A Taste of Honeydew

 

When Cecile and I went to the Blackcurrant Café for a light lunch, Francesca Osbourne was behind the counter. 

 

This prompted me to tell Cess about my recent decision to write about different village news sources - in particular regarding Finley Osbourne. When I began to give her further details it emerged that none of my overview surprised her. She'd already heard of the fate of the Timbertop and Evergreen boys from Francesca on a previous visit to the Blackcurrant Café. Obviously Finley and his wife pool their news.

 

"Francesca is a hive of information too," Cecile commented. "She passes on most of Finley's tales. The true ones."

I supposed this was a reference to Finley's occasional habit of telling tall tales. Pearl Babblebrook's pie that wasn't a pie. Ernest Evergreen's vision of a flying dog. Ken Furbanks' acting job where he had to impersonate a tree in a shopping mall. Other tales where he'd reel the unwary listener in, making them almost believe the most preposterous things until the final reveal. He'd always end such stories with the phrase, "...and of course, if you believe this, you are sillier than me, and that's saying something." We would join in with the "and that's saying something" part, laughing as we did so.  

"He does tell a good tall tale," I replied.

"I don't doubt that, my love. I've sometimes wondered if Kat Periwinkle does that, but so far, she assures us that her tales are true. Some are just... a touch odd."

Katherine Periwinkle is one of Cecile's friends from the Cake Club, and since Cess renewed her association with the club, I have heard her repeat a number of anecdotes originating from the members. I asked her to remind me about one of Katherine's stories about her family, and Cecile obliged. I will summarise later.

Kat's parents are Selwyn and Selina Honeydew, an active couple who help out with the care of Allen & Kat's six children. Before you remark... yes. There are other big families in Mellowdene - not just the Buttergloves. But this story is not about Kat's immediate family. It's about other Honeydews.

First, some background.

Everett Honeydew (Katherine's elder brother) works at the Mellowdene Bank. My cousin Jonathan Butterglove works with him sometimes and has reported that Everett is a quiet, diligent office worker.

 

His beloved wife isn't as quiet. Vivienne is a down-to-earth, practical, out-of-doors worker who specialises in woodland foraging. She is the force behind her family. 

Their children are as different from their parents as Everett and Vivienne are from each other. They are called Britney and Button.

Britney is obsessed with ballet dancing and would dedicate all her time to it if not for the distraction of her best friend Rene Sparkle. Rene is equally obsessive about cheerleading, but somehow the two girls recognise the obsession in the other, holding back their excesses.

 

Button is... well, it's hard to define. Not exactly hyperactive, but his eyes miss nothing. He is known to disappear for hours to find something out, but always returns in time for his meals. A moderately clever boy. He is probably above average academically, but not outstanding - but... well, as I say, it's hard to define. Moderately sociable, and unpredictably curious. Probably the best way to describe him is 'bright'.

 

Although not relevant to this story there is another Honeydew that I should mention - one that Darcy Fielding has mentioned before - and that's Sawyer Honeydew.

Sawyer is another of Katherine's brothers, and he's best known as a master chef. He creates dishes for Basil Hazelwood and Gordon Doughty for their catering establishments.

Okay. That's enough background. On with the story.

o 0 O 0 o

Vivienne Honeydew entered their kitchen, pushing her son in front of her.

"...and if I catch you running off into the forest again, there'll be trouble."

Button twisted to look at his mum. "I didn't run, mum. I just sort of... ambled."

"Do you really want to argue with me?"

 

"Not arguing, mum," smiled Button, "just clarifying."

Vivienne raised her eyes in mock despair, then settled her sight on her husband, shelling squidge peas into a bowl. "Everett. You talk to him." And with that, she left the room.

Everett looked up from his task. "Hmm? What was that?"

Moving to his father's side he peered into the bowl of squidge peas. "Mum wants us to talk."

"What about, son?"

"I went into the forest whilst mum was dealing with Mrs Cornflower."

"Betsy Cornflower? Was that something about mushrooms?"

"Yes."

"Did you go alone?"

"I started to, but Brady followed me. Her son, you know? We went on together. I wanted to compare trees and Brady knows a bit. The trees were amazing."

"And your mum wants us to talk about that?"

 

"If you like. I'm curious about trees."

"What about them?"

"Why don't we grow as tall as trees?"

Everett blinked and rubbed his cheek. "Er, because we're rabbits, I suppose."

"Yes, but why don't rabbits grow that tall?"

Everett looked at the door but it appeared his wife had long gone. His hopes were momentarily raised when the door opened but it was Britney who emerged, dancing as usual.

"La la la," she sang as she glided around the table and did a pirouette. 

"Britney," said Button, "Why don't rabbits grow as tall as trees?"

"I can be a tree," said Britney, moving her arms artistically. "There. I'm a weeping willow."

"That's lovely," said Everett.

"But not answering the question," persisted Button, leaving his seat to block his sister's movement around the table.

Britney stuck out her tongue.

Hoping to distract his son from responding to this, Everett suggested an answer. "Trees are made of wood, aren't they? If they were made out of rabbit they'd be too bendy."

Button returned to his seat. "I see. If I was made out of wood, I could grow taller."

