ourselves.


The experience of moving, after living almost 40 years in one place, has made me appreciate anew all of you who have shared your stories of challenges and change. It’s not as easy as it appears from the outside! You are my sheroes and heroes!

A little humor has helped in this 1 and 1/2-year process of downsizing and moving. The grandkids thought it was funny to sit on the couch one last time as it rested in the dumpster at the Prior Lake house.  They helped to make the moving day a joyful one to remember.

The old living room couch will never be new again.  And it obviously didn’t make the move with the rest of our things to the Jordan location. But the loving and living and laughing and learning that took place in that living room will never grow old.

Here’s to dreams!