J u ly/Au g u s t 202 1 Vol u m e 4 8 N u m be r 9

CRICKET STAFF
Lonnie Plecha Editor
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Deborah Vetter Senior Contributing Editor
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PHOTO BY CHRISTIAAN VAN WYK

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CRICKET ADVISORY BOARD

Marianne Carus Founder
and Editor-in-Chief from 1972–2012
Kieran Egan Professor of Education,
Simon Fraser University, Vancouver
Betsy Hearne Professor, University of
Illinois, Champaign; Critic, Author
Sybille Jagusch Children’s Literature Specialist
Linda Sue Park Author
Katherine Paterson Author
Barbara Scharioth Former Director of the
COV E R A N D B O R D E R International Youth Library in Munich, Germany
Anita Silvey Author, Critic
by Ruper t Van Wyk Sandra Stotsky Professor of Education Reform,
“A Picnic with Bees” University of Arkansas, Fayetteville
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India ink and watercolor The Horn Book Magazine, Critic
Ann Thwaite Author, Critic

Born in the wonderful year of 1971,

Rupert has had lots of practice at
drawing, inking, and then splashing
down watercolors. With the motto
“It’s the small details that bring a Educational Press Association of America
Golden Lamp Award Academics Choice
picture to life,” he’s created images Distinguished Achievement Award Smart Media Award

which have been published all over

International Reading Association
the world in many countries that he Paul A. Witty Short Story Award
1988–1993, 1997, 2003, 2004, 2006,
has also explored! 2007, 2009, 2011–2015






National Magazine Award Society of Midland Authors

finalist in the category of Award for Excellence in Parents’ Choice
General Excellence Children’s Literature Gold Award

CRICKET magazine (ISSN 0090-6034) is published 9 times a year, monthly except for
combined May/June, July/August, and November/December issues, by Cricket Media,
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continued on page 47
 5 I’ve Got to Hold a WHAT? by Katharine Weeks Folkes
10 Santa’s Summer Vacation by J. Patrick Lewis
11 Bees, Please! by Stephanie Jackson
15 Heinz by Jeannie Meekins
16 The Expert by G. G. Russey
21 Nest by Charles Ghigna
22 Our Lady Josephine by Cicely van Straten
26 Patriot in Disguise by Judy Cummings
32 The Crow’s Gift of Fire by Kate Walker
36 Farming with Fire by Kate Walker
39 Cricket Readers Reccommend
40 The Gardener’s Son by Melissa S. Tesher

2 Letterbox
4 Cricket Country by Carolyn Digby Conahan
31 Ugly Bird’s Crossbird Puzzle
45 Cricket League
46 Cricket and Ladybug by Carolyn Digby Conahan
48 Old Cricket Says

cover and border art © 2021 by Rupert Van Wyk

 THIS ONE’S
FOR YOU. MEWY YAY!

