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Editor's Note: Have you ever wondered why dandelions have yellow blossoms that become fluffy white caps? Well, today The Fairy Tale Magazine is featuring a Classic Tale, originally published in 1867, by author Abbie Phillips Walker, to celebrate editor-in-chief Kate Wolford's granddaughter....whose name happens to be Phoebe Dandelion. Enjoy! The Fairies say that a long time ago the dandelion did not have a yellow blossom or the fluffy white cap it wears after the yellow has been taken off. They tell the story that one night, a long time ago, while they were holding one of their revels in a field, sounds of weeping and moaning were heard. The Fairy Queen stopped the dance and listened. "It comes from the ground," she said, "down among the grasses. Hurry, all of you; find out who is in trouble and come back and tell me." Away went the Fairies into the fields and gardens and lanes. Darting in and out among the blades of grass, they found queer-looking weeds with leaves resembling a lion's tooth. They were crying and chanting a sing-song tune: "Here we grow so bright and green, The color of grass, and can't be seen. O bitter woe, but we'll not stop Till the Fairies give us a yellow top." Back flew the Fairies to their Queen and told her what they had heard. "If only they had asked for some other color!" she said. "There are so many yellow blossoms now. The buttercup, the goldenglow, and the goldenrod will all be jealous if another yellow flower enters their bright circle. Go back and ask them if they will be quiet if we give them a white top." The Fairies danced away to the crying dandelions with the Queen's message. "The Queen will give you a white top," they said. "No, no!" they cried. "Yellow is the color we should wear with our green leaves. It is the color of the sun and we wish to be as near like him as we can," and they all began to cry: "O bitter woe, we will not stop Till the Fairies give us a yellow top." They made such a noise that the Fairies put their fingers in their ears as they flew back to the Queen. The grass-blades stood up higher and looked about. "Do quiet those noisy weeds," they said to the Queen; "give them the yellow top for which they are crying, and let us go to sleep. We have been kept awake since sunset and it will soon be sunrise." "What shall we do?" said the Queen. "I do not know where to get the yellow they want." "If we could get some sunbeams," said one Fairy, "we could have just the color they are crying for. Of course, we cannot venture into such a strong light, but the Elves might gather them for us." So they went to the Elves and asked them to gather the sunbeams for the next day, and bring them to the valley the next night. The Elves were very willing to help them, but the sun shone very little the next day, and they were able to gather only a few basketfuls of the bright golden color. When the Queen saw the quantity she was in despair. "This will never go around," she said, "and those that are left without a yellow top will cry louder than ever." "Why not divide it among them?" said one Fairy. "It will last for a little while and we can give them our fluffy white caps when that is gone. We shall take them off soon and the dandelions can wear them the rest of the season." The face of the Queen brightened. "The very thing," she said, "if only the noisy little weeds will agree. Go to them and say they can wear yellow of the very shade they most desire half the season if they are willing to accept our fluffy white caps for the other half." The Fairies hurried to the dandelions and told them what the Queen had said. The dandelions stopped crying and said they would be satisfied, and the Queen rode through the meadows, fields, gardens, and lanes, dropping gold upon each weed as she passed along. In the morning when the sun beheld his own bright color looking up at him he was so surprised that he almost stood still. The Fairies kept their promise, and when it was time to take off their fluffy white caps they went among the dandelions and hung a cap on each stem. The dandelions did not cry again, and the grass sleeps on from sunset to sunrise, undisturbed.

