The Outing Fairy and Pockets Full of Odds and Ends

Once there were two children, Ellie and Micah, who loved outings more than anything.

They loved trains, castles, the zoo, forest paths, the swimming pool, and even ordinary walks into town.

They just had one peculiar habit.

The moment they spotted a stall or a little shop, it started:

“Mom, I want that!”

“Me too!”

“Pleeease!”

“I really need it!”

Once it was a stuffed dragon. Next a glow-in-the-dark ball. Then a plastic sword, a bracelet, a charm, a tiny doll, a toy car, and a surprise box.

And every time the children promised:

“I’ll play with it every day!”

“I’ll look after it!”

“This is my absolute favorite thing in the whole world!”

At home, though, it went a little differently.

The stuffed dragon ended up under the bed after two days.

The glowing ball rolled behind the dresser.

The plastic sword cracked.

The bracelet went missing.

And after a week, Ellie had almost forgotten the tiny doll.

One day the family went on an outing into a great big forest.

In the middle of the forest stood a little wooden stall.

And it had absolutely everything.

Colored pebbles.

Stuffed animals.

Squeaky birds.

Magic wands.

Wooden swords.

Even tiny chests of glittering treasure.

Ellie and Micah stopped.

Their eyes lit up.

“Mom!”

Mom didn’t even have time to turn around.

“I want that fox!”

“I want the sword!”

“And that pebble too!”

“And I want the little chest!”

Suddenly a soft jingling came from behind the stall.

Ting… ting…

A tiny fairy appeared.

She had a backpack on her back and little pockets sewn onto her dress.

“I’m the Outing Fairy,” she said.

“And I heard someone here really needs something.”

“Me!” Micah shouted.

“Me too!” said Ellie.

The fairy nodded.

“Wonderful. You can take it all.”

The children’s mouths dropped open.

“Really?”

“Really.”

The fairy waved her hand.

And all the things the children had wished for appeared in their backpacks.

Stuffed toys.

Swords.

Pebbles.

Bracelets.

Toys.

Boxes.

More toys.

And still more.

The backpacks were suddenly enormous.

“Okay then, we can go on with the outing,” the fairy smiled.

The children set off.

After ten steps, Micah was puffing.

“This backpack is heavy.”

After ten more, Ellie was puffing too.

“My shoulders hurt.”

When the others ran to the stream, the children lagged behind.

When the others found a frog, the children didn’t see it.

When a deer ran past, Micah was rearranging toys in his backpack.

When they found a beautiful picnic spot, Ellie was hunting for a lost glittery pebble.

“This isn’t a very good outing,” she sighed.

The Outing Fairy sat down beside them.

“What did you actually want to do today?”

The children thought.

“See a waterfall,” said Micah.

“And get some ice cream.”

“I wanted to look for animal tracks,” said Ellie.

“And climb the lookout tower.”

“And did you?”

The children shook their heads.

“We were too busy looking after all the stuff.”

The fairy opened one of her little pockets.

She took out a perfectly ordinary pine cone.

“I found this ten years ago on an outing with a friend,” she said.

“And do you know why I still have it?”

The children shook their heads.

“Because it reminds me of that day. Rain. The forest. Laughing. And a huge puddle we both fell into.”

Then the fairy pointed at their backpacks.

“Things aren’t bad. Some we love for years. But when we want every single thing we see, we stop valuing any of them.”

“How do we know which one we really want?” Ellie asked.

The fairy smiled.

“I have a little spell.”

She held up three fingers.

“Before you buy something, ask yourselves three questions:

Will I actually play with this at home?

Do I already have something like it?

And will I still be glad I have it tomorrow?”

Micah looked at the plastic sword.

“I already have two swords at home.”

Ellie studied the glittery little chest.

“And I don’t even know what I’d put in it.”

The fairy snapped her fingers.

POOF!

All the extra things vanished from the backpacks, back to the stall.

The backpacks were light again.

The children ran up the path.

And on the way to the waterfall they passed the stall again.

Micah paused for a moment by a little wooden train.

“I’d like that.”

Mom said nothing.

Micah thought.

“I have trains at home.”

He looked a little longer.

“So I don’t need it.”

Ellie found a little cloth bird.

She looked at it for a long time.

“I’d play with it with my dolls,” she said.

“And I don’t have one like this at home.”

Then she thought.

“But I’ll buy it on the way back. If I still want it.”

They found the waterfall.

They watched the frogs.

They discovered deer tracks.

They climbed the lookout tower.

An hour later they really did pass the stall again.

Ellie remembered the bird.

She still wanted it.

So she got it.

At home she found it a place, played with it, and looked after it.

And from then on, on their outings, you still sometimes heard:

“Ooh, I want that!”

Because children are children.

But right after that, it was usually:

“Wait…”

“Will I play with it at home?”

“Don’t I already have something like it?”

“And will I still want it tomorrow?”

And the fewer things they brought home from their outings, the more they brought back of something else.

Memories.

Of the deer.

Of the waterfall.

Of the ice cream.

Of laughing together.

And those, oddly enough, never rolled away under the bed.

The End.