All posts by nicolebarchilonfrank

Spicy Moroccan Carrots, More Yum than you will know what to do with!

Moroccan Carrots nicely plated and ready to serve in local Fire and Light recycled glass bowls. This picture is from Pesach. These carrots are a perfect addition to any meal, holiday or just regular, but they add a definite flair to your fare!

  • A large bunch of really excellent carrots, not pre-peeled “bunny love” in a bag. Good, large or fresh carrots, only! 2020-06-25 14.19.25
  • five to ten cloves of peeled garlic with the centers taken out as per my previous instructions about proper garlic preparation.
    Garlic prepared properly
    Properly Prepared Garlic
  • juice of one to two fresh lemons
  • 1/4 or more of olive oil, depending on how many carrots you are making
  • fresh chopped parsley
  • 1-3 teaspoons fresh cumin seeds ground in a mortar and pestle, do not use this much if you are using already ground cumin, perhaps 1/2 the fresh amount, but I warn you, it will not be as tasty with the already ground cumin
  • 1-2 teaspoons good salt, See previous posting about salt:
  • 1-3 teaspoons red pepper flakes
  • 1 teaspoon or more of hot cayenne powder

(These carrots will be yummy without the spice for folks with a milder palette, but the spiciness is truly part of their charm. You can try substituting a milder cayenne or paprika.)

You need to clean your carrots well, if you aren’t peeling them. Have a large saucepan/soup pot of boiling water on the stove and put in some salt. You need to chop the carrots into long slivers for this dish, so it take a little bit of time to do so. More carrots is better. You will love this dish two days out and it’s unlikely it will make it that long as most folks just can’t stop eating these. Once you’ve got the carrots ready add them to the boiling water and blanch them for five to 8 minutes, depending on the thickness of the carrot slabs you cut. You need to have a bowl or large pan with ice water or cold water handy and you will remove the hot carrots immediately into the cold water with tongs or a strainer or whatever implement you have handy. Keep the boiling water handy and once it’s cooled you can use it for making rice or soup stock. It’s full of yummy carrot goodness.

Put the carrots aside and start working on the fresh cumin grinding. Once you’ve ground the cumin well, not to a powder, but you’ve broken down the seeds a fair amount, add your salt, and the garlic cloves directly into the Suribachi (bowl of your mortar and pestle) and mush, mash, pound that garlic into the salt and cumin seeds, it will start to break down fairly quickly because of the salt.

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Suribachi with smashed garlic, red peppers, salt and ground fresh cumin seeds,

Once you’ve got it pretty mushed so folks aren’t eating giant cloves of garlic, add the cayenne, red pepper flakes, lemon and olive oil and mix it all up and then pour onto your carrots. Stir all of that up and add the chopped parsley.

2020-06-25 14.55.43
Carrots with all the ingredients getting ready to be tossed together, your’e almost done!

These carrots are best served at room temperature, but you can refrigerate them for days. Just take them out an hour or so before your meal.

Enjoy and Lots of Love to you in your food making and food sharing!

Wildly Wandering and Engaging with Elderberry Magic

Open Heart Open Hands

Ingredients for Elderberry Syrup Making
Ingredients for Elderberry Syrup Making: fresh ginger, fresh lemon juice, cinnamon sticks, cloves, fresh elderberries or dried if you can’t get fresh, rose-hips (not pictured here), local organic honey, prayers

Hineyni/Here I am in the land of Ireland and I’m walking a few miles down the small lane near my Hermitage, on one of the gloriously sunny days that we had recently. I am singing to the trees and the birds and also saying hello to the unseen Faerie Folkin the dark mossy, wet green forest. I am chanting praises in Hebrew and my heart and my eyes are open. I notice these small purple almost black berries on red stems growing on the side of the road. I reach up high to pick one bunch, and when I get home to my cabin I compare what I’ve picked andverify withmy herb books tomake sure that I am indeed…

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Non Industrious Naturally, Going to Ground while Others Rise Up.

Nicole Orange Sweater Ireland 2016
Photo of me overlooking the cliffs from my time in Ireland in 2015. This photo was taken by one of my Holy Hill fellow hermits, Steve Smith, who has now left this earth, May his memory be for Blessing.

Been very slowed down for quite some time. Bouts of movement and activity happen in relationship to what needs attending to, but I’m generally not in a rush at all anymore. This has been my preferred setting for self since going away on retreat four years ago. My going to ground has been interrupted by emergencies of either a medical nature or life and death related issues for folks in my family or community.