Dear Everybuggy, Dear Cricket, been heartbreaking. I’m sorry that

I love your mag! I get it from my cousins, who
grew up with Spider. I am in my first year of track,
but this is my fourth year of cross-country. I used
to play the violin, but I’m such an active person
I couldn’t handle sitting for an hour or two! My
favorite book series is Wings of Fire.
I have an old dog who just turned eighteen. My
older brother (he’s twelve) got a malamute. He has
a red paw, so his name is—you guessed it—Red!
I’m hoping for a beagle. My little sister helped
come up with names. My favorite is Quinn.
Hailey, age 11
Longmont, Colorado
Hello!
I joined Chatterbox after I got my first Cricket
magazine. Chatterbox is awesome!
I have a pet fish and a pet cat. I love to write
and draw and craft. I got a typewriter for Christ-
mas, so I am writing even more!
Oaklynn S., age 10
San Diego, California
Hey, Everybuggy!
I have had Cricket for about a year and I have
just loved it! I always ask my mom, “Is the mail for
me?” because I just can’t wait for my magazines to
come! I really love the comics. Ladybug, you’re my
favorite character. I hope you all are enjoying life!
Romy, age 11
Davis, California
Hi, Everybuggy,
I have four siblings and seven people in my
family. My birthday is August 1, so it is a summer
birthday, and I don’t celebrate it at school. I am in
fifth grade, and my favorite subject is science. I love
Harry Potter and got an invisibility cloak for
Christmas. I think my favorite book is the
seventh. I play the flute and recorder.
Ladybug, you can always tell
Pussywillow apart from the other
cats by her meow. She says mewy,
not mew. Just a little tip.
Della R., age 10
Whitefish Bay, Wisconsin
I love donkeys and lions. I want A SNAIL
to be a singer, have my own bakery, SANCTUARY MIGHT
and maybe design video games BE NICE, TOO.
when I grow up. Also, I want to have
an animal or donkey sanctuary. I
loooooove working with animals!
I hope to start a dog-walking-and-
sitting business soon! Then I will work
my way up to fostering. We have only had
Pyrenees dogs since my older sibling was born.
I live with three chickens, two guinea pigs, two
cats (mama and baby born in our house!). Their
names are Destiny, Hope, Faith, Blossom, Nug-
get, Bitsy (not anymore!), and Amigo. I have two
siblings and two parents.
I love haiku! Here’s one: Nature is lovely / The
birds, bees, and wildlife / What an amazing world!
Donkey Friend #1, age 13
Moscow, Idaho
Dear Cricket,
You’re my absolute favorite. I love reading
and drawing a lot, too. Have you read the Percy
Jackson series? I totally love it. Also, Eragon is a
nice book.
Renren
Ewa Beach, Hawaii
Welcome to the first Chatterbox history club!
This is a place for fellow history nerds to talk about I also really like “Cricket Coun-
important events in history like the Civil War or
the Saint Domingue slave uprising. You can also
talk about your favorite people in history and
submit quotes! I really hope this attracts some
attention, because history is something I’m pas-
sionate about and I would love to talk with other
people who feel the same way.
Princess Juniper
YAY, The Eternal Forest
SCIENCE! Down to Earth, Chatterbox
Salut, Everybuggy!
I have been learning French,
and salut means hi! Pussywillow,
I’m so glad you didn’t get squashed
(January 2021)! That would have
Ladybug and Cricket hog all the fun
and make you sit on the sidelines.
Thankfully, you’re brave and not
afraid to meow your mind. You’d be
amazing in a snowball fight. Next
time!
Blackfooted Bobcat (January
2021), it’s cool that you’re weaving a
tapestry! It’ll be awesome. It’s interest-
ing to see what hobbies people have picked up
during quarantine. My twin and I are starting a
baking show. Other than that, I’ve been video
calling with my friends. We moved during COVID,
away from our old friends. I’ve been drawing,
reading, and hiking a lot, too. I am practically
obsessed with the Warriors cats series and I love
drawing dragons.
Flamesilk
Poulsbo, Washington
P.S . I love this mag! Everyone says this, and it’s true.
Hi, Everybuggy,
I always love sneaking my little
sister’s Cricket issues into my
closet so I can read them. (My
sister is very protective about
her subscription.) The stories
are sooo good, and I always
love seeing the contest entries.
OOO! WE LOVE
try” and “Cricket and Ladybug,” CARTOONISTS.
seeing as I’d like to be a cartoonist THEY MAKE THE
someday. Keep doing what you’re WORLD A BUGGIER
doing! AND BETTER
Abby, age 13 PLACE!
Texas
Ants are so cool, as are bugs in general. When I
was a little kid, I used to spend hours watching the
roly-polies that lived on our sidewalk. I like lots of
“weird” animals/creatures, like snakes, rats, and
worms. In the past I raised some monarch caterpil-
lars and then released them once they became
butterflies.
Sybill
Chirp at Cricket