Psyche and Eros is the latest novel-length re-telling of a classic story from Greek mythology. Part myth and part fairy tale, the book begins by defining the different types of love (philia, agape, and eros) before launching into a sweeping romance told in turns by the title characters. Eros's story begins as the universe is unfolding “before there were stories to be told”. McNamara presents Eros as a primordial god of love who sets life into motion by shooting an arrow that brings the earth and sky together. His twin sister Eris, the goddess of discord, is the antidote to his power. As time unfolds, generations of the gods fight for power, and finally Zeus, eager to cement his place on Mt. Olympus, pulls his own goddess of love from the sea. Aphrodite adopts Eros as her son in a power move against the older god. It will be thousands of years before Eros is introduced to Psyche, the mortal girl who has been prophesied to become a hero. Psyche grows into a beautiful young woman and earns the ire of Aphrodite with her lack of interest in romance, and Eros is compelled to shoot Psyche with a cursed arrow. When Eros mistakenly cuts himself with the arrow, he falls hopelessly in love with Psyche, but, because of the curse, she is not allowed to see his true form or they will be split apart, forever craving what they cannot have. The love between Eros and Psyche is set against a backdrop of Greek history and mythology which highlights the beauty and dangers of human love and desire. McNamara plays with source material, casting Penelope as Helen’s sister and turning Clytemnestra’s daughter Iphigenia into Psyche’s beloved cousin. The romance between Psyche and Eros unfolds slowly, as Eros must present himself in various animal forms to maintain their connection. When Psyche lights a candle to gaze on her sleeping husband’s true form, they are ripped apart, and Psyche must endure Aphrodite’s tortures if she hopes to regain her true love. “Beauty and the Beast” is my favorite fairy tale, so I was thrilled to learn that there was a novel telling the story of Eros and Psyche, often cited as an early variant of the “Search for the Lost Husband” tale type. This book did not disappoint! Although it lacks the full reach of Madeline Miller’s Circe, the book presents a passionate romance while exploring ideas of free choice, heroic action, human folly, and the curious life of the gods. The narrative voice is both humorous and touching, and readers will find themselves fully invested in the beautiful love story of Eros and Psyche. This book is a must-read for fans of fairy tale, romance, and mythology! You can order the book here. Thank you to NetGalley for a free copy of the book in exchange for a fair review. Kelly Jarvis is the Special Projects Writer and Contributing Editor for The Fairy Tale Magazine. Her work has appeared in Eternal Haunted Summer, Blue Heron Review, Forget-Me-Not Press, Mermaids Monthly, The Chamber Magazine, and Mothers of Enchantment: New Tales of Fairy Godmothers. She teaches at Central Connecticut State University.

Medusa is well known as a monster with snakes for hair and a deadly stare. But, to quote Natalie Haynes's Greek myth retelling, “We’ll see about that.” Stone Blind tells the story of a teenage girl punished by a goddess for a crime committed not by her, but against them both. Medusa lives with her two gorgon sisters--tusked, winged creatures with snakes for hair. But the only gorgon quality she shares with them is the wings. She is young, beautiful, and mortal. And it is not long before she catches the eye of the sea god, Poseidon, who does not ask for what he wants; he only takes it. Haynes fleshes out Medusa’s story from the perspectives of many other women, both mortal and immortal (as well as a Greek chorus of nymphs, trees, and animals who drop in to add their perspectives). It is through the women’s eyes that we see the gods Zeus and Poseidon, not philandering husbands but serial rapists, as well as hapless Perseus, struggling toward manhood in a culture of toxic masculinity. Stone Blind delves into the deeply problematic tropes of Greek mythology that are sadly still too common in a post #MeToo world. Rich in symbolism, Medusa’s story unflinchingly asks tough questions: What are the consequences of trauma, especially when one survivor inflicts it on another? Who decides what makes a monster? And what is the difference between a hero and a murderer? Haynes’ characters, whether squabbling, self-absorbed immortals, anxious, flawed parents, or ordinary, confused teenagers, are heartbreakingly human. Her voice is sharp, original, fierce, and funny, and the result is a devastating take on an all too familiar tale. Format note: I listened to the audiobook featuring the author’s superb narration, and I cannot recommend this version enough. However, I’d happily revisit it in any format. You can buy the book HERE. Lissa Sloan is the author of Glass and Feathers, a novel that tells the story of Cinderella after the “happily ever after.” The Enchanted Press will publish it next February.

Editor’s note: The detailed recipe. The anger. The boiling. The crows. We couldn't resist this one. Enjoy! Queen's Wreath will tickle the shoulders Of your fences. Cut it on the walk you take Before everyone is awake Couple sprigs should do, The wilting limbs will be enough 2 cups of rain water on the stove In the pot you got in your parents’ divorce Boil the water and toss in the flowers Half expecting they will float away The whole kitchen will fill up With the smell of blossoms and Spring Don’t let it seduce you, it’s not yours. Cover the pot and lower the heat Let simmer for 20 minutes The simmer is important Hot as anger, sweet as panting Summer The sugar will burn, it’s the finicky part Add a cup if you’re Southern, half if you aren’t Stir slowly until dissolved, Granules washed away by boiling sea He is never coming back, the crows that speak his voice; they are of your own making Know your fucking power, Even if it means taking. Leave overnight in the fridge Let the ice crust on the pasta jar you’ve used And washed with water and soap and vinegar When you pour it in what you’re drinking You’ll hear him scream Real this time, not 5 crows on the laundry line Not in your head You drink anyway. Deep. To the dregs. Lauren Parker is a writer and visual artist based in Oakland. She’s a graduate of Hiram College’s Creative Writing program and has written for The Toast, The Bold Italic, Daily Xtra, and Autostraddle. Image: Jorge Salvador.

