Elf Leaves

Abundance is the sharp scent of elfin-leaved lavender on a beautiful sunny day

I spent this past weekend down in Blacksburg, Virginia at a meeting for the South Atlantic Region of the United States Lavender Growers Association and met a bunch of truly interesting and enthusiastic lavender growers.  Among them was a couple who are on the verge of opening their own lavender farm, during the coming year in South Carolina, by the name of "Elf Leaf Farm."  I thought it was such an enchanting name, aside from Blooming Hill of course, that they had chosen for their new lavender farm and smiled to myself as I imagined a meadow full of elves, fairies, pixies and sprites all at home and entertaining themselves among the flora and fauna in a field of white, pink, lavender and purple flowers blooming in a mystical haze on a warm summer morning. Okay--sometimes I let my imagination run a little more wild than usual but I grow lavender so, it comes with the territory!

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Don't tell me they are not real!--She is all the proof I need!

An elfin homestead.

I asked them, "How did they come about choosing that for a name?"--other than figuring out that their last name was of Gaelic origin--and wondering what may be the added significance behind this title. Derek and Allison told me that "elf leaf" is a shortened translation for the Irish term "ar dhath an labhandair" which I think means the color of lavender (or something close to it) in our plain, old English or just "labhandair." pronounced pretty much the same as we pronounce lavender in English, only with a little more musical lilt to the word.  In any case, I like the name they chose for their soon to be calling and operation, "Elf Leaf Farm," as it brings to mind the magic of this ancient and mystical plant that asks for very little but entertains so many and gives so much in return.

Now, close your eyes, sit back and picture mischievous elves clinging happily to those tiny elf-sized silver-green leaves while almost invisible fairies dance in, out and around a field of abundantly blooming lavender bushes on midsummer's eve.  It's not so hard to do, is it?  As I look out onto my own snow-covered and ice-laddened field of elfin leaves today, still deep in their winter sleep here at Blooming Hill, I can almost hear the elves and fairies singing a lullaby to the lavender and whispering, "Be patient. Summer is coming and then it will be time to wake up and celebrate yet another season of "ar dhath an labhandair" wherever there is lavender growing.

Celebrating and dancing into the night while keeping watch over their elfin-leaved plants.

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 Elf leaves?--To be sure!