Ms. Neeps the Turnip lady
Sleeping deep in the ground, bundled up in earthen soil, was a turnip, touched by magic. The Farm Witch tended her garden with more than water and hard work. She nourished the ground with stories, with intention and with love.
One evening under the moons watchful eye, her garden received a gift in the form of sparkling moondust. It fluttered down like a blessing onto her hedgerow, over the loosened dirt and flowers already in bloom.
Even for a witch, who had seen many a curious thing, The Farm Witch was truly bemused. She fell right back onto her tush in the dirt, smiling up at the moon in her big hat and linen skirt.
There wasn’t long for moments of deliberation as to the “what on earthiness” of these events, because truly, there could be no explanation. A blanket of moon magic had just drifted down and settled on her hearts work, and she was grateful.
Just then, the dirt started to wiggle. It looked as if a mole from the under garden was awake and roaming about. It wasn’t a little mole though; it was something else from the dirt. Right before her eyes, The Farm Witch saw a small arm shoot up then another. Next came the legs and then a naked turnip body. The Farm Witch was quite familiar with the circle of life, but never had she witness the birth of a turnip lady.
The witch gathered the wisping tendrils of root, the off white and dusty purple head, and the curious little body close to her. Wrapping the turnip lady in a scrap of worn, soft fabric, The Farm Witch nestled her with care in her foraging basket and headed into her little cottage.
These are the early beginnings of the turnip lady and how she came to be, but there is more to know.
Because she was nourished by a special magic, destiny sent her like an arrow to things meant just for her. As she grew, the turnip lady sought out quiet joy and because she was born of the under garden, she knew the dark and set out to be a light, an illumination from within. She knew she was odd and special, and she also knew that turnip ladies don’t just crawl their way from under the garden for nothing at all.
The turnip lady was properly called Ms. Neeps by The Farm Witch, who became her loving caretaker and friend.
The two created a ritual of going to market together. The Farm Witch searched for things to grace her garden and Ms. Neeps scoured the stalls for books. She loved, so much, to fill her sweet little turnip head with poems, spells, and stories about the unexpected and sometimes even the unthinkable.
On one of those trips to the market, something absolutely atrocious happened. There was an incident that I’d rather not go into a great deal of detail about, involving an out-of-control donkey pulling a cart. I will say, the cart knocked into a stack of apple crates, spilling them across the ground.
Ms. Neeps was not unscathed. A ragged old crate fell right on the small turnip lady. It was more than a scratch and less than death.
The Farm Witch often tended to those in need who could not or would not see a credentialled doctor. She put people and critters back together the best she could.
After getting Ms. Neeps back to the warmth of their cottage, she began searching the shed for just the right thing. She found a tiny piece of furniture, a dresser, that must surely have belonged to a fairy. Putting both the lady turnip and the small dresser on her dinner table, The Farm Witch cobbled them both together in a remarkable way. In the end, she sat back and smelled the magic making in the air. She was grateful.
They called it a new chapter of magic. Ms. Neeps atop a storybook dresser, completely brimming with books and The Farm Witch with the deep knowing that even if our roots begin in the dirt, they don’t necessarily have to remain there. Our stories can begin again, maybe at the hand of a witch who cobbles things back together, or maybe with a book, offered to you by a turnip lady.
The story of Ms. Neeps and the images are copywritten ©2022MyDearestWitch, all rights reserved.