Check out Kate's fabulous finds that you can enjoy, too! This week's pick: Glass and Feathers I know that I’ve been pushing the subscription angle very hard, but you’re almost out of time for getting the serialized novel, Glass and Feathers, by Lissa Sloan, if you haven’t already. You’ll need to subscribe in the next couple of weeks, or you’ll have to wait to read it until next year, and then you’ll have to pay for it. So of course, it’s my pick of the week. You’ll find the info on subscribing for this year here. (You can’t get in on the serialized novel by buying only one issue. You need to be a yearly subscriber.) Also, just FYI, when you subscribe for four issues, it’s the four issues for this year. You’d get the March issue as well as the remaining issues for the year if you were to subscribe today. Glass and Feathers is a coming of age story that focuses on what might happen when Cinderella moves into the castle and gets married. Let’s just say the slipper won’t fit—in more ways than one. It’s a beautifully wrought, compelling story that takes the heroine far beyond where she starts. And there’s glorious black and white art designs by Amanda Bergloff, managing editor and art director for FTM, all through the book. Below is the latest. So I hope you’ll subscribe if you haven’t already. Glass and Feathers is a perfect springtime read—or a great read for any season. Yours in Enchantment, Kate

American Mermaid is an interesting novel about a Connecticut high school English teacher, Penelope Schleeman, who has written a best-selling feminist novel about a mermaid. Penelope takes a leave from teaching and moves to Los Angeles to help adapt her book into an action film, and much of the novel revolves around the clash of creative perspectives as studio employees try to transform Schleeman’s work into a blockbuster film. The story of Penelope’s experience in the entertainment industry is punctuated by excerpts from her novel which tells the story of a young wheelchair bound woman named Sylvia who discovers she is truly a mermaid. Found by an infertile couple who pay to have her tail split into legs so she can be raised as a human, Sylvia has endured a lifetime of pain due to her environment. Penelope’s book explains that Sylvia “has no idea there’s a whole different way of being, an easy automatic power she would possess if she only found her way to the water.” While Hans Christian Anderson’s mermaid trades her voice for the ability to walk on land, Schleeman’s American mermaid starts on land and journeys to find her power in the sea. Langbein’s book also features chapters of texts and emails between studio executives and Schleeman as they wrestle to bring the book to the big screen. The writing style of this novel is not the beautiful and evocative writing of a fantasy tale, but the author, Julia Langbein, a sketch and stand-up comedian, brings contemporary humor to the narrative which is both funny and poignant at the same time. The fictional journey of the mermaid mirrors the emotional and medical journey of the novel’s protagonist, and the book will leave readers thinking deeply about the nature of disability, the struggles of teaching teenagers, the fears we inherit from our parents, and the transformative process of endless re-creation. You can order American Mermaid here. Thank you to NetGalley for a free copy of the book in exchange for a fair review. Kelly Jarvis is the Special Projects Writer and Contributing Editor for The Fairy Tale Magazine. Her work has appeared in Eternal Haunted Summer, Blue Heron Review, Forget-Me-Not Press, Mermaids Monthly, The Chamber Magazine, and Mothers of Enchantment: New Tales of Fairy Godmothers. She teaches at Central Connecticut State University.