2
 Dear Everybuggy,
I hate quarantine and love your mag! I saw
“Katarina and the Bright Falcon” (January–May/
June 2021)! I have a ton of old Cricket mags that
were my mom’s and I usually spend hours trying
to find the different issues that had the rest of
that story in them! So I was very excited when I
realized that Cricket was publishing it again. Thanks
a lot, Cricket, for printing stories you have printed
decades ago. I’m glad that parents and kids can re-
member reading the same stories! I also loved
the continued stories “Magnus” (October
2018–January 2019) and “In Search Of . . .”
LADYBUG LAND catch queens and watch them raise their
HAS A NICE RING
(January–April 2019). TO IT, RIGHT? AND colonies. I caught mine over the winter
Ladybug, I think I am similar to you. I’VE A SIGN ALLLLL
Being the oldest of six with number READY...
seven on the way, I am kind of bossy.
Pussywillow, you are adorable. SECRET
NOTE TO CRICKET: Don’t let Ladybug
push you around! After all, it is called
“Cricket Country” not “Ladybug Coun-
try.” Keep up the good reading. I continue
looking forward to your magazine! MEWY MEW!
Kylie Watkins, age 13
Bixby, Oklahoma
Greetings, Everybuggy!
Every month I can’t wait to receive your maga-
zine in the mail and I get worried when it’s late.
I’m homeschooled and I have five younger sisters
and brothers. I love reading, writing, learning new
languages, and drawing fantasy maps. Some of
my favorite books are the Viking Quest series
by Lois W. Johnson, Where the Mountain Meets
the Moon by Grace Lin, Annabelle of Anchony by
Ruth Apollonia, and any book by E. Nesbit or L. M.
Montgomery, author of Anne of Green Gables.
My favorite stories in your mags include “In
Search Of . . .” and “Magnus.” And I love the tradi-
tional and fairytale stories sprinkled around. Keep
going, Cricket! Your magazine is awesome!
Sienna Lowman, age 12
Lorain, Ohio
P.S . I play the piano and take Irish dance lessons.
Did anyone see the inaugural poet, Amanda
Gorman? I thought she was so amazing! I was in
a state of awe. Did you know that she had had a
speech impediment? Up until about three years ago
she couldn’t say the letter r very well. And—Ham-
ilton fans are gonna freak out—she taught herself
to say the letter r by listening to “Aaron Burr, Sir!”
She researched for a long time before she actually
started writing her poem, and the . . .
THAT POEM STILL thing . . . at the Capitol happened
GIVES ME SHIVERS. before she was finished, so she
added a verse about that! And
I’ve been fangirling nonstop
since I first heard her, in case
any of you are wondering. “The
new dawn blooms as we free it / for there is always
light, / if only we’re brave enough to see it, / if only
we’re brave enough to be it.”
Dolphin, age 13
Down to Earth
Hi, Everyone,
I’ve recently gotten into the hobby of ant keep-
ing. Think of it like the land equivalent of keeping
fish, ha-ha. I was considering being an entomologist
for a while, but I decided I just enjoy bugs as a
hobby. I think it’s just the coolest thing to
while they were hibernating under
rocks. I have carpenter ants, acrobat
ants, and a couple other genera.
This year our flock of sheep had
seven lambs, and they are the cutest!
We got some really unusual colors this
time—a brown one, brown-speckled,
and even a black-and-white one.
Micearenice, age 18
Chirp at Cricket
Chatterbox
Calling all CBers! IF THE FIRST
This is a mission of gravest impor- ORANGES WEREN’T
tance. I think we need a contest here onn ORANGE,
Blab About Books. I’ll start by choosing
a well-known book, one that I think hass