I no longer have the koach/strength or inclination to be industrious or the way most folks who know me knew me. This puts me at odds with most of the modern world and certainly is a really new way of walking on this earth. I’ve never been fast moving, in terms of walking, running or swimming. Steady as she goes, I can walk a long time, if the pace is slow, same with swimming. I’m super fast when I need to be, addressing an emergency or tending to something time-specific.

What is pulling my attention currently is trying to come to terms with NOT doing and not rushing and not engaging so much with others and the world. This current time of Corona Virus and social distancing has been helpful for me in this regard. I lament the reason for needing to social distance, but having the time to be down has been very helpful. I haven’t wanted to Zoom in groups either. I really don’t want to interact with folks in groups in any format. So, in order to interact or move, I’ve chosen to walk with various friends when I can. We walk responsibly and social distance and go to the Arcata Marsh or in my neighborhood, one on one.

It’s more of a challenge to be on semi-retreat and going to ground in the face of the horrors of the last few weeks. It’s critical to remember that this terrible hatred and violence we are seeing is systematic and very old and entrenched. There’s nothing new here. I saw a video interview with Ava Du Vernay by Ellen Degeneres and I found Ava’s point that the difference in this particular situation with George Floyd’s murder was that the cameras were not just on the victim’s face, but that the multiple videos of coverage showed all the people, the murderer as he was murdering, the bystanders as they were by-standing and the man as he was being murdered and begging for his life. I have not watched any of the footage of him being murdered. I cannot ingest those images, but I do believe in hearing about them and learning about them. I don’t watch rape, murder or beating up of other humans. I have no filter and violence impacts my bones and my heart and my breathing.

My bandwidth has decreased and I’m honoring that.

So, how can I support those who are rising up when I am laying down? I do so in my prayers and in my heart, and by emerging from my silence online for over six months. This situation requires a response. I’m not offline completely and I’m not in my cabin in Ireland far away. I’m just on my own personal retreat recovering from knee surgery in December and navigating this time in my life of connecting and caring for family members that are far away and elderly.  I’ve not been silent or unconnected to the folks in my life that need me and with whom I have primary ties and commitments to. This retreat of mine has been about increasing the space in between my interactions with others and letting my being expand and breathe into stillness, quiet, being horizontal and in the dark and watching more movies and shows than I’ve ever done. I believe in the power of story and watching how we tell stories and the stories we tell is something that helps me navigate whatever is going on for me. Lately, I’ve been on a French comedy string of films and am now dreaming in French, which makes me très heureuse/very happy.

And, I’ve been grieving deeply and profoundly several tremendous losses in my life which have truly impacted my joy and natural bounce. I’m not alone in this either, even if I’m curled up in my bed feeling my pain, I know it is connected to the grief of all the people who are losing and have lost loved ones in this time of Covid 19 and due to racism, climate change, greed and fear. Many of us are grieving having a criminal, misogynistic, violent hate-mongering leader in charge of our country. I’ve been grieving this since he was elected and I’m still not recovered and sadly the cost to our planet and to all of our lives has been enormous and it’s not done yet. I think of him as a biblical character, as the pharaoh whose heart was hardened by the Holy One and who was ultimately the precursor to our liberation. May this time of liberation come soon, but if it is still a long way off, I know it will still come.

Folks who support “he who shall not be named,” are still grieving. There is not a single person on this planet who isn’t impacted by all the folks dying alone, without family nearby. When souls leave a body, they need escorts and help and prayers or song and when those aren’t present there’s a time of fear and pain and confusion for those who have died or been murdered. When we also can’t gather to remember or say goodbye, this has a huge cost. So, the suffering of this weighs heavy on us all.

All people have guardian angels or energetic helpers to welcome them as they cross over. I know this, I don’t believe it, it is firmament for me. I am not like others in this regard. Death to me is a transition and a crossing. It is an end to this form of living, but not any kind of end. I can and do swim in the waters of death more than most folks. I connect with folks who’ve left this earth and ask for their help and receive it. I’ve written about this before, so if you are here for the first time, check out my post More than One.

