Gnome Hunting

This essay was originally posted in 6 parts on my blog.  I have collected it and all attendant illustrations here with slight modifications for ease of reading.  Unless otherwise indicated, all photos were taken by me or purchased legally from a photo distributor, and thus all rights on the photos are reserved.

Note: SURVIVAL OF THE FAIREST, my paranormal romance from Samhain, was spawned by my subconscious memories of gnomes while growing up and in turn spawned this essay. While the plot tells the love story of a fairy princess from the Realm (the Realm where gnomes came from) and a Vegas stage magician, gnomes figure into the narrative at various points. In the book I did take certain liberties about the realities of gnomology, particularly in reference to their activity levels. Not too many, though!   

With the release of SURVIVAL OF THE FAIREST, I realized I have a moral obligation to begin educating the public about the dangers of gnomes, particularly to lone humans who smell, act, sound or look like fairies, their favorite food source. Since fairies, especially in humanspace, often smell, act, sound and look like humans, you see how this can cause problems.

While the unsuspecting human populace believes gnomes are statues, myths, ornaments--good spirits to guard one's garden or home--unfortunately this is not the case. It's true many statues you see are true statues, but a number are gnomes in disguise. The heroine of SURVIVAL OF THE FAIREST, Princess Talista, at one point in the book attempts to explain this to a disbelieving Jake Story: "Gnomes are vicious, and their saliva is venomous. Most spells don’t affect them, except for the ones that freeze them or turn them to stone."

But the belief gnomes are harmless lingers in humanspace. Fairies keep themselves and their world hidden from humans for safety reasons, so it's not as if most humans know about the other Realm, but still. The gnomes can cross over and do us bodily harm. The attacks, while they don't happen often, are blamed on wild animals or hysterical delusion, and not many victims survive to tell the tale. Humans who remain in highly developed, urban areas aren't at risk like those who wander into areas that are green, or brown, or tannish, or whatever color Nature takes when she'd not overwhelmed by concrete and steel.

(For a short scene that illustrates human ignorance from early in the book when Tali and Jake meet Jake's mother, click here.)

*

As stated, humans who rarely stray from urban and industrialized areas aren’t in as much danger from gnome attack as humans who venture into the wilds, or at least the more remote suburbs. It is thought gnomes get some of their evil power from the dirt (I would say “earth” but dude, it’s dirt), and in cities, there aren’t enough green spaces. The concrete and steel and roads and such aren’t to the gnomes’ liking, and it’s more difficult to find solitary victims there.

There are additional reasons for this. Due to restrictions put into place by the fairy Court of the Realm, fairies are not encouraged to mingle with humans, so the ones allowed access to humanspace stick to thinly populated areas. Thus the victims that the gnomes happen upon in those areas have a higher chance of being fairies, who are tastier than humans. Granted, the stray feline population of urban areas tends to be higher (the gnomes’ second choice of snack when they can’t get fairies), but not high enough to negate the downsides. (Photo: stray cat in the process of adopting Grandma and the Party Cats, courtesy of Grandma)

Which doesn’t mean gnomes will hesitate to take down a human if they get hungry enough. Or just attack a human for being tall and lithe and without beard, though it’s an unsubstantiated rumor gnomes are less likely to prey on humans with facial hair and certain gnomish traits like wrinkles, body odor and bad attitudes.

That being said, I am not here to advise against outdoor pursuits. You can be safe enough in any isolated or wilderness area with proper precautions and a knowledge of gnome warning signs. (Photo: Trapper Peak, Bitterroot Wilderness, from Wikipedia.com) There are even humans who enjoy gnome hunting as a sport and collect trophies of “stoned” gnomes for display in their yards or homes. These statues are almost indistinguishable from store-bought gnomes made of resin, plastic or other hardy substances. I am not currently authorized to explain how to detect which is which except to say “true” gnome statues are usually heavier and have a greasy or gritty feel.

Which doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to go around feeling up other people’s gnomes. Especially when one of them might be lurking in that gnome-filled garden on purpose, waiting to strike. (Photo: Statue? Or ravening beastie?, courtesy of me)

*

Earlier this month, I, aided by members of my family, undertook a gnome hunting expedition for the benefit of the public, armed with long, pointed sticks, a digital camera, cayenne pepper, a first aid kit, bug spray, snacks, extra batteries for the camera, a flashlight, and beer. No human or animal was harmed during the expedition (gnomes being neither human nor animal), though I regret to say my brother killed the beer.