a lot of possibilities for cover designs.
Then you can redraw the cover of that
book in a different style. The idea is:
if you were designing the cover for the GREENS? OR–(GASP)
book, what would you make it look like? MAYBE “ORANGE”
After a few weeks, I’ll judge the entries, MEANT GREEN,
and the winner can choose a book and judge BACK THEN!
the next round. I’ll judge the entries based on
which one would make me want to pick up and
read the book and also on how well they represent
the book. Let’s start with The Giver by Lois Lowry.
Kitten
Book Cover Redrawing Contest
Blab About Books, Chatterbox
Join Kyngdom!
Kyngdom is a large fantasy story made up
of dozens of roleplays. The characters and story
have been made by many Kyngdomers—kids and
teens—over many years. It tells about the Powers,
an evil young boy named Catastrophe, and the
people, animals, creatures, and beings who are
trying to live in these times. You can contribute to
the story by creating your own characters, work-
ing on a complex plot, and roleplaying with others.
Being on Kyngdom is a lot of fun, and it’s a great
way to improve your writing skills.
Luna-Starr, age 27 eons
Kyngdom, Chatterbox
CHIRPS FROM CRICKET’S
LET TERBOX AND CHAT TERBOX
Last summer, my mom just bought me books
to read at camp and on our road trip without ask-
ing me. They were absolutely amazing. But for this
summer I decided to make my own booklist.
Moonlight, age 12
Summer Reading List, Blab About Books
I love to read. I also like climbing trees, the
smell of wet grass, and Harry Potter. I will read
anything you throw at me, and it is my favorite
thing to spend time doing. And I’m pretty much
obsessed with koalas.
Dragonfruit, age 11
Australia
“Woodlock Mansion and Summer Excursion
Hotel,” Zach said proudly as he presented the
group with a lavish mansion. The ski lodgers found
that the backyard was, indeed, pretty cool. There
was an ice cream stand and a pool with three
waterslides.
Mx. Sam C.
Pudding’s Place
The first oranges weren’t
WHAT DID actually orange. The original
PEOPLE oranges from Southeast Asia
CALL THEM? were a tangerine-pomelo hybrid,
and they were actually green.
Firelily
Random Thoughts
(GASP) Down to Earth
Carrots were originally purple,
if I remember right, and the farmers
in the Netherlands did some selective
breeding to change them to their country’s
national color.
MoonKitten
Random Thoughts, Down to Earth
I feel like a wizard. I have a cardiganish-sweat-
shirtish thing that feels like a wizard robe. Also, it’s
green, like a nature wizard. That would be fun! If I
were a nature wizard, I could make a tree! Right in
the middle of my room! Or backyard!
Fallen Leaf
Random Thoughts, Down to Earth
Send letters to Cricket’s Letterbox,
P.O. Box 300, Peru, IL 61354,
or email us at cricket@cricketmedia.com.
Letters may be edited for length.
Visit the Chatterbox at:
c r i c ke t m a g k i d s .co m /c h a t te r b ox
3
TENT, SLEEPING MY SHELL IS MEANT
BAGS, STUFFED TO BE CARRIED! I CAN
NOT YOU, THIS IS A SOLO TRIP. GO ANYWHERE AND
BACKPACK...
PUSSYWILLOW IS WORKING ON I’M JUST GOING THAT’S A LOT TO CARRY! STILL BE HOME, AND
ARE WE GOING ALONG FOR ... SAYS THE GUY WHO
CAMPING? MEW! HER MAGIC KITTY SCOUTS LIVE OFF THE LAND
SURVIVAL ADVENTURE BADGE. COMPANY. PLUS CARRIES A FULL-SIZED IF I WANT... WHICH I
YAY! I CAN CARRY SHELTER EVERYWHERE!
AND I’M HELPING. DON’T, MOSTLY.
THE FOOD, WATER,
SNACKS, TENT, BECAUSE YOU
BUT SOLO BLANKETS, PILLOWS, WON’T FIND
MEANS BY FLASHLIGHT, AND PIZZA GROWING
YOURSELF, GAMES, IN CASE IN THE WOODS,
ON YOUR THINGS GET BORING HA HA!
OWN. OUT IN THE WOODS
WITH NOTHING TO DO.

