The Valley

-The Valley-

By

Chanell Lynn Kuykendoll Cerchiara

A parable about faith.

“Hidden deep within the great mountain ranges of this world, is the valley that time forgot. A piece of land only existing in dreams, suspended just within the realms of the far edges of imagination; fixed between the folds of fantasy and reality.” This is how my mother would answer my curious mind’s questions about our home. Almost everything she’s said to me becomes valued wisdom. This place is special, its great rocky mountains surrounding us like stoic guardians rather than towering encloses. Leaving the rest of the world in mystery to what lies at the belly of our lush valley; a rich green grassy field that seemed to stretch on - at least from my point of view - for endless miles. A land where magic is life, and life a folklore. My kind ranged in all shapes and sizes and colors that journeyed far beyond the limitations of the rainbow.

We called ourselves ‘Beings of Nature’, but humans called us ‘Flowers’. We were not the only patch in the valley. But ours was different from all the rest, because our colors were of such vivid brilliance, that all the others could only ever hope to enhance our display in comparison. A hot red seeped out from within our buds to hug our bright yellow peddles. “On a clear sunny day,” as my mother would often say, “we looked as bright as the flames of fire itself.” But our outward beauty wasn’t the only reason we were so special. “Listen closely to me young one.” She said to me one night, under a bright starry sky. “Our patch is unique from all the others in this valley. For we all have conscience. We can think and speak, and possess - though limited - a range of movement. The leafs you move as arms, the bud you move about as eyes to see. None of the other flowers around us can do this. And you sing too; we all do. Together our voices are so beautifully harmonizing, the stars themselves will cry.” And as she gestured to the sky to prove her point, the patch began to sing. And I saw my first falling star.

I was happy in my home deep within the secret valley. At that time the only problem I had, was that all the older flowers would not often take such a young one like me seriously. Most times it seemed like no one ever listened to me at all. One day, shortly after we’d finished one of our many songs, something strange was in the air. It frightened us at first; I clung on to my mother as she shh’ed me for asking questions. I heard a small rock slide off in the distance, as if the great mountains themselves were unsettled by the intrusion. Our land had been hidden for so long, recluse and safe in the serene reality of solitude. No one had ever visited our valley. No one had ever been able to trek the vast sea of mountains and pierce the very heart of its long-kept secrets. Except for this man.

He was alone and had somehow stumbled into our valley. Maybe he heard our singing and thought he might be safe here. I only thought this because he wandered right toward us; astonished by the quiet beauty of our home, but even more by us. We all pretended to be just like other flowers. “Oh, how beautiful!” he exclaimed. “I’ve only seen tulips like these in books.” His eyes fell thoughtfully. “Hmm…, they look like a hybrid!”

The name intrigued me. I couldn’t help myself and my curiosity outweighed my better judgment, so moving to look in his direction I spoke. “What is tulip?” I asked. I could feel my mother’s steam stiffen.  OF course, the man was shocked. “What is a hybrid?” I continued. He surprised us all at how quickly he adjusted to the discovery.

“Hello.” He said, astonishment in his starry-night eyes. His long thick hair reminded me of the raven’s feathers. And his skin like the deep brown soil in which our roots reside.  He called himself Simon; and as he knelt to speak with me, we were all taken aback by his kind nature and soft tone. Simon had enchanted the enchanted. He told us of his life outside the valley and in return, we told him of ours within the walls of the great mountains. His was a unique race of elves almost as ancient as our valley. Simon told us he was a servant, but his likeness was that of a king. He saw us like children; I knew this because being so young myself, I could see a father’s love in his eyes.