The first thing to understand is that gnomes, while they do not like cities, are still attracted to human activity. While you may encounter them in a true wilderness,  living in such an area means there is less for them to eat. Sure, there are animals and bugs, but gnomes like cats and fairies, best of all. So the “gnome zone” is typically on the outskirts of civilization, where human detritus has built up and where humans go at least sometimes. Gnomes are also be attracted to areas with a higher cat ratio, and it is no coincidence that the best known human “gnome convention” takes place in Australia (http://australiangnomeconvention.com.au/) where feral cats are such a problem. This is not to say the humans in Australia comprehend the truth about gnomes, but is an interesting parallel nonetheless.

I had known for some time that the area where we conducted our hunt (my mother’s acreage in rural Tennessee) was fully in the gnome zone, and the results of our expedition quickly yielded fruit.

We began near dusk at the outer edge of the property, shining the flashlight into bushes and sniffing the air to detect the unmistakable gnome scent (not unlike carrion). We also shut the dog in the house so she wouldn’t scare off our prey (gnomes do not like dogs) or confuse our deadened human senses with her rather bad odor.

Why dusk, you ask? For one thing, it took me all day to convince anyone in my family to help me, as I was not foolish enough to hunt on my own. They claimed to be preoccupied by this thing called “family vacation”. For another, gnomes are neither nocturnal nor diurnal, but they have excellent night vision and are fully aware humans are more vulnerable after dark. This means they are more likely to come out into the open in the twilight hours.

Because it was in the high 80’s, we opted not to don hip waders, one of the more easily obtained items of gnome hunt protective gear. Normally the increase in body temperature and resultant sweat caused by the hot, slappy boots would draw more gnomes, but we decided the benefit wasn’t worth the discomfort. We thought we’d be able to locate sufficient gnomage without the scent lure, and we were right.

The first gnome was in the grape arbor, and because we were being terribly stealthy and the beer was yet unconsumed, it didn’t hear us coming. I quickly snapped a shot of this gnome in repose and we hurried away before it hopped out of the vines and attacked.

The next possible location of gnome activity was the asparagus patch. This is not because the gnomes were dining on asparagus any more than the first gnome was eating grapes. Gnomes became connected to gardens in human mythology -- hence, garden gnomes -- for three reasons. 1) Humans frequent their gardens, often alone. A human in the throes of weeding will often be tired, cranky and not very observant. 2) A garden means tilled soil and easier access to dirt (see earlier reference about possible sources of their evil power). 3) Cats also frequent gardens to access the tilled soil, although they are not seeking a refill of their evil powers. More like a deposit.

In the asparagus patch we really got lucky. I was able to snap a picture of a rare sight--a gnome with what appeared to be a newly born skitter, or gnome whelp. Normally you won’t see mature gnomes and skitters in the same place because gnomes are, shall we say, a tad cannibalistic. (As for who ends up eating who, I cannot say.)

Where there is one skitter there is often a swarm. Treading carefully, we inspected some nearby trees, and sure enough, in the weeping willow tree we found a skitter infestation. Because skitters move so much faster than mature gnomes, even using the zoom lens we deemed it unsafe to attempt a closer shot.

By this time my brother had finished one of the beers, and we headed for the outhouse. However, he was forced to find another location to relieve himself when we noticed what lurked inside the small, well-tended structure. If the gnome had, as some gnomes do, hidden inside the “hole” itself, I don’t like to think about what may have happened to my brother. However, my brother is no inexperienced city boy. He is well aware that gnomes favor outhouses because they disguise the gnome’s natural stench and would surely have knocked about in the hole with his pointed stick before conducting his business.

In a natural progression, our next stop was the large hemlock tree the cats hide under when they don’t want to be caught, particularly after “flea stuff” has been applied. This might seem counterintuitive of the cats, to deliberately seek out gnomey areas, but cats are confident of their ability to outwit gnomes and they think it’s hilarious that the fleas, driven off by the treatment, often transfer to the gnomes instead. Or so I gather. And how do the cats know gnomes tend to lurk under this tree? I have reason to believe the gnomes use this area for defecation, but my zoom lens and my stomach weren’t strong enough to prove it.

We worked our way towards the house in a circular pattern, curious to see how close the gnomes lurked in the area one would naturally think of as “safe”. The next little bugger was in the lilacs. When it saw us coming, it started to climb up higher so it could jump down on our heads, but we didn’t give it enough time.