THEY DON’T DRINK BUG THEY’RE

NO WORRIES WILD ANIMALS MEW JUST TRYING
THERE–I’VE LOVE CAMPER BLOOD! OR WORM BLOOD,
EITHER. TICKS TO SCARE
PACKED FOOD. YOU SHOULD (SHIVE US, PUSS.
ALL OUR WATCH OUT FOR WATCH
OUT FOR ARE WE WE’RE GOING
FAVORITE THAT. CAMPING
FOODS. TICKS, TOO! COMPLETELY,
THEY’LL 100 PERCENT PRETTY NOW.
SUCK YOUR SURE OF THAT? SURE. GOODBYE!
BLOOD, LIKE
VAMPIRES!
YOU’LL BE
SAFE WITH ME!

H’MMM.

HEY! WHO PUT THIS

COME OF COURSE I’M SURE! RAVINE HERE?
BACK! IT’S DID YOU MAKE THAT
! NOISE? VERY FUNNY,
PUSS!
MEWY SURE?
MEWY
WAIT!

HEY! WHOA.
WHOA! WHO-
UM. O-O-O-A!
MEW...?!

TICKS? YIKES! I’LL PROTECT

YOU, PUSS! THEY’LL HAVE TO
HELLO. GO THROUGH ME TO GET YOU.
STUPID MAP!
MEW?! OOF!
OW! WHY DID IT SEND US THISS H WE
(SHIVER SHIVER SHIVER!)
WAY? NOW ALL OUR E HEH...
STUFF IS SCATTERED.
THE FLASHLIGHT! THE
COMPASS! THE FOOOOOD!!
WE’RE DOOMED!
OW!
OW!
NEED HELP?

4
by Katharine
Weeks Folkes
TODAY MY NIGHTMARE came true.
It was Bo.
I first met Bo when I volunteered to be
a junior docent at the zoo. It was a summer
program our school participated in, where
biology students earned extra credit by teach-
ing little kids about some of the animals. I
needed to bring up my biology grade, so I
asked my friend Sue Wang to be my partner.
“Melanie, I’ll do this with you,” she said,
“but I’ll do the talking. No way will I handle
the animals!”
That was OK with me. I like animals.
During the training course, our instruc-
tor, Mr. Lindsey, talked to each pair of
docents about the animals we would take
Illustrated by Mark Brewer
to summer recreation programs and classes
at year-round schools. When he came to
Sue and me, he said, “OK, girls, your three
animals are a hedgehog, a three-banded arma-
dillo, and a boa constrictor.”
I felt myself go cold. “I have to handle a
boa constrictor?”
He smiled. “Snakes are a big hit with
kids. If they learn about snakes through you
girls, little kids will be less likely to fear them
and more likely to respect them.”
“They’re not a big hit with me,” I mumbled.
Mr. Lindsey laughed. “You can do it. Just
watch me.”
My eyes were glued on the boa as Mr.
Lindsey coaxed the reptile from its carrier
SNAKES DON’T BUT HEDGEHOGS!
SCARE ME! DON’T THEY EAT
(GULP) WORMS?
5
 and demonstrated how to hold it. The con- He crawled around onto my left arm, and
strictor wrapped its powerful, three-foot-long his body wrapped around my waist. I gently
body around Mr. Lindsey’s waist, then calmly touched his back. He didn’t do anything. He
rested its head on his arm. “I’ll be taking you was a lot more trusting than I was. Pretty
and watching you the first time or two until bodacious!
I think you’re OK on your own, so don’t I named him Bo.
worry,” he said. That night at supper I told my family
OK, I thought. Maybe I can do this. about holding Bo. My older brother said,
That night, though, I had a nightmare. “Hey, Mel, awesome!” Mom looked queasy,
I was carrying the snake around a classroom, though she smiled encouragingly. Dad
showing the kids, when all of a sudden it slapped me a high five!
started constricting. It squeezed and squeezed,
and I couldn’t breathe! ALL MY CAREFULLY built up confidence
I woke up in a sweat, my body rigid. I lasted until the next time I had to pick Bo
couldn’t do it. I could not spend the summer up. We were at our first school visit. Mr.
with that snake wrapped around my waist! Lindsey gave me a nod of encouragement
I was going to have to back out. Maybe Mr. as he delivered the junior docents to their
Lindsey would let me have another animal. assi
Next day I told him. to hhold each animal in turn, while Sue told
“Sure you can do it,” he said. He slid aboout their habits—what they ate and stuff.
the door of the snake carrier open. “Now Then the kids could touch them.
put your elbow in—slowly—and wait for I started with the little hedgehog because
him to crawl on your arm. Elbows aren’t it was
w cute and most kids
as threatening to snakes as hands. Good, hadd never seen one. Its
that’s the way.” spinnes were pretty sharp,
HE WAS CRAWLING UP MY ARM!!! so I cupped my palms
It felt like . . . well, not like I thought it would. together and moved
He wasn’t wet or slimy. He was dry and . . . eachh hand just a tiny
soft! Imagine that. But he was crawling on me. bit up and down to
And it was scary! keep the spikes
Mr. Lindsey stood beside me. “Relax, fromm pricking
Melanie. You need to show him you aren’t me. I smiled at
afraid.” the kids. “Touch h
Can snakes tell if you’re lying? the spines gen-
“He needs to trust you, and you need to tly, now.” Duh.
trust him.” They
Yeah, right. squuealed and

