Mother Marjoram

Mother Marjoram is, by all accounts, a kindly old soul. The younger villagers, however, insist on calling her a “hedge witch,” mostly because she’s forever rummaging about in the woods, pockets bulging with pilfered herbs and “perfectly free” plants she’s rescued from nature. She lives just beyond the village, past Farmer Planter’s hedges, and is rarely seen, largely because she prefers it that way.

She keeps herself to herself, talks to nobody in particular, and generally gives the impression that company is something best taken in very small doses.

And yet—here’s the curious part.

There’s a local legend (or possibly just very persistent gossip) that if you’re truly in need of something, Mother Marjoram is the person to see. The process is simple. You stand on the boulder by the entrance to her cottage, clear your throat, and state your request very clearly, as though addressing the universe’s slightly distracted customer service department.

Then you go home.

More often than not, by the time you arrive, the very thing you asked for will be waiting neatly on your doorstep.  

 Rather like Amazon.

Only slower.

And with more moss.