THE FULL STORY OF . . .
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Are Gnomes Blacksmiths?
Gnomes easily motivate themselves to use their natural and early-trained blacksmith skills to create objects of art – objects that impress or amaze or, most importantly to all gnomes – objects that cheer or amuse whomever receives them. But, when it comes to boring, utilitarian, and especially small and precise metal objects, gnomes would rather trade for those types of tools than make them on their own. |
Ulrik Andersson wasn’t always in the hardware business. When he was a young gnome (in his 100s and 200s), he was a strapping, powerful, and very dashing gnome. All the female gnomes his age swooned over him, “Oh, Ulrik! You’re so strong!” “Oh, Ulrik! You can climb so quickly!” “Oh, Ulrik!” “Oh, Ulrik!” “Oh, Ulrik!”
Really, if you’d been around, you too would have gotten tired of hearing those silly gnome girls fawn over him. Unfortunately, for the female gnomes of that time, Ulrik paid little heed. He wasn’t rude or mean or anything unbecoming. He was simply…not interested. Ulrik was interested in only two things 1) the weather and 2) dangerous weather. Although Ulrik’s passion for weather and danger was a bit od d (and not exactly a great recipe for obtaining grandchildren) his parents Milly and Roald |
What is it with Gnomes & Brushes?
Gnome families make their own brushes, always stamped with their family’s crest. A gnome family crest is designed by every gnome honeymooning couple on the first full moon after their wedding ceremony. Wedding ceremonies, by the way, are always held during a full moon to provide maximum light by which to both travel and celebrate. Gnome brushes are a source of pride, competition and love. They are the first wood products parents teach their sons and daughters to make. Making brushes involves both finding the ideal, straight piece of wood, but also the perfect type of animal hair to fill it. Obtaining the animal hair for a child’s first brush is a honored custom and the animal (and his or her family) from whom the clump of hair is requested will always be considered a part of that gnome’s life. The hairs of gnome brushes are NEVER obtained by theft or without permission. Such brushes would be considered incomplete and, whatever their use, they would forever be at risk of ruining what they were designed to brush due to the lack of respect in how the hairs of the brushes were gathered. |
Even as a young lad, Ulrik was working the fire lines, side by side, with gnomes much older and more experienced than he was. He first started out at base camp, slopping food and learning first aid, and doing lots of thankless cleaning chores, while the older male gnomes (and a few sturdy, tough females) went out to the fire each night to fight the blazes.
But as Ulrik grew, he was quickly identified as most useful on the fire line – he could run water faster, chop trees quicker, and jump logs and bushes higher than anyone else on the line. Soon, he was promoted to the Cascadia Gnome Hot Shot Crew (an elite crew which only the best and brightest gnomes and animals are invited to join) and he trained with other elite gnomes and their wise and trusty owls to provide fire suppression from the air and mountain tops.
By the time Ulrik was ready to leave his parents’ home (at the ripe old age of 115), he had spent many decades working forest fires in the summers. His skills were beyond question and his decision to put off marriage (perhaps forever) had been accepted by his resigned, but also very proud, parents.
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Why do Gnomes Fight Forest Fires?
Gnome fire fighting does not have the same objectives or outcomes as human forest fire fighting. Gnomes are focused on only two things – saving lives and relocating homes. Gnomes have no interest in saving dwellings or shelters that are in the path of a fire. They also have no interest in stopping a fire from hitting a certain area of a forest or woodland. They figure the fire probably has a need to go where it does. However, gnomes do have a great interest in making sure that all living creatures that wish to avoid being burned are able to do so. That’s the main focus of a Gnome Hot Shot Crew. Ironically, often times, this focus on only saving the creatures and possessions that create a home does indeed help a particular dwelling survive a fire intact. This is because gnomes are so good at identifying fires when they’re small and far away, and also at reading weather patterns far in advance of human abilities, that they have time to create very large fire barriers and escape routes around a dwelling or residence (large in comparison to the dwelling or residence, that is. Remember, everything in the gnome world is in reference to being 6 inches tall). This gives the residents of the area ample time to remove all their beloved family and possessions and escape to safety unharmed. |
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Gnomes have amazing eyesight, day or night.
Gnomes can see much better than humans in the daylight and much, much, much better (10,000 times better) than humans at night. In fact, gnome eyesight at night is better than human eyesight in daylight. |
When Ulrik started to slow down a few decades ago, he knew it would soon be time to hang up his Pulaski and fire pack. Fire fighting is hard work. It’s not something that can be done for multiple centuries without risk of injury or death, much less wear and tear on a body. Although he was expected him to what most highly skilled fire fighter gnomes do when they retire from the line, joining incident command at the RGFC (Royal Gnome Fire Center) was not for Ulrik.
