The Crooked Castle

There once was a Crooked Castle in the midst of a crooked land of hills and dales. The only way to get to the Crooked Castle was to follow a crooked road full of potholes and boulders. At least that was the story. Mikkeljohn’s road had been long and he was tired. He had heard stories about staying away from the Crooked Castle. Stories that told of many evil people that could not be trusted because of their crooked ways. Stories that told of bodies bent and broken. People that could not and would not work.

But Mikkeljohn was tired. He could get food and water for himself and his mule at the Crooked Castle. He knew of no other place that was closer. He had no friend with him to visit with or to help finding a place to sleep. Only his faithful mule who trusted him for food and for water. So Mikkeljohn took a deep breath and, taking his mule by the rope halter. he set off.

Along the way he met many people. Farmers and ferriers. Housewives and homemakers. Some knew of the Crooked Castle but had never been because it was so far. From those that he met, Mikkeljohn heard many ideas about the truth of the stories. So he really didn’t learn much from them. Only to be cautious.

When Mikkeljohn arrived at the castle gate, he found that the castle wasn’t really all that crooked. He couldn't be in the right place! Actually it didn’t really look like a castle at all! It was a little stone cottage with a crooked chimney, a thatched roof and a porch with flowers in the window. A beautiful dog with long golden hair trotted out to meet Mikkeljohn and his mule. A young lady stopped picking beans from her abundant vegetable garden to turn and call out ‘Welcome to my little castle’. There, hanging from the thatched porch roof, was a hand carved sign: ‘The Crooked Castle’.

Mikkeljohn smiled.

“Great is the power of steady misrepresentation.”

~ Charles Darwin