We moved on to the thick patch of ivy that rustles whenever you pass. Using a sowing motion, I distributed cayenne across the surface of the leaves, and lo and behold, out popped out an aggravated gnome. It is not known why gnomes are disturbed by the smell, taste and scent of cayenne pepper, but devout gnome hunters, in addition to their statue collection, grow pepper plants around their homes and smear a salve of Vaseline and cayenne over their exposed skin -- avoiding any mucus membranes, of course -- before a big hunt. Needless to say we hadn’t worn cayenne any more than we’d worn waders, but we were traveling in a group, which is usually sufficient.

Usually.

When the gnomes haven’t been annoyed by cayenne pepper.

The gnome, enraged, chased us toward the house. I regret to say I was running too fast to get any photos. Luckily, when we reached the edge of a more manicured area, it came no further than the trumpet vines by the barn. Growling and hissing, it retreated into the growth, kicking some dirt at us for good measure.

One thing we didn’t have with us was a good shovel, useful for defense. We searched my mother’s large outbuilding (the shed) for something better than a pointed stick, with a pit stop by the “beer fridge” for a refill. To our horror both the fridge and coolers had vicious addendums. But my brother had gotten his hands on a shovel by this juncture and used it to whack the creature off the coolers (such a tempting height, sort of like a t-ball). Thus he was able to safely grab more beer.

By this time it was fully dark so we had to switch settings on the camera. The problem with this is the “night setting” requires a steadier hand and longer exposure, and when you’re photographing gnomes, you can’t always take your sweet time. That was when we ran into our friend from the ivy again, lurking behind a telephone pole. This is the second pole that has been installed due to mysterious erosion at the base of the original, which we now know to have been caused by gnomes. Gnomes also disable water lines, wires and cables for kicks, plus any lone serviceman makes a handy target.

Why do they do these things, even when they aren’t hungry? I cannot say. Their intelligence is not equivalent to human intelligence or animal intelligence. True gnomes are, in fact, creatures of another Realm, and as such there is no understanding them.

Which doesn’t mean they don’t understand humans and our ways. As with gardens, they know where humans are likely to venture alone. Like, say, the mailbox. A quick check of my mother’s mailbox provided the annoying sight of a skitter flipping up the flag, in hopes someone would unthinkingly reach into the box to retrieve the post and receive something else entirely.

Other things that tend to attract humans, and thus gnomes, are flowers. Here is a skitter demonstrating its infrequently witnessed chameleon ability--infrequently because the witnesses often don’t survive the encounter. The gnome we spotted under the flowers in front of the house, however, hadn’t bothered to change. Unless, of course, the rumor is true that only skitters have that particular skill.

Gnomes are also interested in large deposits of human detritus and garbage. Because my sister is green, she has insisted all plastics 1 & 2 be collected until such a time as a proper recycling center can be found. We didn’t have to sprinkle any cayenne in the lovely, decorative stack of cat litter jugs to see the gnome that lurked there. Since it was so close to the house, we chased that one away with our sticks but closer inspection revealed skitters. So we moved on.

After this series of typical gnome encounters, though there were rather more than I expected, the gnome hunt took a more serious turn. In another section of the shed, I saw something that made me angry. Very angry. My sister and I, growing up, had owned a wonderful treasure called a Barbie dream house. We spent many hours with the dream house as the base of Barbie’s operations when she and her friends kicked ass and took names.

With the birth of my daughters, the dream house has been resurrected, though it hasn’t yet been restored. And what did I see in the dream house but a nasty, conniving creature hoping for a chomp of the tender flesh of one of my children! A child wouldn’t know a gnome wasn’t a toy. A child would go right up to a gnome and present herself for dinner. I almost went on a gnome bashing spree right then and there, endangering myself, my family and my environs, because gnomes are very vengeful, not to mention attracted to the smell of fresh blood. But then I calmed down and realized my children would be safe, because I would personally educate them about the dangers of gnomes, as you can your children after you read this essay.

For various reasons, my children aren’t often in areas where gnomes run wild and free, but this gnome hunt was uncovering a hotbed of gnome activity I'd never suspected on my mother’s property. I began to grow concerned about our findings and shared my thoughts with my brother. Grandma, while possibly protected from attack by certain gnomish traits and a dog that sticks to her like a burr, isn’t exactly young, and if the gnomes had encroached on her land this much, was it safe out here anymore? My brother, a former almost-Eagle scout, assured me the gnomes have been here the whole time. It’s only that I’ve learned to spot them. To prove his point, he led me to the vehicle I’d driven to my mother’s house and pointed at the tire.