Incident Command was big, administrative and political. That isn’t Ulrik. Ulrik is a do-er. He is action-oriented. He isn’t a commander and he isn’t a chief and he certainly wasn’t going to be a paper pusher, stuck inside a gnome tunnel for the rest of his life.
One morning, just as Ulrik’s shift on the line ended and he trudged back to camp – tired, sore and black with soot – he passed a clump of rocks protruding from a rocky slope. As he drew in the acrid smell of cinders, ash and burned needles, he heard something alive, rustling in the rocks. He moved closer to the rock outcropping, just to the side of a small cave it created. Ulrik peaked in. There, inside the rock cave, was an injured pika attempting to eat a few bites of moss he had managed to gather, despite a sorely burned front paw and limb.
“Hey there, Little Guy,” Ulrik called out warmly in the Pika language.
The pika jerked quickly to see Ulrik and in doing so, lost his balance, and the moss in his claw, and fell over onto his back. A look of terror flashed across his face.
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How many languages can gnomes speak?
Gnomes know all animal languages and they are also capable of translating any animal language to another…which is one of the reasons they are considered the great arbiters of the animal kingdom. |
“Shhh…” Ulrik cooed as he approached the injured creature. “No need to be afraid. I’m Ulrik Andersson of the Cashmere Gnomes. I was just passing through on my way to camp from fighting the fire on the ridge. I won’t hurt you.” he said, as he kneelt next to the pika who Ulrik could see, now that he was next to him, was very young.
The pika blinked and kept a steady stare at Ulrik’s eyes, as Ulrik reached him. “Let me help you there,” Ulrik said as he gently put his hand near the injured limb and helped the pika regain a less vulnerable position. Ulrik lifted the dropped moss and held it to the pika, but he could tell that the pika was unsure what to do. If he took the moss, he might lose his balance again, so Ulrik, held the moss to the pika’s mouth and nodded softly, “Eat, little guy, eat. You’ll be fine.”
After a moment or two hesitation, the pika rightly concluded Ulrik could be trusted and nibbled the moss as quickly as he could. “You’re practically starving, aren’t you?” Ulrik asked in pika. The mouse-like creature nodded slowly and seemed to shrink just thinking about it. “Well! We’ll fix that in a jiffy!” Ulrik exclaimed, and he patted the pika confidently on his good side and asked, “What’s you’re name, son?”
“Maynard,” the pika squeeked.
“Huh?” Ulrik asked, the squeak was so horse (probably from smoke) that it was barely audible.
“May…Nard…” the pika sqeeked again, this time putting more air into his lungs.
“Maynard! Well, I quite like that name,” Ulrik nodded, and he patted the pika again, this time so firmly the little guy almost lost his balance once more. “Maynard, we’re going to get you some help,” said Ulrik, and he strode back out of the rock shelter into what was now the shining morning sun.
While Maynard looked on, very still and very unsure, Ulrik, climbed the largest of the rocks on the outcropping and whistled in a high pitched tone. He whistled three times – three long whistles, then he paused. Then Ulrik whistled the same way once again. Within minutes, a red tale hawk swooped down to Ulrik’s side, whistling as he landed.
The pika, still inside the rock shelter was alarmed. MORE than alarmed. “I may be a young and inexperienced, and down right injured, pika, but I know enough to know that a RED TALE HAWK is NO FRIEND OF MINE!” Maynard thought as his eyes grew bigger and bigger with fear while he heard Ulrik and the hawk conversing in some language he didn’t understand.
Shortly after their talk, the hawk, whose name is Strike (hawks like to give themselves rather high falutin’ names) flew off and Ulrik returned to the shelter of the rock.
“Strike’s going to bring you some vittles, little dude. I mean, Maynard.” Ulrik announced. “Now let me see that injured limb of yours.”
Maynard didn’t really know what to do. He thought to himself, as his eyes grew glassy and he started to slump down into the rocky dirt of the shelter, “What is going on? What is happening? None of this makes any sense. One minute I’m lost on a rocky mountainside, separated from my mother and brothers by a terrible fiery wind that licks at my fur and throws burning clumps of trees and needles and bark at my head, and then next, I’m tumbling far down the rocky slope all by myself, landing with a painful crash onto a burning tree stump where my arm and paw break my fall, but are burned horribly in doing so. And then I find shelter in this rock cave for I don’t know how many hours or days, but now hunger is my most serious concern. I had just been able to tear a small piece of moss off the rock to eat when I am startled by this…this…strange… creature…who is not much bigger than me but wears a yellow shirt and green pants and a red pointy cap with a bandana covering much of his very size-able beard and mouth and nose. He’s got on big beefy boots and a raggedy red backpack, with goodness knows what in it, and he talks to me in the Pika language. He just hand fed me my moss and he didn’t even try to take it, even though he looks like he’s in need of a meal himself, being all covered in soot from cap to toe, smelling like he just rolled in ash, soot and dirt for days, and then this guy who calls himself Ulrik of the Cashmere Gnomes (good gracious, what in the world are those?) tells me that he just commanded a hawk, A RED TAIL HAWK, to go get me some food???? I must be dead. That can be the only reasonable explanation.” And with that, Maynard keeled over in a faint, flat on his back, belly-up in the dirt.