I have hope for our planet and those beings on it who are angry, suffering, put-down, being killed and hunted or just alone and sad. How and why I have hope is connected to my expanding the space and time between things and to my perspective. I can grieve and have hope. I can be sad and outraged and still walk with kindness and integrity and tenderness. I can look at the long sweep of history and recall that there has never been a time when people with more had power over those with less and that in the long arc of our time on this planet there has been a slow movement towards the good. This doesn’t mean we aren’t in a downward cycle, but like the water wheel, we will rise up again. Unlike the endless cycle of ugly and hopeful, there is another deeper well we can draw from. In that well are all those working for others, loving others, loving the planet, taking to the streets in solidarity, educating us all about racism and privilege. All the comedians, the artists, the educators, the nurses, the sanitation workers, the UPS drivers, the post office clerks, the grocery clerks, the folks who every day do their jobs and offer a smile or just do what needs doing are who we can draw strength and hope from. These folks, us, we are a far greater force than that other force.

I know this, it is not my belief, it is firmament.

33 years ago, giving birth to my son, Issac, a really wild and dangerous adventure!

Issac at one day old, January 14th, 1987. Photo taken at the Quiet House at Mountain Grove in Oregon.
Issac at one day old, January 14th, 1987. Photo taken at the Quiet House at Mountain Grove in Oregon.

This story is hard to tell, I told it 32 years ago in the way below.  I tell it with permission from my son, who it is about.

It requires some introduction. 35 years ago, in 1984, I became pregnant with my daughter. Against great odds and pressure to abort, I chose to keep her and parent her alone. After becoming a single mother I found myself once again in love. The man I fell in love with was a magical, dreamy, mysterious guy who I was with for over a year but who left me within days of learning I was pregnant and had no intention of having an abortion. This was the second time in three years where I found myself loving men who could not truly love me or be with me. After this second pregnancy, I made a one year vow of celibacy and decided to move in with a community who offered me help.

Being pregnant again and alone with a two year old was extremely hard and yet I loved my daughter, I loved being pregnant, and I have always loved children. Being a mother has been and is my greatest joy and pleasure. I chose to move in with a family that I had met while working at a Quaker camp. This family called themselves Celebrations and was involved in adopting, fostering and caring for abused children. They offered me shelter, a cabin on the land they lived on, in exchange for helping them with their family of five adopted children and four others they were in the process of adopting. They also had several older teenagers that they took in. By the time I moved away from this situation (when I married my husband Kevin 30 years ago), there were 20 or more young folks living with these people.

The parents turned out to be liars, dangerous and extremely hurtful to myself, my daughter and several of their children. They rescued these children from great harm, but also did harm in turn. Some of these older children probably hurt my daughter. The environment of this place was chaotic and insane, but I was not alone in trusting these folks. Social Workers, doctors, and many others were fooled. This story, in its fullness, is a book, I may or may not write. Suffice it to say, that I only learned about the betrayal of my trust and the real danger I had put my children in, in 1998.

I moved in with this community when I was just 22 years old in 1986, with my daughter, who was two. I was pregnant, naive, a free young spirit who loved Ha-Shem and I was very vulnerable, idealistic and blind to what was going on. This does not excuse me from the wrong of not protecting my daughter.  I live with the shame and bear the guilt for the harm done to her, of which I was unaware at the time. It is a heavy, hard thing to carry, but it is mine to carry.

22 years ago I took a vow to leave this territory mostly out of my life until my youngest son turned 18. He was just a one year old when I learned of the duplicity of these people.

I needed to have a complete boundary around this chapter, this very painful chapter, of my life. My daughter asked me to have a total boundary, to never speak of these people, to never write to them, to never engage with them. I respected her wishes and it was the right thing to do.

I have been diligently working with tremendously good therapists, Rabbis and my husband during the last 22 years on this territory. This work has not been shared with my children, but I have had to deal with this messy hard stuff in order to parent my youngest well.  My youngest is now 22 about to be 23, My daughter is now 35 and it is time for me to turn again towards this place to cleanse, to tell the stories that I can tell, to take responsibility and to move towards Tikkun (healing) for my family.

The story below is about the birth of my oldest son, 33 years ago. I wrote it shortly after giving birth to him and have made a few changes here.

Welcome to my world, a very complex and wondrous place, with its share of pain and power and more love than you can possibly imagine. It is also important to note that this son has a very different picture/story to tell about his time as a young boy living and visiting with these people. For him, it was fun and full of woods and wild adventures and mud and forts and all the stuff he loved. There is never only one narrative. The text in italics and blue is the content I’ve added in recently to add context and explanation where I felt more clarity was required.

