Summer was slowly drawing to a close. The sun still warmed the forest floor, but in the mornings tiny dewdrops already glistened on the grass and among the roots of the great oak tree.
There, deep beneath the earth, lived the gnome family. As every year, the gnomes knew exactly what the cooler nights meant: autumn would soon be here.
“We still have so much to do!” Mother Gnome announced one morning. On the big wooden table she had set out baskets, little jars, and empty bottles.
The gnome children knew at once what that meant. The time for the last summer harvest had begun.
With little baskets on their backs, they set off into the forest. Dark blackberries gleamed among the bushes. In many other spots, too, the gnomes found more ripe berries, which they gathered carefully.
While they worked, the youngest gnome child secretly nibbled on one especially plump blackberry. When it turned around, everyone burst out laughing — its whole mouth had turned blue.
The animals of the forest were busy too: squirrels darted through the branches, and mice searched for seeds and acorns.
“Everyone takes only what they need,” Father Gnome reminded the children. After all, the animals needed to find enough food for the months ahead too.
By afternoon, the family returned home with their baskets full. Some of the berries were pressed into juice. From the rest, they cooked sweet jam for their winter stores.
While the gnomes gathered their supplies in the forest, harvest time had also begun on the farm at the edge of the woods. In the fields, potatoes, pumpkins, and other vegetables had ripened and now needed to be brought in as quickly as possible.
For several days, the gnomes had watched the farmer working his fields from early morning until late at night. Usually a few helpers came to the farm at harvest time, but this year there were far fewer than usual.
“Look, he’s all alone in the field again,” one of the gnome children observed. The farmer lifted a heavy crate onto his little tractor, then wiped his brow, exhausted.
The next day, too, they saw him hard at work early in the morning. One crate after another had to be filled, carried, and brought to the farmhouse, but no sooner had the farmer finished one row than the next potatoes and pumpkins were already waiting for him.
“He’ll never manage it all in time,” Mother Gnome said worriedly. Father Gnome nodded and looked out over the big fields, where ripe crops still lay everywhere.
But for now, the gnomes still had plenty of their own work to finish. The next morning, more chores were already waiting for them, and so they kept busily gathering supplies for the months ahead.
Meanwhile, the farmer kept working tirelessly. From early morning until late at night, he drove his little tractor across the fields, bringing in as much of the harvest as he possibly could.
That afternoon, a strong wind suddenly picked up. Dark clouds slid in front of the sun, sending the first leaves swirling down from the trees.
The gnomes watched the farmer still working in his field. In front of him stood several heavy wooden crates, filled to the brim with vegetables.
“He’ll never get all of those to the farmhouse before the rain,” Father Gnome said. The children looked up at the sky and nodded.
Now it was clear to them that the farmer needed their help. Of course, he must never see them doing it — gnomes never let themselves be seen by humans.
So they waited patiently until every light on the farm had gone out. Only after the farmer had disappeared into the house at the end of his long day did the gnomes begin their preparations.
That night, rain drummed against the leaves of the great oak. While the humans slept in the farmhouse, a little door opened, ever so quietly, between the roots.
One gnome after another slipped outside. They wore their little green coats and pulled small handcarts behind them.
Once they reached the field, they got straight to work. Some gathered potatoes, while others carefully rolled the pumpkins under an old lean-to roof beside the barn.
“One, two, three — push!” the gnome children whispered, throwing their weight together against one especially large pumpkin. Slowly it began to move, rolling across the wet ground.
Suddenly it picked up speed. The gnomes ran after it, but the pumpkin went shooting down a small slope and only came to a stop right in front of the barn door.
They kept working deep into the night. Just as the rain grew heavier, the last crates were finally pushed to safety under the dry lean-to.
“Now, quickly, home we go!” Father Gnome whispered. Long before morning dawned on the horizon, every last little helper had vanished back into the forest.
When the farmer stepped out of the house the next morning, he stopped short in surprise. He stared at the dry crates, the potatoes, and the pumpkins in front of his barn.
“Now how on earth did those get here?” he murmured, scratching his head. On the muddy ground he spotted a great many tiny footprints, but before he could look at them closely, it began to rain again, and they washed away.
The farmer was overjoyed at his rescued harvest. By then, the gnomes were long since back under their great oak, refreshing themselves with bread and fresh blackberry jam.
In the days that followed, the forest grew ever more autumnal. Here and there a leaf had already turned yellow, and in the mornings the gnome children needed their little coats.
The gnome children looked happily at their full jars of preserves. Soon the leaves would turn bright colors, chestnuts would fall to the forest floor, and before long they’d bring out their lanterns again.
But that day hadn’t come yet. Today, the forest still smelled a little of summer — and just a little bit of autumn too.
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