Fern and the Evergreen Wreath

“It’s the biggest wreath in the whole pasture!” Fern said, as the sled rolled toward the little workshop arch.

The wreath was made of fragrant evergreen branches, red berries, and three tiny pinecones that wore caps of snow. Fern had helped gather every branch. Now she was tugging the sled along the path to the North Pole workshop, where the Christmas gathering would begin soon.

“I can pull it all the way,” she said, tossing her nimble hooves over a drift.

“You can pull it,” said Otis, a broad-shouldered reindeer walking beside her. “But we can help.”

“And I can keep the pinecones from tickling your ears,” added Bex. She trotted behind the sled, where one pinecone bobbed like a little hat.

Fern smiled. “All right. Teamwork in harness—and teamwork on hooves!”

The three friends followed the winding path between the pasture and the workshop. A silver bell rang from the sled whenever it bumped over a frozen lump. Above them, the sky glowed lavender, and tiny stars blinked awake.

As they neared the workshop, warm golden light spilled across the path. A narrow arch stood in front of the door, decorated with tiny lights. The lights twinkled whenever a friend walked by. One even gave a cheerful little wink at Bex.

“Hello, lights!” Bex whispered.

Fern looked from the arch to the wreath. “We’ll be at the door in no time.”

Otis leaned closer. “That arch looks a little narrow.”

“It’s just a little arch,” Fern said. “And this is just a little—” She stopped. The wreath looked wider than the sled, wider than the path, and maybe wider than the whole workshop door.

Fern gave the sled one gentle push. The wreath slid forward until its green branches reached the arch. Then it stopped.

The left side touched one stone edge. The right side nearly brushed the other. The tiny lights trembled, but stayed in place.

“Oh,” said Fern.

The Christmas gathering would begin soon. Fern’s ears dipped as she studied the arch. “We’re close,” she said. “But how do we get the biggest wreath in the whole pasture through the smallest arch in the North Pole?”

“Maybe we push harder,” Otis suggested.

Fern shook her head. “The lights might fall.”

“Maybe we pull from the other side,” said Bex. She peeked through the arch. “But I can’t fit around the wreath.”

Otis tried lifting one corner of the sled. The runners rose a little, and the wreath tipped—but it still bumped the stone. The tiny lights quivered like a row of bright little eyebrows.

“Easy,” Fern said. “Let’s put it down before a light gets a fright.”

They lowered the sled. Fern paced from one side to the other, thinking. She looked at the wreath lying flat, then at the narrow arch. The wreath was much too wide that way. But its edge was slim.

“What if we turn it upright?” Fern said. “Then we can guide it through edge-first.”

“Like a giant green coin!” Bex cried.

“Only softer,” Otis said. “And much more piney.”

Fern nodded. “Otis, lift the far side. Bex, take this side with me. We’ll turn slowly, and I’ll guide the top. No rushing.”

Otis and Bex set their hooves firmly. Fern took hold of a sturdy branch near the wreath’s top. Together, they lifted. The wreath rose from the sled, heavy but steady, and turned until it stood upright.

“Ready?” Fern whispered.

“Ready,” said Otis.

“Ready as a pinecone in a mitten,” said Bex.

Fern watched the top edge. “A little to your left, Otis. Good. Now hold. Bex, bring your side forward—slowly.”

The wreath slipped toward the arch, edge-first. Fern guided the top between the stone sides. A branch brushed the air beside one tiny light, but did not touch it.

“Steady,” Fern breathed.

The wreath slid through. One green edge, then the other, and at last the whole round wreath stood safely on the workshop side. The tiny lights twinkled brighter, as if they were clapping without making a sound.

“We did it!” Bex cheered.

Fern beamed. “Together—and just in time!”

They carried the wreath to the workshop door and hung it on a sturdy hook. The berries gleamed in the golden glow, and the pinecones sat proudly at the top. From inside came the happy murmur of the Christmas gathering.

Fern gave the wreath a final, careful nudge until it hung straight. “There,” she said. “The door looks ready.”

The workshop door opened, and a little wave of warmth rolled out. Inside, reindeer and helpers were gathering around a long table. Mugs of warm berry drink steamed beside plates of sweet oat cookies.

“Fern! Otis! Bex!” called a workshop helper. “Your wreath is lovely!”

“Fern figured out the turn,” said Otis.

“And we did the lifting,” Bex added. “And I kept the pinecone hats in place.”

One of the little lights above the arch blinked at her. Bex bowed. “Thank you.”

The friends stepped inside, then paused beneath the wreath. Its evergreen branches smelled like the quiet woods after a fresh snowfall. The red berries shone like tiny lanterns, and the pinecones rested together near the top.

Fern looked at the wreath, then at her friends. “I thought I had to pull it here all by myself.”

“You pulled us into the adventure,” Otis said.

“And you listened when we had ideas,” said Bex. “That’s a good way to get somewhere.”

Fern’s smile grew soft and sleepy. “It’s a good way to get a wreath through an arch, too.”

They settled on a cushioned bench beneath the green branches. Outside, the path lay quiet between the pasture and the workshop. Inside, the gathering hummed gently with friendly voices and the clink of mugs.

Fern held a warm cup in both hooves. Otis rested his head against the bench, and Bex tucked her nose beneath one wing. The tiny lights over the arch glowed like a row of fireflies settling down for the night.

“Do you hear that?” Fern whispered.

The lights made a soft, silvery hum. It seemed to float through the doorway and curl around the wreath, the friends, and the sleepy workshop.

Bex gave a little yawn. “They’re singing us a quiet song.”

Fern listened. The hum blended with the gentle voices and the hush of the winter night. Her eyes grew heavy. The wreath stayed bright on the door, and her friends stayed close beside her.

Under its fragrant branches, Fern let the soft lights’ song carry her into a cozy, peaceful sleep.