January, 1987

Dear Friends,

I am writing to announce the birth of my son Issac Ray on January 13, 1987 and to share with you the experience of his birth and how it has affected me. As most of you know I am now living in “rain green Oregon”. I live in my own beautiful cabin, where I am surrounded by windows on all sides and with a stream in my own backyard. I live in a community called Celebrations whose main focus is the healing of emotionally, physically and sexually abused children. This community turned out to be more of a cult and its leaders were lying, abusive and dangerous, something I did not understand or recognize at this time in my life, when I saw them as “saviors” and heroes. I may someday write the story of my time with these people and the damage it did to me and my family, but at the time of my son Issac’s birth, these folks were my refuge and I saw them that way. Their tribe of children were my charges in exchange for free room and board, which I needed as a single mother on welfare in rural Oregon with two small children. I am proud of my time and work with the children I cared for while I lived with this group. I am deeply regretful of having been blind to how dangerous and deceitful these people were.

There are currently six fully adopted children, five more in the process of adoption and anywhere from 2-10 other children living here at all times. Working with these kids has been and is a vital part of my life and process here. This pregnancy has been different in all ways, shapes and forms from my daughter’s. Her birth was a six-hour beautiful home birth in Boulder, Colorado. It was intense, but blissful and so easy compared to what I had to do to give birth to Issac. I was not expecting the difficulty and hardship that are described here.

This pregnancy has been a level or two harder and deeper for me. I have had to really look at myself and the choices I have made. I have had to examine on a very deep level if I really believe all the things I say and preach and then to see if I can live them. I have had the opportunity here to celebrate the hardest and most painful moments of my life along with the joyous ones. From the beginning, being pregnant with Issac has been a process wrought with much more ambivalence on my part and perhaps on his as well. The questions I have been dealing with had to do with examining if I really made the right choice in keeping him, which on a deeper level had to do with my own feelings about myself and was I worth honoring. Looking at if I had made the right decision in choosing to honor my needs and process over the needs of other people. I believe in a woman’s right to have an abortion, and have supported and helped my friends through them. I myself never felt I could have one. Mark, my boyfriend left me when I got pregnant and my family and my friends all thought I was doubly insane to have this second child. The only folks who I felt really supported me in my choice were Celebrations. This was not strictly true, but it was how I felt. I also was supported by my son Issac’s birth Aunt Cal, the sister of Mark, and by my other sister, by love, Terret.

In labor, I was forced to deal with this internal ambivalence and to see if I could really bring together the airy, psychic, spiritual parts of myself with my physical grounded parts. In other words to give birth to Issac. Sound easy? Well it’s not and it wasn’t. All tolled I was in labor for 42 hours. Twelve is considered long and for those of you who have never been in labor there is no way to really describe what it was like for me or for my friends who were with me through the whole thing. I had to go far beyond all of my own, known limits and very close to death to bring Issac through.

Labor started slowly and followed a start-stop pattern all the way through. I had planned to do labor in a cabin here called the Quiet House after my waters broke. I went to the Quiet House and was joined by my midwives and Donna and Joe, the parents of the children I was caring for, the crazy cult leaders who I thought were holy teachers. My three-year-old daughter never left my side and my best friend/sister Terret had traveled from Colorado to be with me. My god-daughter Sarah, and a whole slew of children and other people came and went throughout the thirty or so hours that I was laboring there.

So far writing this letter has been easy and pleasant and as soon as I started typing about the actual labor things got hard. I think it is going to be a long time before I am able to talk or write about my labor without feeling a little shaky. To date I have never had to do anything as hard as giving birth to him. Anyways back to labor (aaaaaaggggghhhh!!!). To get labor “going” I started dancing wildly, naked, big and in pain, I was a jumping fat woman. We went from this more gentle fun way to much less fun ones. I drank bitter teas, and had a coffee enema, and drank castor oil twice which made me throw up and defecate a lot. All of these things normally would have made contractions really strong and would have made Issac come out. But no go! I was still in the same station (midwives term for stage of labor) after 30 hours. Several times during labor I asked people to leave and let me be alone. During these times I prayed and cried and went through all the blocks I was aware of and on a much deeper level than ever before I came to terms with my Creator and with my life. Around noon on the second day of labor I was totally surrendered and exhausted and ready to go the next level with Issac which meant going to the hospital. By this time I was grateful that one existed and was ready to go there.

