the secret place

Aach! Now yu've discovered our secret place where the real story of Celtic Creek awaits. We canna tell all, as it is a long, long story, told only by firesides on stormy nights. But we'll tell a bit, I suppose.

Mind ye, ya musn't tell a soul yu've been here. Swear it, by God, or ye'll not advance another step!

Alright then, we accepts your word on it.

Now to the story.

A long, long time ago, in a country far, far away, there once trickled a small waterfall, a beamin' like a diamond, and fallin' fast down the side of a craigee old mountain. Now this collection of God's merciful purity found itself with no place to go -- all the low parts of the valley bein' covered with streams and lochs claimed under squatter's rights by early-comers, and all.

Our tiny creek, ya sees, was new to the neighborhood, so to speak. A log had jammed, a comin' over the main falls, splittin' off our little bit o' Heaven's bounty. As the tiny trickle tumbled, it looked longingly for a place to land. Sure as could be expected, no other stream or river was about to give up a low spot for a newcomer.

So there he was, a hangin' in mid-air, no place to go.

From off ta the left somewheres, he hears the sound of a flute a playin'. Searchin' highs and lows, he spies a fairy a skippin' 'long the heather, it's head a bobbin' out from the purple stuff every-once-in-a-bit.

"Fairy" he cried, "Help! I've been born out of necessity with no place to land!"

Now this fairy wasn't just any ol' fairy. She was a beautiful young princess fairy with an ancient, magical flute.

No really, she was.

At first, she was fixin to ignored the creek, hangin' as he was from the lip of the rock.

"Why should I help you?", she finally asked.

The creek thought and thought, as creeks like ta do. "Well, because I will bless your flute with fairy water and you will play it more beautifully than any flute alive.

"And what will I play?"

"Ye'll play the sounds of the Queen of Wilderness, the winds beneath the wings of an eagle, the roar of a thousand waterfalls, the breeze a sweepin' o're the heathery moors. Ye'll play all the colors of the rainbow, all the secrets hidden in the mist of the isles, all the heartbeats of the ancient Celts who have roamed these lands before us. Ye'll play songs of love and war and life and adventure . . . of heroes and villians, maidens and more. Your flute will be known, far and wide, as the "Fairy Flute".

And if I save you, how shall you be known?" she replied.

I shall be known as Celtic Creek . . . and I will flow on forever.

And so the fairy called upon all the gnomes in the valley to dig a new and deeper trench. They scurried to and fro until finally the creek was able to loosen his grip on the rock's edge and tumble into his new found home.

And, so it's said, until this very day, the Fairy Flute plays her music 'longside the flow of that Celtic Creek. Folks come from miles 'round with hope a seein' the sight or hearin' the beautiful sound.

Now there's more ta the story than this, for sure, but ya mighta notice the fire's a growin' dim. 'Tis time to put out the lights and sleep. Tomorrow there'll be time enough for more secrets of Celtic Creek.