 

Britney raised her arms above her head and struck a pose. "Now I'm an oak."

"Did you say 'joke'?" said Button, dismounting again.

Britney stuck out her tongue again, and then recommenced gliding around the table. "La la la..."

"So the question is really 'why aren't rabbits made out of wood'," Button reasoned, dismissing his sister and returning his attention to his father.

Everett knew that such surreal discussions could last hours if not forestalled. Nevertheless, he had started this thread. Maybe he could end it with a suitable response.

"Well, Button. If you were made of wood, you'd find it hard to move around. If you had roots, how would you get here for your lunch?"

"That's a fair point, dad."

At that point, the door opened again but this time Katherine Periwinkle entered.

"Hello all," she said, "how are my favourite nephew and niece?"

Britney did the splits. "Timber! Oh, hello Auntie Kat."

Button stepped in front of his aunt. "I can eat carrots because I'm not made of wood."

 

"That's good to know...", Katherine responded slowly. "Why carrots, Button?"

"I like carrots."  

  

"Oh." She was a little confused. "Everett?" 

Everett Honeydew nodded towards the bowl on the table. "Squidge pea, sis?"

o 0 O 0 o

I know. Maybe not odd, but certainly surreal.

 

o 0 O 0 o

Village News

Yesterday I was musing about these stories I write. In particular, I was mentally listing my information sources and this led to more general considerations.

Of course, the primary source is the news I get from home relating tales about my family and the people with whom I interact. Tales sometimes simply fall into my lap. 

Small example. 

 

Brendan was a little later home than expected one afternoon and I asked him why he'd been delayed. 

"Oh, I was chatting to Mister Odgen about Santa's house. He's got a job working there."  

 

My boy's imagination has caught us out before so I was non-committal in my response; sometimes his craziest utterings have a basis in fact. Other times he would be playing a game in his mind and there would be overspill into our real world. Which was this?

"Ogden Splashy? What job is that, pal?"

"Oh, him and Mrs Splashy are going to be live-in housekeepers. Santa's not going to be there all the time."

I was intrigued. "Where is this house?"

"The big house behind Cherry Blossom Avenue. I didn't know it had sold until I saw Santa in the window and Mister and Mrs Splashy were walking away."

I knew of the house, of course. It was built five or so years after those on Cherry Blossom Avenue but hadn't had many residents. The common belief was that its location kept it too separate from its neighbours. The DePembrokes had lived there but moved to be more integrated with the community. 

"You saw Santa?"

"Yep. And his elf."

I raised my brow, and Brendan laughed. "Not the real Santa, dad! It's Mister Grand's brother."

All became clear. Lionel Grand had decided he wanted a second home in Mellowdene, and his brother Lennox was sorting out the details. Lennox was an entertainer who - I'd heard - had a preoccupation with Christmas, providing all-year festivities to Sylvanian communities. (Yes, it seems unusual to me, too.) His son Lawrence usually accompanied him, his clothes also adopting the Christmas theme. Perhaps this pair would be living part-time in Mellowdene too.

Brendan continued to grin. "I got you there, didn't I, Dad?"

"As you frequently do, you little tyke."

He left the room, still enveloped in a cloud of amusement.

o 0 O 0 o

You see how familial tales can easily occur? These are but one source of stories. As for the wider community,  Darcy's suggestion to use back issues of the newspaper social column was a good one, but it occurred to me that I can spread my net further. Village news comes from all over the place.

Let me explain.

Sylvanians are naturally sociable. We work together, play together, but most of all we talk to each other. About all sorts of things. Chatting and sharing experiences binds us together. Some social groups excel at this.

Some time ago, when I was telling you of the different places Merlin and I went for snacks (*see Warm Drinks on Cool Days), I mentioned that one of our destinations was the Bear Pit Club. 

 

 

On many occasions, these snack stops are when the club isn't too busy. This gives landlord Finley Osbourne an opportunity to regale us with tales told him by other customers. Village news that rarely gets into the newspaper. 

 

Maybe some might call it gossip. Cecile did once, but after I'd made oblique references to the Cake Club and ladies' lunches at the Blackcurrant Cafe... Well, we had a good laugh, she didn't use the term again. Gossip or not, it doesn't matter. 

Returning to the Bear Pit Club: as honest as Finley is, some of these tales are - of course - hearsay, but with that caveat, they are worth sharing. Occasionally, Finley can personally vouch for the veracity. This recent one is a bit of a hybrid...

o 0 O 0 o

The Gingerbreads' Tale

Parkin Gingerbread and his family were visiting Isambard Marmalade's house.

"Sam," said Parkin, "Did we miss anything at the last Growl? Young Ethan was under the weather so you'll remember we missed the meeting."

"Is he fully recovered?" said Isambard.

Honey Gingerbread, Parkin's wife, rubbed the top of Ethan's head. "He's okay now. He overdid it eating some berries and had a poorly tummy."

"Aw, mum!" Ethan objected.

"You know you did, dear. Now let Isambard answer your dad."

Isambard laughed. "Don't worry, Ethan. You're not alone. That last crop of zingberries were particularly sour. Fortunately my Norton realised before he ate too many and decided they were better suited to a pie filling."