NOTE: At this time in my life, I was a true “nature-child.” I believe in home-birth and support women giving birth at home when it is safe and they can. It is not always possible to have a home-birth. My son knew on some level that he would not survive if he was born in a cabin in the woods. He needed more support and suctioning than my midwife had available to her. My body also knew this and would not go forward with his birthing until it was safe to do so, which is why it took so bloody long, because it took me a long time to get it that I needed to go to a hospital. I think in retrospect, part of why there was a problem had to do with a fall I took three weeks before Issac was born. This fall may have separated my placenta a little bit from my womb. Once Issac was born, we learned that he had been ingesting blood and his lungs were full of this blood, which is why he would not have survived without a special Delee suction kit. Something my very inexperienced midwife did not have in her bag.

I had to leave my little girl behind, something I did not want to do. For her, my labor had also been horrendous. She had seen her mommy cry, scream, agonize, fight, dance and be in incredible pain. She increased her crankiness in direct relationship to how close I came to “Checking Out” which means dying. Children get angrier and harder to deal with in relation to how far away their parents move from connecting to them emotionally, psychically and physically. Perhaps they do this in order to pull their parents back into connecting. My daughter, in her three-year-old self, knew I was close to death and for all either of us knew it might have been the last time we saw each other. I am not saying this to be overly dramatic; I went to the gates of death to get Issac and she knew this. I cried and cried over leaving her. It was the hardest thing I had ever had to do, even harder than the labor pains. I also could not take care of her and give birth to my son. Leaving her with Terret was the best choice I had. I knew that Terret would love her up and read her stories and comfort her. I didn’t want to leave Terret either, but I needed Shira to be somewhere calm and safe and not in a fraught and uncertain hospital scene.

In the car, on the way to the hospital I made a shift and went into what I call “priestess mode” which means knowing I am a good person, loving myself, and taking care of my needs by being assertive and clear. Now was not the time to be scared or unsure. It was time for me to survive and to be my most powerful, so Amen and Hallelujah that’s what I did. I also had felt the presence of an angel enter me right before I made the choice to go to the hospital. This angel helped and protected me during my labor and birth experience and I called on that angel and felt its presence with me throughout my ordeal. I felt this angel enter my body from behind. At the time of this experience I did not know that Raphael, who is the archangel of healing, comes into us from behind, and we enter his presence by falling into him. See Angel piece. As I’ve increased my awareness about Jewish teachings over these last 33 years since Issac’s birth, it has been with a sense of “aha moments.”  Finding out things like Raphael is the angel of healing and that he came into my body from behind me is just one example.

The first thing the doctor said upon walking into my room was:

“Well, this is a disaster and I had other plans for my afternoon.”

I took a deep breath, prayed and sent him all the love I could. I told him that I really didn’t want to be here in this hospital either but that since we were stuck with each other we might as well try and take the best care of each other that we could. (Remember, I’d been in labor for over thirty hours at this point. The only way I could have had the presence to be calm and not lose it completely and scream at this doctor was because of the angelic presence inside of me and because I was in “priestess-mode”)

The doctor and I managed to take the best care of each other we could. I am getting tired so I am not going to go into great detail about my hospital experience, if you have questions write to me and I will elaborate. Dr. Gentry and I did a sort of dance where I agreed to one medical procedure and then he would agree to do something I wanted. By the time Issac was born Surja, the midwife, was able to catch him. Issac needed a lot of suctioning, due to the fact that my placenta had prematurely separated in one place before he was out, which meant that he had ingested a whole lot of blood and mucus and there was meconium in his lungs. He weighed ten pounds and his head was fourteen centimeters (not the usual ten centimeters) wide! He was and is a great big beautiful being.

He was immediately placed on my stomach and suctioned from there; I sang to him and cried and from the very first moment of seeing each other we have been deeply in love. I am incredibly glad and grateful for his beautiful presence in my life and I look forward to knowing him better with great joy and anticipation. I felt such relief when he was finally out (no kidding!) and I think this goes beyond my physical relief into relief at the completion of a very long hard cycle. Now giving way to a more mirthful one…

His name is Issac Ray, which means gift of laughter and ray of light; I love him deeply and pray that you may all know him, for he is very much worth knowing and he is also a part of the healing of the planet and of us all, as is every new life. Yes, I chose to spell his name with double  ss, instead of double a. I thought at the time that the double s sound was closer to the Hebrew pronunciation of Yitzak. It’s made for some laughter and been a mark of distinction for Issac, my doubly super and stupendous (double the fun of the letter s) kind of a guy.