6
laughed and yanked their hands back. When
I turned the little creature over to show them
its soft tummy—where a predator could get
him if he didn’t roll himself into a spiky
ball—he wouldn’t unroll. Poor thing. To him,
we probably were predators.
The three-banded armadillo was a disaster
from day one. I don’t know what the zoo fed
that animal, or if he was just scared, but he
had diarrhea. It was disgusting. And he had it
all summer.
“And now for the finale,” I said. “I’ve
saved the best for last. How many of you have
ever touched a boa constrictor?” I wish I had
a picture of their expressions. They didn’t
know whether to be excited or scared. I took
my time, drawing out the suspense. I got the
p it on the teacher’s
carrier off the floor and put
desk. She didn’t look happy about that.
Suddenly I realized I wasn’t real happy,
either. I wasn’t as scared as I had been, but I
wasn’t totally not. I was glad Mr. Lindsey was
just down the hall.
I took a deep breath, opened the sliding
door of the carrier, and stuck my right elbow
inside. Bo slithered around my arm, and I
lifted him out. I could hear the kids sucking
in their breath. Bo made himself comfortable,
wrapping around my waist and resting his
head on my left arm. He was his calm, cool
self. I relaxed. Walking triumphantly around
the classroom, I let the kids touch him gently.
Piece of cake.
AFTER A FEW school visits, they got easier.
I began to really like my boa and was pretty
much at ease with him. Mr. Lindsey had
begun training another class of docents, so
Sue and I were mostly on our own once the
zoo van dropped us off.
Then came the day I will never forget.
Sue was giving her talk. I took each ani-
mal around the room, as usual, for the kids
to touch. The e
hedgehog, and wrinkled their noses
at the armadillo, who always
smelled like diarrhea.
It was
time for Bo.
I opened the
carrier and
took him
7
out. Sue talked about how boas live mostly
in rain forests in Central and South America.
“They’re called constrictors,” she explained,
“because they squeeze small mammals and
birds to death before swallowing them whole.”
True, but not exactly a confidence booster.
My turn. As I walked around the class-
room, I said, “Don’t be afraid. See, he’s a nice
boa constrictor. His skin is not slimy. It’s cool
and dry. You can touch him gently, here, on
his back. His name is Bo.”
Most of the kids actually did touch him,
and everything went fine until one boy, for
some unknown reason, tapped Bo on the
head with his knuckles.
I froze.
Immediately Bo began to constrict, and
I tensed up even more. He squeezed tighter.
I must have looked scared, because the kids
screamed and the teacher practically shoved
them out of the classroom. And my partner
went with them! Sue actually left me!
My worst nightmare had come true! I pan-
icked. I am too young to die! Think! Think! What
am I supposed to do? I remembered that Mr.
Lindsey said Bo needed to know I wasn’t afraid.
OK. I am not afraid. I am not afraid. I stood
very still and tried as hard as I could to relax.
Please, Bo! You’re OK now. You can trust me.
Little by little I felt Bo loosen his grip. It
was working! I eased over to the carrier and
stuck my arm inside. After what seemed like
