Do you have a place in the world that only opens for you? A memory shaped by someone you loved? Sometimes, the world feels more magical if you walk slow, carry the sticks, and believe in doorways.
A short story about magic, patience, and the doorways we find with the people we love most.
ERNIE isn’t sure he and his grandson will make it to the fishing hole in one piece.
“How much farther, Pop?” Robbie asks, his voice rising an octave each time.
Ernie takes a deep breath and answers. Again. “We just have to cross through the woods, and it’s on the other side.”
When they planned the trek to Ernie’s secret fishing hole, Robbie was all in. Ernie tried to warn him.
“It’ll be a long walk.”
“I’m almost six,” Robbie promised. “I can do it, and I can carry my own lunch and my own fishing pole.”
Ernie now carries both—plus rocks, sticks, and leaves Robbie’s collected on the two-mile journey from the farm to the pond. “You’re not going to want to carry all this stuff,” he’d warned after Robbie loaded up his cargo pockets—before they’d left sight of the house.
“Yes I will, Pop. Besides, I need them to make my sculpture of you.”
Of him. How could Ernie say no to that?
Now he trudges through the field, carrying it all, wondering if he ought to learn how to say no to his only grandson.
Robbie lags behind six or seven paces. “Are we ALMOST there YET?”
Ernie tightens his grip on the bouquet of sticks, and they snap between his gnarled fingers.
“Grandpa, you breaked them!” Robbie’s voice squeaks.
Just as Ernie’s about to call off the whole adventure, he sees the break in the woods—a perfect arch, welcoming him back.
“See it? See, Robbie?” He can’t contain his excitement. He feels it every time, seeing the tree limbs stretch over the path, leafy fingertips clasping like playmates.
“See what?”
“The doorway to the magic fishing hole.”
“I thought you said it was a secret fishing hole.”
“Well, it’s secret, because it’s magic.”
Ernie kneels down, knees creaking, and tells Robbie the story his own grandfather told him.
“See, the woods want to keep their pond a secret. So the trees use magic. When folks who don’t have good hearts come along, they knit together and make a wall around the water so thick, not a soul can get past.”
“Trees can do that?”
“Yes sir, these trees can. But when the woods know kind, honest folks are coming, just to do some fishing, one spot in the line opens.”
“Really?”
“Sure, can’t you see?” Ernie turns Robbie toward the opening in the woods. The boy’s chest lifts when he sees it.
“I do see! I do! That means I’m good, right? We both must be! The woods opened!”
“Robbie, if your heart is good and your mind is clear, the world will always open for you.”
Robbie smiles and hugs him, pockets rattling with treasures.
“Now son, let’s do some fishing.”
And so they do.
If your heart is good and your mind is clear, the world will always open for you.
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