“I’d love to hear you sing.” He said with a smile, after some time of conversation. And we did sing for him, for we had love for Simon too. When we had finished our small concert, he had tears in his eyes and said, “Today, I have come across something so special, that it will stay in my heart forever. You all are so very important to me for now and forever. And I would never want anything bad to happen to you.” He nodded to himself as if to come across an inward decision. “I will buy this piece of land and make you my own, so that no one can hurt you. I will protect you, for if I was able to stumble across this valley, it’s only a matter of time before another will come; whose intentions are not like my own. I give you my word!” We sang to him again after he made that promise. But eventually Simon had to leave, though he left us with another promise that he would come back to us one way or another.

Long after he had gone, Simon was still on our minds and in our hearts. We sang songs for him even though he wasn’t there. But the days fell into weeks, then months, then years. As time past, flowers would sing less about Simon. Some didn’t sing at all. “You must not lose hope young tulip.” My mother said to me one night. “Simon is a good person; I can tell deep down in my roots. He will keep his promise to us. Don’t listen to any of the others; only listen to your heart.” I did as my mother told me. And after a long while, it seemed like my heart was all I listened too. This was a good thing, for what was yet to come.

One day, a very long time after Simon, there was another intrusion. At first some of the tulips were happy. For they thought Simon had finally returned; I was one of them. But my mother told me to keep quiet. The two people we saw next were not Simon, but strangers, and younger. “This place is great!” said one.

“Yeah, this valley would make a good resort destination.” Commented the other. “Wow! Are those tulips?” He said as they made their way toward us. “Have you ever seen flowers like this before?”

The first man laughed. “How do you know what tulips are?”

“They’re my girlfriend’s favorite, shut-up!”

We Beings of Nature, living together for so long, had grown a deep bond between us. So much that an evolved secondary form of communication was a result, allowing us to hear each other’s thoughts. “They are elves like Simon. And they seem just as nice. Did you hear? The one thinks we are special. Simon thought we were special.” I could hear some of them thinking.

“NO!” I thought back to them, finding a courage I never knew I had. “These elves are different. They’re not like our Simon. I can feel it deep down in my roots, please listen to me!” But I was a young one, and they did not feel that my thoughts were important. But my mother did listen, and she kept quiet with me.

“If we sing to them, they will love us, just like Simon did.”  Some continued to think, “and maybe they will stay with us, and never leave. Simon is never coming back!”

I tried to tell them to trust Simon; that he gave us his word and would not break it. But they had already made up their minds. Though not all of the tulips felt the same, much of them felt like my mother and me. The small group of tulips started to sing. And the strangers were amazed.

“Did you hear that!? That singing, it’s fantastic! And it’s coming from the flowers, AWESOME!” Said one of the strangers.

“I have an idea,” spoke the second. “Let’s pick them; then take them back to the city with us. There, we can put them on display, and charge people to come and see the show!” The two agreed on the plan and ran off cheering congratulations to each other. The tulips that sang started to cry, and the rest cried with them. Being plucked from the ground, roots or not, was a death sentence. The source which gives us life only flowed in the soil of this valley. Through our tears we sang to one and other one last time. Not long after, the two men came back with shovels and large baskets in hand and picked away all the beautiful tulips that had sang to them. The rest of us used our fear to remain silent. If ever our fear betrayed us and we started to tremble, the valley gifted a warm breeze to shudder us. The wind remined me of Simon speaking for some reason. So I held on to that memory.  We never saw those members of our family again.

More time had passed after that encounter. And Simon still had not returned to us like he’d promised. Some of the other tulips were starting to become bitter. We could hear it in their voices. But mother told me again not to listen to them; only to my heart. And my heart told me to trust Simon.  Soon after that, on a day not unlike that very one so long ago, a new presence breached our guardian mountain walls. Someone was coming. This time we were all so scared that even our roots were shaking. He was just one man, about the same age as the last visitors. Though there was something familiar about him. He walked right up to us with a determined stride. None of us spoke. He smiled at first, then looked confused. “Hmm,” he started. “This is the place I’m sure. But how do I know I have the right flowers? All the plants here are very beautiful. These tulips though, do stand out the most. Only one way to find out.” And with that, he knelt down before us, by chance maybe, right in front of me. “My father sent me.” He said softly, again with a smile. “He sacrificed a lot to keep you. That’s why I’m here. My name is Peter, I am Simon’s only son. I’ve come to finish what he started. But I’m not sure you are my father’s children; so if you would please sing to me, like you did for him so long ago, I’ll know I have the right batch of tulips.” But no one moved or said anything. I decided to listen to my heart. Peter felt right to me.