In retrospect I must say that things could not have happened any differently, for on a very deep soul level I have chosen and will continue to choose the path which brings me closest to the Divine. Sometimes, coming so close that the distinction between life and death seems obsolete. I love my life and I want it just the way it is with all its struggles and its joys. My life is a rainbow of colors and feelings ranging from hard to easy and sad to ecstatic.

Every day I continue to grow and change and to reach higher and deeper into myself and Ha-Shem for the answers which bring understanding and direction to my life.

Thank you all for sharing your lives and wisdom with me. May you all be blessed with the coming of Issac-Laughter.

May your life be a celebration of your true self.

Blessed Be,

Nicole

Issac, today, and his bear paw hands that I LOVE!
Issac, posing for his mother, with his bear paw hands that I absolutely LOVE! Photo by Shakia Spink

 

 

 

Nicole Baby Doe: a Fairy Tale for Yesterday and Today by Jacques Barchilon

Written by Jacques Barchilon in 1974 and translated by Nicole Barchilon Frank in August 2018, originally published in Marvels & Tales, Journal of Fairy-Tales Volume 32, Issue 2 (2018)

Nicole.Dad.1.10.18.2
Papa et moi.

Nicole, Paul, and Papa were in the forest above Boulder, very high in the mountains, above three thousand meters, next to the abandoned village of Cariboo. It was a very dense forest, with aspens, firs, cedars, and pines, and with some oak trees here and there. At this altitude the air is rather fresh and goes to one’s head and makes it spin a little when one is walking. Some of the undergrowth was quite wet; the black, soft earth like a sponge after the most recent rains. In these nooks pierced by hot sunbeams grew an abundance of mushrooms that we were looking for. Papa, in the middle, Paul fifteen meters to the left, Nicole fifteen meters to the right, we combed the woods. From time to time, we called out each other’s name so as not to get lost. The name of each mushroom we picked was sung out, and the forest resounded: “Boletus, Chanterelle, Agaric,” … and so on.

Each had their own back pack and their own basket with two compartments: one side for known mushrooms, and the other for those unknown that would be identified later. The afternoon was marvelously limpid, but more and more hot, and it made Nicole wanted to fall asleep. To walk in the forest when one feels like falling asleep is as dangerous as driving a car when we aren’t very awake. I ask you now to try and see Nicole. A little girl of nine years, a little long in the legs, skin very white, covered in freckles, everywhere, everywhere, red hair, and light brown eyes. She was pretty overall, except for two big buck teeth. You guessed it: she had sucked her thumb too much for years.

Nicole Trampoline age 9
Nicole trampoline age 9

While walking, Nicole fell asleep. These things happen, one can even fall asleep standing, like Papa when he was a soldier during the war and he was bored during his guard watch. Papa was just screaming to warn the kids: “Careful! Look closely where you are walking! (The gold-miners had dug many holes, pretty much everywhere.) There are mine holes everywhere here!” So, Nicole, asleep, fell into a large black hole. And then, at the bottom of the hole, there was a great pool of cold water, and she suddenly woke up in the process of swimming in the black water. Looking ahead of her she saw a light at the end of a narrow passageway that seemed to lead to the surface. Nicole walks and walks, and it seems to her that the mine’s narrow passageway is five kilometers long. She is cold, and she is worrying about her brother and her father. Finally, she arrives at the surface in a dazzling sunlight and she yells very loudly: “Papa, Paul, I am here, I am not hurt! Where are you?”

But no one answered. Looking around her she sees that there are no longer any trees or any mountains. She is on a beach of fine sand and there is an ocean that pushes waves and foam in front of her feet. She starts to feel very scared. How could she find herself in a place like Casablanca, in Morocco, when she just fell into a hole or a mining tunnel near Cariboo, in Colorado in America? Was she really in Casablanca? A man sitting on his donkey passed in front of her. He resembled a Moroccan and he was wearing a lovely red jellaba. Nicole repeated the only Moroccan words that she knew: “Oujed, Jouj, Tlata…Zouina (One, two, three…pretty). The Moroccan smiled and responded: “H’lal…Derya zouina…Fin ouah Mamak? (May God be with you, beautiful child, where is your mother?)” Nicole smiles without understanding, she didn’t know enough Moroccan. But she thought of one thing, if this was really the beach in Casablanca, it was enough for her to climb up the hill of Anfa and she would find the house of her French grandmother. Walking, walking in the sun, she wondered what happened and if, once again, there wasn’t magic at work. The magic had just begun.