Check out Kate's fabulous finds that you can enjoy, too! This week's pick: Song of the Sea Issue Well, I’ve been missing in action on my picks for a couple of weeks because we’ve been working away nonstop on the June issue. And what an issue it is! Of course it’s my pick of the week. The “Song of the Sea” issue is a bit of an accident. I didn’t realize I was choosing lots of sea/mermaid related stories and poems until after I’d accepted them. When I realized what I’d done, I figured why not make it a sea issue? (Or maybe it was Amanda’s idea. The issue is half hers—at least!) The result is by far the most gorgeous thing we’ve ever done. Amanda pulled out all the stops on art and layout and the result is dreamy, romantic and dazzling. In addition to the new glorious poems and stories we have in this issue, we’ve included some “Best of EC” works, and we’ve got some great nonfiction too. I’m especially excited about Kelly Jarvis’s interview with the brilliant fairy tale scholar, Maria Tatar! This issue is also a whopping 88 pages, so you know you’re getting your money’s worth and then some. You can learn more about purchasing a single issue or becoming a subscriber here. You’ll be entertained and be supporting a great cause, as FTM is a nonprofit! Yours in Enchantment, Kate

Editor's Note: Can a mermaid ever be tamed and live a fully human life? That's the question behind today's classic tale from the book, Legend Land, published in 1922, and retold by Lyonesse below. If you'd like to read more mermaid tales, check out our "Song of the Sea Issue" HERE. A story is told of an inhabitant of Unst, who, in walking on the sandy margin of a voe, saw a number of mermen and mermaids dancing by moonlight, and several seal-skins strewed beside them on the ground. At his approach they immediately fled to secure their garbs, and, taking upon themselves the form of seals, plunged immediately into the sea. But as the Shetlander perceived that one skin lay close to his feet, he snatched it up, bore it swiftly away, and placed it in concealment. On returning to the shore he met the fairest damsel that was ever gazed upon by mortal eyes, lamenting the robbery, by which she had become an exile from her submarine friends, and a tenant of the upper world. Vainly she implored the restitution of her property; the man had drunk deeply of love, and was inexorable; but he offered her protection beneath his roof as his betrothed spouse. The merlady, perceiving that she must become an inhabitant of the earth, found that she could not do better than accept of the offer. This strange attachment subsisted for many years, and the couple had several children. The Shetlander’s love for his merwife was unbounded, but his affection was coldly returned. The lady would often steal alone to the desert strand, and, on a signal being given, a large seal would make his appearance, with whom she would hold, in an unknown tongue, an anxious conference. Years had thus glided away, when it happened that one of the children, in the course of his play, found concealed beneath a stack of corn a seal’s skin; and, delighted with the prize, he ran with it to his mother. Her eyes glistened with rapture—she gazed upon it as her own—as the means by which she could pass through the ocean that led to her native home. She burst forth into an ecstasy of joy, which was only moderated when she beheld her children, whom she was now about to leave; and, after hastily embracing them, she fled with all speed towards the sea-side. The husband immediately returned, learned the discovery that had taken place, ran to overtake his wife, but only arrived in time to see her transformation of shape completed—to see her, in the form of a seal, bound from the ledge of a rock into the sea. The large animal of the same kind with whom she had held a secret converse soon appeared, and evidently congratulated her, in the most tender manner, on her escape. But before she dived to unknown depths, she cast a parting glance at the wretched Shetlander, whose despairing looks excited in her breast a few transient feelings of commiseration. “Farewell!” said she to him, “and may all good attend you. I loved you very well when I resided upon earth, but I always loved my first husband much better.”

If Alice Hoffman isn’t my favorite writer, she’s pretty close. I’ve read all of her novels—many more than once, and today, I have a short story of hers to recommend to her legions of fans. “The Bookstore Sisters” is a standalone short story selling very briskly on Amazon. It tells the tale of Isabel and Sophie, two sisters who were once very close, but are now estranged. Isabel, a painter, has fled the Maine island the sisters grew up on for New York City—where she isn’t exactly thriving. Sophie is still on the island, struggling with the bookstore that has never exactly bloomed. Their story unspools the way you want it to, with the usual delightful touches Hoffman does better than most writers: enduring the pain of loss, excavating difficult but loving family relationships, bringing the reader fully into the story—plus snappy dialogue, romance and maybe just a touch of magic. If you’ve never read anything by Alice Hoffman, this story would be a great place to start. And current fans will enjoy this delicious morsel of a short story. “The Bookstore Sisters” is available through Amazon as a Kindle Unlimited read, a standard Kindle download, or as a delightful audiobook. Highly recommended. You can find it here. Kate Wolford is editor-in-chief of The Fairy Tale Magazine.

