When I first met six-year-old Oona, she acted somewhat aloof and I can’t say I blame her. We were in Callicoon and she was very busy playing with two friends: Charley, the four-year-old mechanic whom I’ve written about in my July 20th column and his brother, Jonny, whom I will write about someday soon.

All three of them were running about the sidewalks and Oona’s mom, Jen, tried to get Oona to look at me and say hi, but to no avail. I didn’t mind at all because I well remember my own childhood and being pressured to interact with adults on their terms and not on mine and certainly before I was ready.

Not that Jen was pressuring Oona. She was just being polite.

One day, I saw Oona and her mom walking past my house. Oona was holding some Queen Anne’s lace so I invited them to tour my flower garden. It’s largely unkempt with broken stone paths flanked by sassafras shoots, heirloom tea roses, raspberry canes, wild foxglove, plenty of weeds, fruit trees – cherry, pear, apple and peach – a few blueberry bushes and a Katsura whose weeping branches form a secret tunnel. This tree was a favorite of Oona’s.

She has lots of favorites and she’s sure to tell you about them. Her favorite ice cream she says is “chocolate, maybe vanilla.” Her favorite toy; dollhouse. Between California and here, she prefers here. Her favorite outfit: Anime school girl – white shirt, red scarf, navy skirt and soft Mary Jane shoes; her very long hair tied in pigtails with white ribbons. Sometimes she wears sparkly pink jellies but never with that outfit.

After searching the garden, Oona breezed through my store, Vintage Bling, pointing out her favorites in every category; dresses, books, dolls, and bric-a-brac of all sorts.

At first I panicked because I didn’t want her mom to feel obligated to buy anything. But then Jen explained that Oona wasn’t necessarily interested in owning her favorites, she just likes to make them known.

Throughout the visit, Oona was still a bit aloof, avoiding eye contact and directly speaking to me, which was perfectly fine. I wasn’t expecting anything from her.

And then came a moment I will never forget. She suddenly planted herself right in front of me and with great intensity looked directly into my eyes and just stared – sort of like the spooky twins in the movie The Shining.

I was totally disarmed. I didn’t know what to do. We were all silent until her mom leaned in and whispered something incredible.

“Before we met, Oona used to see you at the river and wondered if you were a child or an adult.” I often wonder this myself. Now eyeball to eyeball, I trusted Oona to figure it out, but before Oona could enlighten me and for no good reason, I blurted out that I was an elf.

“What’s an elf?” she asked. I had no words. According to Oxford an elf is “a supernatural creature of folk tales, typically represented as a small, elusive figure in human form with pointed ears, magical powers, and a capricious nature.”

Yes on the small stature and capricious nature for sure. Selfish perhaps more than elfish.

“A magical being,” interjected her mom. Oh boy, I thought, now I’m in real trouble. Elfishly, I asked Oona, “Why is grass green?”

“Because it just is,” she replied a bit annoyed. I rebounded with, “Why do we have toes?”

“So we can wiggle our feet around,” she answered with a giggle.

And then Oona extended a tight little fist toward me and said, “I have something for you.” When she opened her small hand, there were two perfectly formed acorns.

The gesture was totally unexpected and truly enchanting, and I was deeply touched. If ever there’s a magical being, it’s my new little friend Oona.