Letters to the Gnome King: How a Little Magic Built a Community in Lawndale

During the quiet chaos of COVID lockdowns, magic appeared on my front lawn. Not the fire-breathing, spell-casting kind of magic — something smaller, subtler, and, well... gnomier.

It started with a letter. A young neighbor spotted a gnome in my yard and decided to write to it. Back then, I wasn’t “into” gnomes at all — in fact, I thought they were a little weird. But the little girl’s letter was so sincere that the gnome had to write back. So, the newly dubbed Gnome King — yours truly — scribbled a reply filled with glitter, misspellings, and a little community magic.

Soon, the letters kept coming. And not just from her. Neighborhood kids, stuck in the isolation of the pandemic, were suddenly pouring their hearts out to the Gnome King. Some letters were pure whimsy. Others revealed things no gnome (or human) should have to hear. But for them, writing to a gnome was a safe, cathartic release.

Some nights, I wrote over five replies just to keep up, leaving our living room sprinkled with glitter, scattered envelopes, and a growing sense of community connection.

And then... the magic multiplied. Gnomes began showing up in the yard — mushroom houses, pebble paths, and tiny figures sprouting like wildflowers — left as gifts by neighbors who were also stuck in quarantine. The Gnome Village took on a life of its own.

One neighbor even found an old wooden box on the side of the road and, with a little TLC, transformed it into the Gnome King’s official mailbox. It stood proudly on the fence, ready to collect wishes, secrets, and glitter-covered letters.

At the same time, I discovered the world of kindness rocks — a community of people all over the world who paint rocks and leave them for others to find. It’s a bigger movement than you’d expect, a quiet network of creativity and joy-spreading. I started painting gnomes on rocks and tucking them into little corners of the community.

Since then, I’ve painted over 6,000 gnomes and left them all over the world. Some have found homes as far away as Scotland and Greece, and a local friend even stumbled upon one in Iceland. Each gnome carries a bit of whimsy and wonder, a tiny reminder that joy can be found in the most unexpected places.

For those who know about kindness rocks, it’s a treasure hunt of smiles and serendipity. For those who don’t, stumbling upon a painted rock — a tiny, unexpected burst of art — can feel like finding a secret gift. One small, hand-painted token that says, Hey, someone out there wanted you to smile today.

In a time when we were all so isolated, these little gnome rocks and the blossoming Gnome Village helped build connection. They gave people — young and old — something to smile about, wonder at, and believe in.

The Lawndale Gnome King Village is located at W. 163rd Street in Lawndale, California

But the magic didn’t stop there. The Gnome Village has since grown into more than just a whimsical escape — it has become a hub for community advocacy. Neighbors now gather at the Gnome Village to discuss local issues, share ideas, and rally support to stop a Metro train from being built through their only green space. What started as a playful project has turned into a platform where voices are heard, concerns are shared, and positive change is sparked.

Through all of this, I met neighbors I might never have known otherwise. One neighbor, a Confederate war reenactor (yes, really), introduced me to his over-100-year-old tortoise named Oscar. It turns out, even the most unexpected people have a bit of magic to share. Now, many of these neighbors have become like family — we’ve shared holidays, laughter, and sometimes tears.

What started with one child’s letter, one reluctant gnome, and a mailbox rescued from the roadside has grown into a community that feels like family.

Turns out, sometimes a little gnome magic — and a painted rock or two — is exactly what we need.

Originally published in Oliva West Nielsen’s Substack, The Honeypot