Editor’s note: The structure of this story is pretty traditional, but with some surprising little details. A very satisfying read, so enjoy today's Throwback Thursday tale! Long ago there lived an old king who when young had married a woman he deeply loved. She bore him one daughter and then she died. All the king’s advisers told him to take another wife, one who might bear him a son. All told him this but one tall and gaunt adviser, known as a skilled magician, who said that it was an ill-omen to marry with a heart sore sick with grief. And so the king refused every lady of the realm. Now in time the princess grew, and all the gentlemen of the kingdom wanted her. Not only was she as beautiful and witty as her mother, not only did she have the strength and tenderheartedness of her father, but any man who wed the princess would inherit the throne upon her father’s death. And yet still many advisers cautioned him to take a new wife. And yet still the magician said that it was an ill omen to marry with a heart sore sick with grief. The king still missed his wife dearly, and so he did not marry. Now this magician had a son not much older than the king’s daughter, and he so contrived it that his son married the king’s daughter. The match had not been to the princess’s liking, but the magician had the power of persuasion, and the king did as he suggested. Now it came to pass that the magician grew old and sickly. Fearing his death, fearing that the king might yet take a new wife, and knowing that his son had none of his powers, the magician decided to poison the king. Every evening when entertainment and supper were had in the great hall, the magician would bring the king his wine but sprinkle some powder with noxious effect into it. Soon the king grew sicker than the magician. The king’s council quickly called for all the herbalists and hedge-witches in the land to come forward and help cure their king, promising a rich reward. The magician knew not how he could argue against the plan, so he argued in favor of it. In favor of it but with a twist. The magician suggested that he, who had some knowledge of the healing arts, should guard against those who wanted to fraud their way into a kingly reward. And so the king’s poisoner became captain of those who would find the king’s cure. Week after week herbalists and hedge-witches, midwives and all sorts of cunning folk came to see if they could cure the king. The magician met with them all and questioned them about their knowledge of the healing arts. Whenever any herbalist or hedge-witch, midwife or cunning folk showed any sign of true knowledge, the magician cast them out as simple fools. Whenever they showed no true knowledge, he welcomed them in. And so the king worsened. One day when the king was especially sick, a woman came to the portcullis wishing to play her lute for the king. The magician still met and questioned her. And he noticed odd equipment in her lute-case. “What is that powder?” he asked. “It’s meal from my country, far in the East,” said she. “And what’re those straw-like objects?” said he. “Those’re capos from my country, far in the East,” said she. “And what’re those pebbles there?” said he. “They’re picks from my country, far in the East,” said she. He then asked about the healing arts and she pretended ignorance, for it is no evil to deceive a deceiver. Satisfied with the lutist, the magician allowed her to play for the ailing king. Her tone sang sweeter than honey, her melody made the sternest knights cry, and her rhythm carried all before it. To reward her, the king invited her to his table for the meal. “You played with wondrous skill,” said the king. “do you have other skills, madam player?” “Many, your majesty,” said the woman, “But you might enjoy these three.” She showed the king the powder, which she could sprinkle into wine to lessen its effects, and so allow one to drink longer into the night and with greater pleasure in the morning. This trick tickled the king mightily and he poured a heavy heaping into his own drink, and the magician frowned. She showed the king the straw-like objects, which she said would turn even the sourest wine into ambrosia. The king called to the kitchens, and the cook brought vinegar out. But after three twirls of the straws, the king could gulp the wine and declare it the best he had ever tasted. And the magician grew alarmed. She then showed the king the pebbles. “These, sire,” said she, “Will smoke in any poison-touched wine.” Then the magician stood and tried to end the night. “Your majesty,” said he, “That’s enough of petty parlor tricks.” But the king took three pebbles from the woman, and he tossed one into her drink, one into the magician’s drink, and one into his drink. His drink sputtered and smoked. The consternation and anger of the hall is better imagined than described. They captured the magician and promptly hanged him from the ramparts. And the king announced that he would immediately take the lady magician to wife. “But dear father,” said the king’s son-in-law, “isn’t it an ill-omen to marry with a heart full of grief?” And the king said, “I must do what I think best for the kingdom, pray, and bear the consequences if I am wrong. Only a fool trusts a proven liar.” And so the king and the lady magician married, and though the king never forgot his true love, he had some happiness. The lady magician bore him a son. The son grew strong and just, and as king he relied upon the advice of his brother-in-law who had learnt from his father’s disgrace, his father-in-law’s mercy, and his wife’s tenderheartedness and was always truthful and honest. Judd Baroff is a subcreator living the the Great Plains with his wife and young daughter. You may find him at www.juddbaroff.com or @juddbaroff. Image: Wilhelm, from 1890, for a pantomime costume.

