The Enchanted Gourd

A Story of Magic & Mischief

Two siblings lived outside of Boston, on a small farm surrounded by rolling hills. The older sister, Anne, loved gourds, though her family often teased her about them. Her younger brother, Tremenser, was the worst. "Gourds are so ugly, Anne. So bumpy and grotesque, just like you!"

Anne would cry every time. How could her brother be so cruel? "You only see the outside. That is not what matters—it's how they make you feel." But Tremenser would laugh at her. He never listened.

One day, Tremenser hid her favorite gourds, laughing as Anne desperately searched for them. "Where are my gourds?" Anne cried, "I left them right here by the fireplace. They are not here now." Tremenser could barely contain his laughter.

That evening, as fall turned to winter, a storm swept through the countryside. Anne's parents worried about the first frost of the year destroying their crops, their pumpkins, and apples. That night, Anne sat by her window, gazing at the pumpkin field. She realized the frost would ruin the gourds too. Though the storm howled, she couldn't bear the thought of losing them.

Anne ran to the barn to fetch a wheelbarrow. "I might not be able to save them all, but I'll save as many as I can." The wind howled through the field as Anne trudged through the frosty grass, lantern swaying in hand, determined to save her beloved gourds.

Suddenly, she heard a scream. "Help! Anne! Help me!"

It was Tremenser. She saw him in the distance, frozen with fear as a coyote crept toward him, teeth bared. Tremenser, who had mocked her and hidden her precious gourds, was now helpless, trembling like a little child.

Anne's heart raced. She could leave him to fend for himself—or she could act. Without hesitation, she shouted, waving her lantern high. The light flickered, casting long shadows across the field. The coyote hesitated, growled, then slinked away into the darkness.

Tremenser ran to Anne, tears streaking his face. "I—I thought it would bite me!" he stammered.

Anne sighed, steadying him as he clung to her arm. "You shouldn't have been out in the storm alone," she said firmly.

Tremenser wiped his face and looked down, ashamed. "Why did you help me? After all the things I've said to you… and the gourds I hid."

Anne softened. "Because it's not about what you've done, Tremenser. It's about what I choose to do. We are family."

"Then I am going to help you save your gourds," Tremenser said. "They are not mine alone." Anne replied. "They are ours."

With a wheelbarrow filled with more gourds than either of them had ever seen, they made their way back to the barn, then made another trip out into the field, and then another. Together they gathered all the gourds they could find in the cold, dark, and windy night.

As they left the barn to go home, Tremenser held out his hand. There in his palm was a very unusual gourd with a long craned neck. "It looks like a swan," exclaimed Anne. Tremenser smiled. "I think you look like a swan, Anne. The most beautiful swan in the world."

Anne blushed. It was the very first time Tremenser had ever said something nice to her. "This is for you, Anne."

That night, Anne placed the swan gourd by her bed. As she slipped off to sleep, Anne dreamed of the swan gourd coming alive, leading her across a still, moonlit pond to a secret place. On the far shore, she found a hidden field filled with wild gourds. The air was warm, the frost gone. It was a place of peace, a refuge.

And when she woke up, Anne peered outside into a bright blue sky. The sun was shining, and the frost had melted. Anne's parents were overjoyed that the harvest would be spared.

That morning Anne held the swan gourd and took the little boat across the pond. Just as in her dream, she discovered the secret field of gourds. It was there—a gift from nature's bounty.

As she peered out, she could see many gourds. Some might say they looked ugly, but each one was beautiful in its own way. So many were shaped like swans.

Anne lifted the swan gourd high into the bright sky. For a moment, it seemed to spread its wings. Just like Anne.

A story by Pemba Umoja