Ethan forced a smile, and Isambard turned back to Parkin.

"As for the Growl - yes, there were a few things discussed. We didn't want to have much hanging over to the following meeting; we wanted to have things clear for Christmas and the Winter Growl. But there wasn't anything out of the ordinary."

Honey noticed Isambard's son as he came into the room, and bent down to speak into Ethan's ear. "Go and play with Norton, love. We've got boring grown-up stuff to talk about."

Ethan nodded and skipped over to a smiling Norton Marmalade, leaving Honey to respond to Isambard.

"Sam - I'd heard that something unusual happened."

"If it's what I think you're talking about, I don't know if unusual is the right word, but we can hope so. Although it actually happened after the Growl, as we were leaving."

o O 0 0 o

At this point I need to interrupt in order to provide a little background information - confirmed by Finley Osbourne. 

Although the Winter Growl has become a festive occasion that's usually attended by all ages of bears (*see Winter Celebrations in Mellowdene), the standard Growl meeting is geared towards business and other discussions that would bore younger children. When youngsters are considered sufficiently mature, they are welcomed and their initial attendance is celebrated as a special occasion. This is signified by a small party.

At the time of this tale, two young bears had been admitted a couple of months earlier. Logan Evergreen and Birch Timbertop. As such, this wasn't their first attendance; it was a normal and apparently uninteresting occasion. 

Let's continue the tale after Honey Gingerbread prompted Isambard to explain.

o 0 O 0 o

Isambard's tale

 

The ladies had left promptly after the meeting - they had booked a late afternoon tea at the Blackcurrant Café. Some of the chaps had lingered to chat but eventually we thought it was time to leave. A few of us were walking away from the temple when Forest Evergreen came to a halt and looked around. 

 

"Where's my son?" said Forest. He indicated that most of his companions should carry on walking. Taylor Timbertop was chatting with Finley Osbourne but paused when he noticed his son was missing too. I hung about to see if I could help.

"Logan?" called Forest, "Logan? Where are you?"

"Birch?" shouted Taylor, "I need you here."

 

We heard laughter and the temple door flew open. Logan and Birch spilled out into the yard.

 

They made their way unsteadily to stand before us, giggling uncharacteristically. 

"Hehhhhlo, dad," said Logan. "We were dilli..lilly-layed."

"Yup," said Birch, attempting to focus his eyes on Logan's father. Recognising him, he saluted. "Hi, High Bear. Hi, hi, hi, hi..."

 

Taylor Timbertop shouldered his way forward.

"Birch, what's up with you?", said Taylor, although the suspicion in his voice wasn't too far from the surface, "You're acting as if you're..."

"Drunk," said Forest. "But I don't know how they've managed it." 

 

Logan belched and the two youths went into peals of laughter. Birch sat down with a bump.

Finley Osbourne groaned in realisation. "I left a crate in the side chamber, meaning to take it to Basil Hazelwood after the meeting. It was some fortified wine meant for his kitchen at the Mousehole."

Taylor turned to Birch Timbertop, who showed signs of developing hiccups. "Did you drink anything from that crate, son?"

Birch's head wobbled as he switched his gaze to his father. "Hello dad, lovely to see you."

"Did. You. Drink. Anything?"

"Shh," said Birch, "Quietly. Yes. We were thirsty."

"And bored," Logan added. "Thirsty and bored."

"Mm," confirmed Birch. "We thought we'd just wet our mouths. Mowwthes. Moww, moww, mowwthes. What a funny word."  

Taylor stepped back to speak with Forest and Finley, leaving the boys to find much hilarity from the sounds of different words.

"Finn," said Taylor, "How strong was it?"

 

"Oh, it's strong alright. It had undergone secondary fermentation but I'd allowed it to go flat. It's not really meant for drinking - not that it's dangerous - but ideal as a cooking ingredient."

"We'll have to sober them up. My wife won't be happy that I've allowed our son to become intoxicated." He glanced at Forest. "I'm guessing your Honeysuckle will feel the same as my Rose."

"Any ideas, Finn?", asked Forest.

 

"Well... I've got a supply of Dry-me-out purple-bean coffee at the Bear Pit. It works quickly, although it tastes pretty bad, gives you a temporary headache and..."

 

 

 "That sounds perfect," said Forest.

 

"Ooh, poor kids," I commented as we returned our attention to the youngsters. They were oblivious to their fate, still playing with words.

 

"Poop," said Logan.

"Poop poop poop," said Birch.

 

o 0 O 0 o

"Did Honeysuckle and Rose find out?" asked Honey.

"Course they did," Isambard laughed.

"How?"

"You do know Finley Osbourne? His news invariably reaches the village once conversation starts in the Bear Pit."  

o 0 O 0 o

I couldn't have put it better myself.

 

Undoubtedly I could recall more tales but I think I've made my point. Here we have an event reported by Finley Osbourne both from his own viewpoint and that of Isambard Marmalade via Parkin Gingerbread. An informal but useful communications network! 

 

 Maybe I'll share more of Finley's village news one day. 

o 0 O 0 o