WELCOME SUMMER! Summer is here, and to inspire you, we've collected some of our favorite things about this magical season...so please enjoy the quotes, art, tales, music, and folklore below that highlight this most enchanting time of year! Image: "Three reading women in a summer landscape" by Johan Krouthén, 1908 Suppose for a moment you live in a land, Amazed at what happens during summer solstice. Very strange things begin to occur, Instantly, there is little darkness, Night that we are so used to Gone; what is left is the brilliant colors. Daylight from dusk to dawn to dusk again, Alight in all its energy and brightness. Yes, we are north of the sixtieth parallel; Land of the midnight sun. I have been here before and seen things, Gazed upon the horizon, waiting for darkness to reappear, Holding on to summer in all its life, love and beauty; To see it ebb once more as daylight fades to night. ~"Saving Daylight" by Davidson Pickett Summer Folklore Be sure to look at your noontime shadow around the time of the solstice. It will be your shortest noontime shadow of the year! A swarm of bees in May is worth a load of hay.A swarm of bees in June is worth a silver spoon.A swarm of bees in July is not worth a fly. Mist in May and heat in June will bring all things into tune. A dry May and a leaking June, make the farmer whistle a merry tune. June damp and warm does the farmer no harm. A cold and wet June spoils the rest of the year. A dripping June keeps all things in tune. July is the seventh month of the year according to the Gregorian calendar. It was the fifth month in the early calendar of the ancient Romans. The Romans called the month Quintilius, which means fifth. A Roman Senate renamed the month to Julius (July) in honour of Julius Caesar, who was born on 12 July. The Anglo-Saxon names for the month included Heymonath or Maed monath, referring respectively to haymaking and the flowering of meadows. In centuries past, the Irish would cut hazel branches on solstice eve to be used in searching for gold, water, and precious jewels. The glowing Ruby should adornThose who in warm July are born,Then will they be exempt and freeFrom love's doubt and anxiety. If the first of July be rainy weather,It will rain, more of less, for four weeks together. If ant hills are high in July,Winter will be snowy. In July, shear your rye. If the 24th of August be fair and clear, then hope for a prosperous Autumn that year. St. Swithin's Day, if it do rain, for forty days it will remain. St. Swithin's Day an' it be fair, for forty days 'twill rain nae mair. A Summer fog for fair, a Winter fog for rain. A wood near Athens. A Fairy speaks: Over hill, over dale, Thorough bush, thorough brier, Over park, over pale, Thorough flood, thorough fire I do wander every where, Swifter than the moon’s sphere; And I serve the fairy queen, To dew her orbs upon the green: The cowslips tall her pensioners be; In their gold coats spots you see; Those be rubies, fairy favours, In those freckles live their savours: I must go seek some dew-drops here And hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear. Farewell, thou lob of spirits: I’ll be gone; Our queen and all her elves come here anon. ~ William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream Looking for some summer wreath ideas? Then click on the video below: “We might think we are nurturing our garden, but of course it's our garden that is really nurturing us." ~ Jenny Uglow Sunflower Fun Facts The botanical name for sunflower is helianthus annuus. Sunflowers are symbols of faith, loyalty and adoration. Sunflower faces track the sun. There is a sunflower that is totally fluffy – it’s called the Teddy Bear Sunflower. Sunflower seeds are nutritious and make a great snack. The world’s tallest sunflower is featured in the Guinness Book of World Records. It is 30 feet, one inch! Parts of the sunflower have long been used for their healing properties. They are one of the fastest growing plants. A single sunflower can have up to 2000 seeds. Tis moonlight, summer moonlight, All soft and still and fair; The solemn hour of midnight Breathes sweet thoughts everywhere, But most where trees are sending Their breezy boughs on high, ~Or stooping low are lending A shelter from the sky. And there in those wild bowers A lovely form is laid; Green grass and dew-steeped flowers Wave gently round her head. ~ Emily Bronte Easy Summer Desserts Check out some easy summer desserts perfect for any potluck gathering with family and friends! "When the sun is shining I can do anything; no mountain is too high, no trouble too difficult to overcome." ~ Wilma Rudolp "Across the open common land shines glowing purple floral blooms The bumble bee can hardly stand, as flowers' scent is rising fumes And lies there in the summer shade a resting deer quite joyfuly for in this beauteous sunlit glade all's observed by sent'nel tree This tall oak stands by sparkling stream, whose water splashes grass and rock, reflecting in its azure gleam, the woodland plant and dandy clock While goes beneath the cloudless sky, amidst a warm and dreamy breeze, a squirrel idling, passing by, past numerous, careless, floating seeds." ~ Stephen Patrick, Sleepy July in Skipwith Common The Full Moons of SUMMER The Strawberry Moon June 26, 2023 This first full moon of summer is named the