Peter Pan is my favorite book, as you probably know if you have read any of my interviews. The first version of Peter Pan that I remember was a Disney picture book that I had memorized as a child. I did not learn to read until I was six, but I remember pretending to read this book for guests at a younger age.
In the third grade, I read the real book. I had no idea, at the time, of what a challenging read it is for an eight-year-old. I just loved the story. I loved that there were elements of the story I had never heard of before. I loved the Wendy house and the scene where Wendy falls after accidentally being shot by the lost boys, and I loved the scene where Peter stands on the rock after letting Wendy fly away on the kite and prepares to face his own death.
Many years later, my sister and I traveled to Scotland. I had wanted to go to Scotland ever since reading another book, Sally Watson’s Witch of the Glens; but when planning my itinerary, I learned that James Barrie had been born in Kirriemuir, Scotland. I had to go there.
My sister thought I was crazy. It was off the tourist track a whole—I don’t know—two hours? I insisted.
We went. And we had the best time. We saw the real Wendy house, a laundry shed behind the family’s home. We had our pictures taken there. We saw James Barrie’s writing desk, where I believe he actually wrote Peter Pan. (In an absolutely unreal number of limited drafts). I found a copy of the The White Bird, the first book to feature Peter Pan, in a local bookstore. And we bought lemon pound cake and strawberries at the local grocery, which was by far the most affordable and most memorable meal I ate in Scotland.
There was a light flitting around the upstairs of the museum/house where James Barrie was born. Tinker Bell, of course.
Promptly after my last blog post, my friend, Dawn, magically repaired all of the snarled stitches in my website links.
This week she is Tinker Bell.
Thank you so much, Dawn!