“There’s not much you can do,” he said. “Not here, not anywhere. Just don’t come out here alone unless you bring the dog.” Then he belched and popped open another beer.

It’s not that I didn’t believe my brew-swilling brother, but his statement bore deeper investigation. I now checked areas I wouldn’t have thought gnomes would be. Areas closer to the house. Areas where humans don’t fear to tread. Sure enough, right beside the path to the back patio, a gnome huddled in the bee balm, plainly disobeying the nearby sign. And another, right beside the front door of the house. The front door!

The porch lurker was even too much for my brother. Risking our lives, we didn’t just chase it away. We dispatched it and spread cayenne over the resultant mess to cloak the odor of blood. I began to understand why my mother had always kept a hoe inside the house, beside the front door. She’d said it was for copperheads, which sometimes slink up on the porch, but maybe she just said that about poisonous snakes so she wouldn’t scare us.

Traveling around the house revealed a couple more ugly surprises. I don’t think the dreamcatcher would be able to snare this particular nightmare, should the gnome choose to enter the house. They don’t usually come indoors, thank goodness. And it was a good thing the hummingbirds were bedded down for the night, because this one was ready for a little sweet dessert.

That’s when I heard the barking and realized the gnome wasn’t interested in the bird feeders. The gnome was tormenting the dog! Divided by glass, the red-capped villain taunted the terrier in the house, and since the beastie was so distracted by its arch nemesis, the squirrel killer herself, I was able to get this close-up shot. My mother claims the dog attacks the windows when she sees another dog or a possum outside, but I have to wonder if the gnomes aren’t part of the dog's annoying habit as well. And, as with the hoe in the house, perhaps my mother is aware of this and hasn’t informed me because she’s afraid I won’t bring the grandkids to visit anymore.

After we'd seen the gnome cruelly tormenting the dog, my mother interrupted the hunt and said it was time to roast marshmallows. The gnomes must have been drawn to the activity around the firepit in the back yard because I happened across several more before the evening ended. I pretended I was taking family photos, but in actuality I was still on the hunt. My brother narrowly avoided losing a finger to this one when he was building up the fire.

My husband had a similar encounter with the skitter that had cleverly hidden itself the one place all humans on a marshmallow roast would have to go at least once. As you can see, this little bastid was beginning the color change that would have made him indistinguishable from the bag to the naked human eye.

There was also a gnome inspecting my children’s outdoor mural--right there in the open. I chased it on a weaving path into the growth at the corner of the patio, where I promptly lost track of it.

It was an odd gnome that dashed hither and yon--it couldn’t seem to run a straight line, even though gnomes, in my experience, are much more direct. I don’t know what was wrong with it and I sure didn’t touch it, but it would be nice to think it had picked up some Fey illness that would spread to the other gnomes and prune the populace.

Even though it was right there in the middle of the festivities, everyone claimed they thought I was chasing a stray firework. I never have been able to get my mother to admit the gnomes are a problem and perhaps she should get some more dogs. Or pigs. Gnomes don’t like pigs any more than they like dogs, so pig farms, even when remote (as all pig farms should be), are rarely plagued by gnomes. Perhaps with this photographic proof she’ll be forced to confront the situation.

A little tired from my erratic dash after the sickly gnome, it was then I realized perhaps my brother had had too many beers (pictured), as had my husband (not pictured). Case in point, hubby was the one in charge of the marshmallows. He claims not to believe gnomes are a threat to humanity (or even alive outside my crazy books that he refuses to read because they have mushy love stuff in them), but which kid, exactly, did he think he was handing this stick to???

And so, the great gnome hunt of Summer 2008 came to a rather abrupt and sticky halt, plus it was past the kids’ bedtime and my brother desperately needed some coffee. Black.

***

As I look back on the experience, I realize I’ve learned that gnomes might be endemic, but like poison ivy or kudzu, there seems to be no way to get rid of them without great personal discomfort and danger to one’s health. And no matter how many precautions I take, no matter where I wear my waders, no matter how many cayenne plants I grow around my house or encourage my mother to grow around her house, I know this final image will haunt my dreams for a long time to come.

Good luck to you all, and keep a sharp watch--and a sharp stick--where ever you may go.

JW

PS: In addition to being a near Eagle Scout, an experienced gnome hunter, and a good sport, my wacky brother is a musician in the Fort Worth, TX, area. Check out his bands and musical offerings here.