Strawberry Moon because the relatively short season for harvesting strawberries comes each year in the month of June. ------ The Buck Moon July 3, 2023 July is the month when the new antlers of buck deer push out of their foreheads in coatings of velvety fur, thus the moon is named after them. ------ The Sturgeon Moon August 1, 2023 The fishing tribes are given credit for the naming of August's full moon, since sturgeon, a large fish of the Great Lakes were most readily caught during this month. I saw dawn creep across the sky, And all the gulls go flying by. I saw the sea put on its dress Of blue midsummer loveliness, And heard the trees begin to stir Green arms of pine and juniper. I heard the wind call out and say: 'Get up, my dear, it is today!' ~ Rachel Field, Summer Morning SUMMER ART GALLERY Summer Eve, Edward Robert Hughes,1908 Woman with a Parasol, Claude Monet, 1875 Spirit of the Night,John Atkinson Grimshaw, 1879 Lady in Summer Moonlight, Hilda Cowham Hermia & Lysander, John Simmons, 1870 Girl with Cats in a Summer Landscape, Elin Danielson-Gambogi, 1892 Woman in a Garden, Claude Monet, 1867 The Bower Meadow, Dante Gabriel Rosetti, 1872 Warm summer sun, Shine kindly here, Warm southern wind, Blow softly here. Green sod above, Lie light, lie light. Good night, dear heart, Good night, good night.. ~Mark Twain Wishing everyone an enchanting summer! Share what you love about this season in the comments section below The Fairy Tale Magazine's contributing editor, Amanda Bergloff, writes modern fairy tales, folktales, and speculative fiction. Her work has appeared in various anthologies, including Frozen Fairy Tales, After the Happily Ever After, and Uncommon Pet Tales. Follow her on Twitter @AMANDABERGLOFF

Editor's Note: To celebrate FTM's Song of the Sea June Issue (available HERE), we've got a classic sea-themed tale from Japan of a kind hearted boy, an undersea palace, and a broken promise... Art: "Uraschimataro and the Turtle" by Utagawa Kuniyoshi, 1852 There was once a worthy old couple who lived on the coast, and supported themselves by fishing. They had only one child, a son, who was their pride and joy, and for his sake they were ready to work hard all day long, and never felt tired or discontented with their lot. This son’s name was Uraschimataro, which means, ‘Son of the island,’ and he was a fine well-grown youth and a good fisherman, minding neither wind nor weather. Not the bravest sailor in the whole village dared venture so far out to sea as Uraschimataro, and many a time the neighbours used to shake their heads and say to his parents, ‘If your son goes on being so rash, one day he will try his luck once too often, and the waves will end by swallowing him up.’ But Uraschimataro paid no heed to these remarks, and as he was really very clever in managing a boat, the old people were very seldom anxious about him. One beautiful bright morning, as he was hauling his well-filled nets into the boat, he saw lying among the fishes a tiny little turtle. He was delighted with his prize, and threw it into a wooden vessel to keep till he got home, when suddenly the turtle found its voice, and tremblingly begged for its life. ‘After all,’ it said, ‘what good can I do you? I am so young and small, and I would so gladly live a little longer. Be merciful and set me free, and I shall know how to prove my gratitude.’ Now Uraschimataro was very good-natured, and besides, he could never bear to say no, so he picked up the turtle, and put it back into the sea. Years flew by, and every morning Uraschimataro sailed his boat into the deep sea. But one day as he was making for a little bay between some rocks, there arose a fierce whirlwind, which shattered his boat to pieces, and she was sucked under by the waves. Uraschimataro himself very nearly shared the same fate. But he was a powerful swimmer, and struggled hard to reach the shore. Then he saw a large turtle coming towards him, and above the howling of the storm he heard what it said: ‘I am the turtle whose life you once saved. I will now pay my debt and show my gratitude. The land is still far distant, and without my help you would never get there. Climb on my back, and I will take you where you will.’ Uraschimataro did not wait to be asked twice, and thankfully accepted his friend’s help. But scarcely was he seated firmly on the shell, when the turtle proposed that they should not return to the shore at once, but go under the sea, and look at some of the wonders that lay hidden there. Uraschimataro agreed willingly, and in another moment they were deep, deep down, with fathoms of blue water above their heads. Oh, how quickly they darted through the still, warm sea! The young man held tight, and marvelled where they were going and how long they were to travel, but for three days they rushed on, till at last the turtle stopped before a splendid palace, shining with gold and silver, crystal and precious stones, and decked here and there with branches of pale pink coral and glittering pearls. But if Uraschimataro was astonished at the beauty of the outside, he was struck dumb at the sight of the hall within, which was lighted by the blaze of fish scales. ‘Where have you brought me?’ he asked his guide in a low voice. ‘To the palace of Ringu, the house of the sea god, whose subjects we all are,’ answered the turtle. ‘I am the first waiting maid of his daughter, the lovely princess Otohime, whom you will shortly see.’ Uraschimataro was still so puzzled with the adventures that had befallen him, that he waited in a dazed condition for what would happen next. But the turtle, who had talked so much of him to the princess that she had expressed a wish to see him, went at once to make known his arrival. And directly the princess beheld him her heart was set on him, and she begged him to stay with her, and in return promised that he should never grow old, neither should his beauty fade. ‘Is not that reward enough?’ she asked, smiling, looking all the while as fair as the sun itself. And Uraschimataro said ‘Yes,’ and so he stayed there. For how long? That he only knew later. His life passed by, and each hour seemed happier than the last, when one day there rushed over him a terrible longing to see his parents. He fought against it hard, knowing how it would grieve the princess, but it grew on him stronger and stronger, till at length he became so sad that the princess inquired what was wrong. Then he told her of the longing he had to visit his old home, and that he must see his parents once more. The princess was almost frozen with horror, and implored him to stay with her, or something dreadful would be sure to happen. ‘You will never come back, and we shall meet again no more,’ she moaned bitterly. But Uraschimataro stood firm and repeated, ‘Only this once will I leave you, and then will I return to your side for ever.’ Sadly the princess shook her head, but she answered slowly, ‘One way there is to bring you safely back, but I fear you will never agree to the conditions of the bargain.’ ‘I will do anything that will bring me back to you,’ exclaimed Uraschimataro, looking at her tenderly, but the princess was silent: she knew too well that when he left her she would see his face no more. Then she took from a shelf a tiny golden box, and gave it to Uraschimataro, praying him to keep it carefully, and above all things never to open it. ‘If you can do this,’ she said as she bade him farewell, ‘your friend the turtle will meet you at the shore, and will carry you back to me.’ Uraschimataro thanked her from his heart, and swore solemnly to do her bidding. He hid the box safely in his garments, seated himself on the back of the turtle, and vanished in the ocean path, waving his hand to the princess. Three days and three nights they swam through the sea, and at length Uraschimataro arrived at the beach which lay before his old home. The turtle bade him farewell, and was gone in a moment. Uraschimataro drew near to the village with quick and joyful steps. He saw the smoke curling through the roof, and the thatch where green plants had thickly sprouted. He heard the children shouting and calling, and from a window that he passed came the twang of the koto, and everything seemed to cry a welcome for his return. Yet suddenly he felt a pang at his heart as he wandered down the street. After all, everything was changed. Neither men nor houses were those he once knew. Quickly he saw his old home; yes, it was still there, but it had a strange look. Anxiously he knocked at the door, and asked the woman who opened it after his parents. But she did not know their names, and could give him no news of them. Still more disturbed, he rushed to the burying ground, the only place that could tell him what he wished to know. Here at any rate he would find out what it all meant. And he was right. In a moment he stood before the grave of his parents, and the date written on the stone was almost exactly the date when they had lost their son, and he had forsaken them for the Daughter of the Sea. And so he found that since he had deft his home, three hundred years had passed by. Shuddering with horror at his discovery he turned back into the village street, hoping to meet some one who could tell him of the days of old. But when the man spoke, he knew he was not dreaming, though he felt as if he had lost his senses. In despair he bethought him of the box which was the gift of the princess. Perhaps after all this dreadful thing was not true. He might be the victim of some enchanter’s spell, and in his hand lay the counter-charm. Almost unconsciously he opened it, and a purple vapour came pouring out. He held the empty box in his hand, and as he looked he saw that the fresh hand of youth had grown suddenly shrivelled, like the hand of an old, old man. He ran to the brook, which flowed in a clear stream down from the mountain. and saw himself reflected as in a mirror. It was the face of a mummy which looked back at him. Wounded to death, he crept back through the village, and no man knew the old, old man to be the strong handsome youth who had run down the street an hour before. So he toiled wearily back, till he reached the shore, and here he sat sadly on a rock, and called loudly on the turtle. But she never came back any more, but instead, death came soon, and set him free. But before that happened, the people who saw him sitting lonely on the shore had heard his story, and when their children were restless they used to tell them of the good son who from love to his parents had given up for their sakes the splendor and wonders of the palace in the sea, and the most beautiful woman in the world besides.