She arrived in front of a gas station exactly like those in America, with a big oval sign, PEPUCON (PETROPURACONCESSIONE/PURE PETROL TO BUY). The gas station attendant was dressed exactly like those in America and it seemed that he was really GEORGES, a friend, the one who sold gas to Papa, almost every day! But it was Georges! “Georges, Georges, I’ve gotten myself lost, I fell in a hole. How can I get back home? It’s so far away, I’ll have to take a plane.” Georges responded: “But, my little girl, you are two steps away from your home. Your father’s house is at the street corner, look: here is Marine street.” Nicole didn’t understand anything at all; but she kept walking anyway. She walked maybe ten meters when she again fell again into a hole. But this time, she didn’t fall into a cold sea, but into a soft meadow of flowering herbs, once again in the forest of Cariboo.

“How strange,” she thought, “I didn’t have shoes like these… what funny boots.” They weren’t boots, they were hoofs, and there were four of them. Nicole was no longer a little girl but a pretty doe. Of course, she was very surprised, but not too scared. Her Papa had already told her many stories about people who were transformed, and those stories all ended very well. “The first thing to do is to get home and reassure Papa and Paul. Paul, who is a bit magical will help me pull myself out of this transformation, and Papa also. He’ll look in his books and he’ll find a fairy or a magician.”

Nicole had trouble hopping around on four hooves. She had never done that in her entire life. But, she got used to it fairly quickly: it was about jumping while counting by fours. “One, two, three, four,” like when dancing. Pretty soon she no longer needed to count, and she found herself able to run ten times faster than she had with her two legs when she was a little girl. She really liked jumping five or ten meters without any trouble. She thought that it would be easy, with her new doe speed to run all the way there in one fell swoop. It was enough to cut through the forest and go down toward the East, leaving behind her the abandoned village of Cariboo, pass through the town of Nederland and then go down the canyon of the river that would lead her straight into Boulder and to the house of her father or her mother. She set out. All of a sudden, she heard gunshots. It was hunters. So, she had to hide herself until nightfall, so as not to get shot at. As the night fell she heard other noises, other voices, whistles, and then sirens from police cars. She suspected they were looking for her everywhere. A loudspeaker even called: “NICOLE! NICOLE!” But she could not reply. Even though she was human inside, she was a doe and didn’t have human speech. One of the police officers walked in front of her, stopped, and petted her. She didn’t know how to tell him that she was Nicole. Even if he could have understood, he wouldn’t have believed it, because policemen do not believe in magic.

She continued to run and while crossing the village of Nederland a van stopped and a man called “NICOLE, NICOLE jump in the back of the van, I’m going to take you to the home of your father.” It was GEORGES. Now Georges was a magician. He knew all about the transformation of Nicole. Upon arriving at the house of Papa, he opened the door of the van, honked the horn gently, and Paul opened the large gate to the garden, where Nicole came in quickly. Papa was waiting for her also. Everyone was very happy to be finally reunited. Georges, Paul, and Papa brought Nicole into the house and gave her a bowl of milk, some lettuce, and lots of tomatoes (Nicole has always loved tomatoes). Paul said: “Papa, it’s Nicole, I’m sure: look at her coloring, look at her eyes and then look on her neck, she has the same freckles in the form of a half-moon. It’s Nicole, she’s nodding her head “yes,” we must find a way to have her talk. And we have to figure out why she became a doe.”

Nicole put her head on the knees of her Papa who spoke to her gently: “My dear, don’t worry, we will find the counter magic so that you can become again Nicole, the little girl.” Georges said: “we will consult the oracle.” “What is an oracle,” said Paul. “An oracle is when we ask fairies or gods questions—I can only communicate with the L’ENVIROMAGNAT (Environmental Magic of Nature). I have my equipment.” Georges took out a small radio and connected it with a small plug behind the left ear of Nicole, then, he turned some buttons, three little lights of red, white and blue lit up, and he spoke into his microphone. “Hello, Hello, here is Magician 55742 of the ENVIROMAGNAT, Boulder, Colorado, U.S.A. We speak English or French. Oracle, reply to me.” We heard a sweet voice: “ENVIROMAGNAT responds to M. 55742. I can only tell you this. All animal lives taken by men from nature must be returned. The little temporary doe must wait three months and then return another doe to the wild, then she will return to her human form at the age of 9 +3. This transformation is the consequence of the automobile accident that happened last summer in the Sangre De Cristo mountains. The small temporary doe will be able to communicate electronically with her family and with M.55742. Stop and Finish.”

