The Knowing Gnome

By the stone, in the roots of the corkscrew oak, up from the green moss floor, grew the mushroom home.

And who lived in the mushroom home? None other than, the knowing gnome. The knowing gnome was not overly tall.

The mushroom house was not overly small. Being short-tree-tall, it was large as mushrooms go, which made it just the right kind of home for a gnome. The mushroom home was in just the right spot, with the perfect mix of sunlight and shade.

All to be expected. The knowing gnome knew just what to do when doing needed done. He knew how to help Robin repair her nest. He knew which forest path was best. The knowing gnome knew forest friend from foe, how Fox hunted and where Hare hid, how snails slid along the ground. He even knew every animal sound and bird song. He seldom got them wrong; if you ignore the time he confused moth murmurs for butterfly muttering, he never confused beast speak of any kind. He could sing bees to any flower and make an umbrella out of a maple leaf if he was caught in a surprise rain shower.

The knowing gnome found pleasure in the forest: bracken, lichen, and moss, grasses and wild flowers, vines, and bushes - with berries and without, and trees of every kind, made him smile.

Mushrooms, well they were a special joy; he would spend a long while on cool nights under the moon or faint star light and tend them growing mushrooms to tree heights or just tall enough to make earthy bites for a meal.

But, as we know, every gnome loves a garden. Knowing gnome was no exception.

There was a gnome garden, growing cucumbers, corn, peas and pumpkins, tomatoes, potatoes, carrots and cabbage, beets and beans and broccoli, and tasty greens full of flavor like basil, oregano, and thyme, and here and there a bit of oats and rye.

But in the cellar, beneath the mushroom home is where our goodly gnome worked his magic, all alone. You see, the knowing gnome made tasty creamy cheese and chocolately wonders and baked breads and other bites of delight under his home.

Though he never bragged of his skill, everyone in the forest knew just how good the gnome could cook. When man and creature came calling, which was not uncommon for those who followed their nose and cared to look, the knowing gnome would share without care or concern.

Robin flew in for rye bread.

The woodsman was happy to trade honey for cheese.

Badger had a sweet tooth best satisfied with chocolate.

There were those though, that thought they could take by might and trick, what would be given.

From behind the stone, looked Spying Mouse and Scamperish Squirrel, peeking, pevish varmints, seeking secret ways to take a tasty truffle or delicious dollop of chocolate cream from the cellar below the mushroom home of the clever gnome.

Oh, they whispered and planned. They conspired and colluded how they would empty the cellar of culinary splendor.

"We should take the deserts." said Scamperish Squirrel, "The ones with nuts are worth our efforts."

"We should take all the food" said Spying Mouse, who was partial to the cheese too.

"Oh, yes." agreed Scamperish Squirrel.