By the time Strike came back with the load of food for Maynard, Ulrik had had a nice nap himself and he had also had time for some tea, biscuits and jam which he had taken out of his red fire pack (which was loaded with all sorts of fire fighting and first aid equipment, as well as lots of water, a sleeping sack, and a flute which he enjoyed playing while at base camp).
When Maynard came to, he found himself being tended to by the gnome creature Ulrik and, much to his complete astonishment, that red tail hawk, who didn’t seem to be interested in eating him at all.
Maynard spent the rest of the day being fed moss, grass and seeds by Ulrik and Strike and taking much of the water that Ulrik offered him. He dozed a bit and also let Ulrik tend to his arm (Ulrik put some soothing salve on it – again from his big red pack - which immediately ended the pain and rapidly increased the healing process). As the night was slowly approaching, Ulrik broached the subject of Maynard’s family, “So, Maynard Old Pal, would you like help finding your family?” he asked.
Maynard thought about it. He was surprised he thought about it. Really, if he were a good pika, maybe he wouldn’t have paused to think about it. But he did think about it. His mother was really not a very good mom. She was always out flirting with other male pikas and leaving Maynard and his three brothers to fend for themselves, even before they were ready to be left alone. And Maynard’s three brothers…well…they were careless, selfish, and a bit dense.
“No,” Maynard said matter of factly, “No, I have no desire to find my family. Where are you headed?” He asked Ulrik.
At that, Ulrik raised his eyebrows. He was surprised by Maynard’s response, but he thought about it for a minute and said, “Well, to be very honest, I’m not really sure. I have been a fire fighter for 200 years. I’ve loved the work and the adventure. But it’s time for me to slow down. It’s time for me to find a different Usefullness. I think I’d like to head back to my valley, Gnome Valley, where there is a community of gnomes and humans and other friendly creatures who are good to each other and to the earth. I’d like to spend less time alone in my coming years. I’d like to make more friends and take up some interesting hobbies. And, frankly, I’d like to have a bit less adventure in my next century.”
So with that, Ulrik and Maynard headed down the rocky mountain, first to base camp where they rested and bathed and ate lots and lots of well prepared meals. Then they made their way down to Gnome Valley, where Ulrik introduced Maynard to his family and friends and Maynard got to see for himself how silly female gnomes sometimes act as they swoon over Ulrik’s gnomely good looks.
Once settled, Ulrik opened a hardware store and became an important and active member of the Gnome Valley community, with Maynard as his side-kick and partner (and Strike providing their speedy delivery service). Ulrik even took up gnome curling – with Maynard frequently throwing 2nd for the team. And Maynard…always grateful for the kind and generous community he had joined, as well as the beloved friend he cherished, lived a long and happy life…though not completely sure about Strike.
The pika blinked and kept a steady stare at Ulrik’s eyes, as Ulrik reached him. “Let me help you there,” Ulrik said as he gently put his hand near the injured limb and helped the pika regain a less vulnerable position. Ulrik lifted the dropped moss and held it to the pika, but he could tell that the pika was unsure what to do. If he took the moss, he might lose his balance again, so Ulrik, held the moss to the pika’s mouth and nodded softly, “Eat, little guy, eat. You’ll be fine.”
After a moment or two hesitation, the pika rightly concluded Ulrik could be trusted and nibbled the moss as quickly as he could. “You’re practically starving, aren’t you?” Ulrik asked in pika. The mouse-like creature nodded slowly and seemed to shrink just thinking about it. “Well! We’ll fix that in a jiffy!” Ulrik exclaimed, and he patted the pika confidently on his good side and asked, “What’s you’re name, son?”
“Maynard,” the pika squeeked.
“Huh?” Ulrik asked, the squeak was so horse (probably from smoke) that it was barely audible.
“May…Nard…” the pika sqeeked again, this time putting more air into his lungs.
“Maynard! Well, I quite like that name,” Ulrik nodded, and he patted the pika again, this time so firmly the little guy almost lost his balance once more. “Maynard, we’re going to get you some help,” said Ulrik, and he strode back out of the rock shelter into what was now the shining morning sun.
While Maynard looked on, very still and very unsure, Ulrik, climbed the largest of the rocks on the outcropping and whistled in a high pitched tone. He whistled three times – three long whistles, then he paused. Then Ulrik whistled the same way once again. Within minutes, a red tale hawk swooped down to Ulrik’s side, whistling as he landed.