Papa spoke immediately to Nicole: “You heard, you understand? —”Yes, Yes, Papa, you remember the doe that we killed last summer when we were coming back from California, how am I going to have her return to nature? And what are we going to say to mother? And then how am I going to become myself again?”

Nicole pink robe & Papa Gordes
Nicole with her Papa in Gordes France, 1970s

At this moment, they heard the phone ring, it was Mama: “So, I leave the children for the day with you and Nicole disappears! I should have trusted my intuition; your mountain expeditions have no value for the children.” Papa responds: “Nicole was found, here she is.” “Mama, Mama, I’m O.K., since it is summer vacation, I accepted a contract with the ENVIROMAGNAT to do a film. You know how I’ve always wanted to be a film actress. But, they want me to leave right away.” Mama answered: “give me your father.” There was a long telephone conversation with lots of big words that the children didn’t know. But they understood the end of their conversation: “Fine, fine, alright, but all the arrangements should be confirmed and agreed upon between our lawyers and all the legal charges on your account.”

Everyone was a little distressed by all the events. Georges and Papa spoke for a long time and then arrived at a decision. “Nicole, we are going to send you to Africa, without Paul, where the head of the ENVIROMAGNAT is a great friend of animals—” “Yes, yes” Paul and Nicole cried out at the same time, “Tarzan.”

Two hours later, Nicole, her father, her brother, and George arrived at the airport, where she took a Pan American flight, accompanied by an airline hostess. Over there, Tarzan awaited Nicole. So, during those three months, Nicole was very happy in Tarzan’s jungle. She learned to recognize all sorts of herbs and plants with which she nourished herself. She learned the language of the animals, none of whom did her any harm, even the lions. Tarzan explained to here that the wild animals could not attack her because she had the smell of a little girl, not the smell of a doe, and this protected her. Nicole lived in a beautiful house of branches that Tarzan constructed for her. There was even an elevator, that Tarzan would make work himself, with his superman-like muscles. Once a week, Nicole would call her family to tell them how very happy she was in the school of the ENVIROMAGNAT.

The three months passed too fast and Nicole still didn’t know how she was going to become human again. “Come with me,” said Tarzan, “I have what is needed for your return to human form.” He brought into the house of branches a small sleeping, pretty doe who had just been hurt by mean hunters. Tarzan explained to Nicole that the other small doe was supposed to die, but that Nicole would save her. “Lie down,” he said, “next to her, let yourself fall asleep and when you wake up you will have become once again a little girl.” During Nicole’s sleep, he placed electric wires between her body and the body of the small injured doe. As the electric current passed between Nicole and the doe, the transformation happened. Ten minutes later, she woke up like the sleeping beauty of the woods. She looked at herself with pleasure. She found herself bigger and rounder.

Tarzan explained to her that since animals age three times faster than humans, she was now three years older. The magic of the ENVIROMAGNAT could do many things, but it was powerless to change the laws of nature. Nicole was thrilled. Her teeth had become all strait, because animals don’t have deformed teeth. Tarzan told her that she was very beautiful now. On the other hand, she had become a little magical. She understood the language of the animals. “You understand,” said Tarzan, “now you are part of the world of the fairies and you will live in the imagination of others. The language of the animals is a special gift from the ENVIROMAGNAT. You must use it well during the rest of your life, you might even become, one day, a great scholar. But, you must be discreet with magic powers. Remember all the harm that can be done, even without magic. Now, I’m going to send you back to your home by airplane. I am sorry, but I don’t have a dress for you, but you can dress yourself in these leopard skins. They fit you very well, here is a non-magic credit card with which you can buy all that you want at the airport.”

Before the end of this very day, the new Nicole descended from her plane in Denver where her whole family was waiting for her. Since she appeared so different, the doctors examined her and declared, with great seriousness, that she had a case of “sudden adolescence, because of the climate change.” Doctors always give silly explanations every time that they don’t understand something.

All this story was told by Nicole, in her journal where she wrote all her memories. It’s the reason why her father could write the story of this adventure. If you don’t believe it, you should write to him. Goodbye, until the next time….

 

Nicole's Puberty - 1976
Nicole’s Puberty-1976 by Helen Redman