The other day, after reading Three Billy Goats Gruff to the girls, I reached under the chair and brought out a little basket containing some of their toys. I had gathered them the night before. They both watched curiously as I carefully set each toy on the little table. A green playsilk, then a blue one on top. A small doll with a piece of cloth wrapped around, placed underneath a wooden arc. Slowly, recognition spread across Fiona's face. Last, I took out a billy goat. She smiled wide, I handed it to her, and she started to trip trap, trip trap across the bridge.
Three Billy Goats Gruff is a traditional Norwegian tale. It makes me smile to think that many past generations of my own family have told this story to their children. I like to think that they would smile, too, knowing the magic is alive and well in this old house on Bank Street.