Riding the Fairy Wind

As many of you know, the fairies of Ireland star in my forthcoming young adult novel, Glancing Through the Glimmer. I couldn’t have written the book without learning more about the Good Folk and their ways, and, as usual, my research has led to bursting bookshelves. Most of these volumes are my own acquisitions, though some are on loan from my aunts’ incredible library of Irish lore and history, books so old the pages are falling apart. Among my favorites are the authoritative A History of Irish Fairies by Carolyn White, and Meeting the Other Crowd, a fabulous collection of eyewitness accounts of “Them” from Irish oral tradition.


I learned lots, enough for a sequel. Autumn Glimmer, my current work-in-progress, features the Fairy Wind, a supernatural phenomenon known in Irish as the Sí-gaoith (Shee-Gwee-ha). According to those who understand such things, the Fairy Wind usually signals the passage of a fairy troop. In its more sinister forms, the wind delivers a grave warning to mortals trespassing on or interfering with fairy property—and it inflicts dire vengeance upon those who foolishly ignore the warning.

The Good Folk aren’t all bad, however. Sometimes the Fairy Wind serves as a gift to those who require assistance. A farmer struggling to harvest his hay might find it suddenly blown into a tidy pile, thank you very much.

Mortals have, of course, provided every account I’ve seen of the Sí-gaoith. In this brief excerpt from Autumn Glimmer, I offer the Good People’s take on the Fairy Wind. As “They” have clearly allowed me to do so, who knows? Perhaps this is how it really happens.

Blinn clapped her hands twice and summoned the Fairy Wind: “Sí-gaoith!” A breeze arose in Crooked Wood, a gently whistling gust that rapidly grew loud and powerful. She shouted over the racket: “Line up, boys. We’re going for a ride!”

Lewy scooted behind her; Mell took up the rear. Eddies of fallen foliage whirled like small tornadoes, gaining in speed and number. As if they had a life of their own—Lewy supposed they did, thanks to Blinn—they converged on the trio of foraging fairies, surrounding them in a wall of buzzing, spinning leaves.

“Whoa ho!” cried Mell as they rose in the air.

He grabbed Lewy’s waist, and Lewy grabbed Blinn’s. A sudden upward tilt forced them to sit on the firm bed the swirling leaves had formed. The wind took off, soaring like a magic carpet, whisking them up and over the trees.

Away With the Fairies

“In a shady nook one moonlit night a leprechaun I spied . . .”

Thanks to my family’s love of music, I learned the poem/song, The Leprechaun, when I was knee-high to a fairy. ‘Twas on an Irish record, of course, one of many recorded by the great Irish tenor, John McCormack.

I knew about the teensy Tinker Bell types of fairies from stories like Peter Pan and Sleeping Beauty, but the fairies of Irish folklore were always leprechauns to me. Not so, I learned while delving into the wealth of literature depicting these elusive beings. Leprechauns belong to the class of “Solitary Fairies,” which includes cluricauns, dullahans, pookas, merrows, silkies, and banshees.

Then we have the “Trooping Fairies” who party in crystal palaces beneath the hills and lakes of Ireland. During my last trip to the Emerald Isle, my husband and I visited Knock Ma (See Knock Moo), the hill in County Galway said to house the palace of Finvarra, the King of the Connaught Fairies. Finvarra costars in my forthcoming Young Adult novel, Glancing Through the Glimmer. We didn't meet him that day, but the local postman assured us that he and his troop were there.

It’s no surprise that these beings and the lore surrounding them have inspired many tales over the years. Glancing Through the Glimmer incorporates alternate Irish history with the magic of the Other Crowd, and it has been a joy to research. More than once, I’ve felt inexplicable tugs toward wonderfully inspiring articles and books.

I’ve found countless web sites devoted to fairies, faeries, fae, fay, etc. During my latest visit to Ireland, I added several volumes on the Good Folk to my personal library. The public library helped my research too, but my most successful foray was into the incredible collection of Irish books my aunts have compiled over the years (See Seeking Irish Heroines.)

Every culture has fairies, whole hierarchies of them. In Ireland they aren’t the cute little Walt Disney squeakers we all know and love. Many are human-size, and all can be downright mean if one crosses them. Hair, eyes, teeth, and toenails can all fall out if we mortals distress them. (I'm in high hopes they’ve willingly joined the cast of Glimmer.)

My grandmother once said that when she was a child in County Sligo (circa 1910), her father would set out a line of stones before he erected an outbuilding on their farm. If in the morning the stones were still where he’d placed them, he knew he was good to go. If not, then the fairies had disapproved of his choice, and he had to try again. Superstitious nonsense?

I’ve visited Ireland too many times to be sure, to be sure. What do you think?

The Leprechaun

(Attributed to Robert Dwyer Joyce)

In a shady nook one moonlit night,
A leprechaun I spied

In a scarlet cap and a coat of green,
A cruiskeen* by his side.

'Twas tick, tack, tick, his hammer went
Upon a tiny shoe,

And I laughed to think of a purse of gold,
But the fairy was laughing too.

With tiptoe step and beating heart,
Quite softly I drew nigh.

There was mischief in his merry face,
A twinkle in his eye.

He hammered and sang with tiny voice
And drank his mountain dew.

And I laughed to think he was caught at last,
But the fairy was laughing too.

As quick as thought I seized the elf.
"You're fairy purse!" I cried.

"The purse," he said, "is in her hand,
The lady by your side."

I turned to look, the elf was off,
And what was I to do?

Oh, I laughed to think what a fool I'd been,
And the fairy was laughing too.

* jug