The pika, still inside the rock shelter was alarmed. MORE than alarmed. “I may be a young and inexperienced, and down right injured, pika, but I know enough to know that a RED TALE HAWK is NO FRIEND OF MINE!” Maynard thought as his eyes grew bigger and bigger with fear while he heard Ulrik and the hawk conversing in some language he didn’t understand.
Shortly after their talk, the hawk, whose name is Strike (hawks like to give themselves rather high falutin’ names) flew off and Ulrik returned to the shelter of the rock.
“Strike’s going to bring you some vittles, little dude. I mean, Maynard.” Ulrik announced. “Now let me see that injured limb of yours.”
Maynard didn’t really know what to do. He thought to himself, as his eyes grew glassy and he started to slump down into the rocky dirt of the shelter, “What is going on? What is happening? None of this makes any sense. One minute I’m lost on a rocky mountainside, separated from my mother and brothers by a terrible fiery wind that licks at my fur and throws burning clumps of trees and needles and bark at my head, and then next, I’m tumbling far down the rocky slope all by myself, landing with a painful crash onto a burning tree stump where my arm and paw break my fall, but are burned horribly in doing so. And then I find shelter in this rock cave for I don’t know how many hours or days, but now hunger is my most serious concern. I had just been able to tear a small piece of moss off the rock to eat when I am startled by this…this…strange… creature…who is not much bigger than me but wears a yellow shirt and green pants and a red pointy cap with a bandana covering much of his very size-able beard and mouth and nose. He’s got on big beefy boots and a raggedy red backpack, with goodness knows what in it, and he talks to me in the Pika language. He just hand fed me my moss and he didn’t even try to take it, even though he looks like he’s in need of a meal himself, being all covered in soot from cap to toe, smelling like he just rolled in ash, soot and dirt for days, and then this guy who calls himself Ulrik of the Cashmere Gnomes (good gracious, what in the world are those?) tells me that he just commanded a hawk, A RED TAIL HAWK, to go get me some food???? I must be dead. That can be the only reasonable explanation.” And with that, Maynard keeled over in a faint, flat on his back, belly-up in the dirt.
By the time Strike came back with the load of food for Maynard, Ulrik had had a nice nap himself and he had also had time for some tea, biscuits and jam which he had taken out of his red fire pack (which was loaded with all sorts of fire fighting and first aid equipment, as well as lots of water, a sleeping sack, and a flute which he enjoyed playing while at base camp).
When Maynard came to, he found himself being tended to by the gnome creature Ulrik and, much to his complete astonishment, that red tail hawk, who didn’t seem to be interested in eating him at all.
Maynard spent the rest of the day being fed moss, grass and seeds by Ulrik and Strike and taking much of the water that Ulrik offered him. He dozed a bit and also let Ulrik tend to his arm (Ulrik put some soothing salve on it – again from his big red pack - which immediately ended the pain and rapidly increased the healing process). As the night was slowly approaching, Ulrik broached the subject of Maynard’s family, “So, Maynard Old Pal, would you like help finding your family?” he asked.
Maynard thought about it. He was surprised he thought about it. Really, if he were a good pika, maybe he wouldn’t have paused to think about it. But he did think about it. His mother was really not a very good mom. She was always out flirting with other male pikas and leaving Maynard and his three brothers to fend for themselves, even before they were ready to be left alone. And Maynard’s three brothers…well…they were careless, selfish, and a bit dense.
“No,” Maynard said matter of factly, “No, I have no desire to find my family. Where are you headed?” He asked Ulrik.
At that, Ulrik raised his eyebrows. He was surprised by Maynard’s response, but he thought about it for a minute and said, “Well, to be very honest, I’m not really sure. I have been a fire fighter for 200 years. I’ve loved the work and the adventure. But it’s time for me to slow down. It’s time for me to find a different Usefullness. I think I’d like to head back to my valley, Gnome Valley, where there is a community of gnomes and humans and other friendly creatures who are good to each other and to the earth. I’d like to spend less time alone in my coming years. I’d like to make more friends and take up some interesting hobbies. And, frankly, I’d like to have a bit less adventure in my next century.”
So with that, Ulrik and Maynard headed down the rocky mountain, first to base camp where they rested and bathed and ate lots and lots of well prepared meals. Then they made their way down to Gnome Valley, where Ulrik introduced Maynard to his family and friends and Maynard got to see for himself how silly female gnomes sometimes act as they swoon over Ulrik’s gnomely good looks.
Once settled, Ulrik opened a hardware store and became an important and active member of the Gnome Valley community, with Maynard as his side-kick and partner (and Strike providing their speedy delivery service). Ulrik even took up gnome curling – with Maynard frequently throwing 2nd for the team. And Maynard…always grateful for the kind and generous community he had joined, as well as the beloved friend he cherished, lived a long and happy life…though not completely sure about Strike.