“He’s true, just like Simon!” I thought to the others. But once again they would not listen.

“No, it’s a trick. Just like the last time! We must stay quiet.” They thought back.

I reached down inside for the courage again. “Can’t you all see? He has the same features. Look at his eyes, like the starry night! The others looked different, talked different, I don’t know, were different. Even his movements are like his father’s! He talks just as softly. My heart feels good with him. Listen with your hearts!”  When my mother heard my words, she trusted my wisdom. But the others were still unsure; so I took a chance. “We are the right batch! There are none in this valley like us!” I called out, looking to him like I did to his father so long ago. Peter laughed and touched my peddles. And from then on, I knew he was true. My courage must have rubbed off on the others, for they all joined in after me. My mother was the first to speak,

“Peter, son of Simon, we have new songs to sing to you! They are about your father.” And with that, those who were willing began to sing.

“I’m so happy to have found you all! And I am pleased with you too.” He said once we were done. “I brought tools, and a fence and a sign. I will enclose the fence around you and put up the sign, so that everyone will know that you belong to my father, and no strangers will hurt you. We all cheered. But none cheered as loudly as me that day. For I had finally found my true voice, and now would speak so that no one could ignore me again. Peter told us that a pathfinding crew had discovered a way through the formally impenetrable rocky mountain landscape. Soon many more travelers would be able to find their way through the valley. Just as his father had predicted. He said something called bureaucracy among other things is what kept Simon and his son so long.  He then ran off, returning a short time later with the fence and sign. But he built it only around the tulips that sang to him, splitting the patch in half. Once the fence was firm and the sign in place, he told us he had to leave. But that he would return to check up on us often. We all cried when he left, including Peter. But our hearts told us to trust his word.

Not long after, the two men that had plucked away our family returned. All of us inside the fence didn’t worry much. But those outside began to shake. “Yes! They’re still here!” Said one. “We need more tulips to continue making money, now that the first are gone.” He added.

 “We could try to jump this fence and get extra too.” The other said. So one man started picking, and the other went for the fence. But we still didn’t worry, we knew we were now under Simon and his son’s protection. Just then, like we knew would happen, Peter came into view.

“HEY!” he yelled, his voice so loud it echoed through out the valley. “Those are my tulips; you’re on my father’s land!” The two men froze in place as he reached us.

“Well, well what about these outside of the fence, can we have those?” one asked.

“Those tulips don’t sing, so they are not my father’s. You can do whatever you want with them.” Peter answered. The two men knew who Peter was, and his father. They would never go against them. Suddenly music could be heard, beautifully enchanting music. It was coming from the other tulips outside the fence! They were singing Simon’s song; and sang so hard they begin to reach out toward Peter. The outcast wanted his love and forgiveness. They extended so far out, that their roots begin to break through the soil! And Peter gave them his response, “Wait! Those tulips there, those are my father’s too. You can’t have them.” The strangers became irritated.

“But you just said that we could do anything we want with them!” Peter responded in kind, his face red with anger. He spoke to them with authority, and for the first time, we tulips were not the only ones shaking. “Those tulips are my father’s, and he is a very powerful man! Believe me now when I say do not touch them, for any man who goes against my father’s will, will live only long enough to regret it! Take those flowers and you will rue this day!”

The strangers dropped their baskets and ran away. We never saw them again. Peter extended his father’s fence around the tulips who cried out for him. And he repaired the broken soil around their roots. From that day on, we all felt that we would live long happy lives. Safe in our knowledge that Simon and his son will always be there watching over us.