forever, he slid off. I closed the carrier door
and stood there, shaking.
The kids had been watching from the hall.
They came back in and went to their desks.
SUE RAN OFF! YOU’D
NEVER LEAVE ME,
WOULD YOU?.
I looked around at their faces. “Getting
hit in the head scared Bo,” I said, “and he did
what came naturally to him. But he calmed
down when I did, and he did not hurt me.
Snakes don’t generally bother people unless
people bother them. Leave them alone, and
they will leave you alone.”
I think they glommed onto that idea
pretty fast. The teacher stood beside the boy
who had hit Bo, and he apologized. Then she
thanked us for coming. But I could tell from
her fake smile that she couldn’t wait for us to
get out of there.
ON THE WAY back to the zoo in the van,
Sue kept apologizing. “I’m so sorry, Mel. I just
panicked. I feel awful!”
Well, she shouldn’t have left me, but I
don’t actually know what she could have done
to help except maybe give me moral support.
“I forgive you, I guess,” I said. “But you
know what? After it was over I really felt sorry
for Bo. It wasn’t his fault. If somebody had hit
me on the head, I’d have reacted, too.”
Sue later told me she looked up my
birthday on the Chinese calendar and found
out I was born in the Year of the Snake.
“Maybe all you ‘snake people’ are coura-
geous,” she said.
I looked it up on Google. It said that
people born in the Year of the Snake are “wise,
usually good looking, hard workers, and lucky
with money.” OK, it didn’t say courageous, but
I could live with the other good stuff!
Oh, and guess what? This is really
intense. I got an A in biology!
HA! THAT WOULD
BE A STRETCH.
9
Santa’s Summer Vacation
Eight reindeer fly by J. Patrick Lewis
Across July
To get suntanned
In surf and sand.
They spread the news
In Santa Cruise
Where movie queens
In limousines
Cure Mrs. Claus’s
Winter blahs,
While Santa laughs,
Signs autographs—
Love, Santa C.
His fantasy?
To dip a toe
In that big o-
cean, knowing they
Can holiday,
And just this once,
For two whole months,
Enjoy themselves
Without the elves.

10 Illustrated by Darren Thompson

 by Stephanie Jackson

to adopt 60,000 low-maintenance

pets, then honeybees are the perfect
friends for you. Even your mom might
approve! Other pets rely on humans for
everything—warmth, protection, exercise
and play, food and water, and the most-dreaded
“duty,” poop cleanup. Since honeybees take care
of themselves in virtually every way, beekeeping Bees have built a honeycomb
is mostly a stewardship. This means that the beekeeper will just watch over on this removable frame.
and protect the bees. After the first spring inspection, a good beekeeper will
check on them once every three to four weeks through the summer and fall,
until it’s time to extract, or take out, the honey.
When most people think of beehives, they picture a skep beehive,
which is like a round basket woven from grass. But most beekeep-
ers no longer use this type of hive,
because it is destroyed during
honey harvesting. Modern bee-
hives are made of movable frames
inside wooden boxes that stack
on top of each other. There are
two common sizes: medium or
deep. Deep boxes can weigh as
much as you do—between fifty
and ninety pounds when full of
bees and honey. So many bee-
keepers choose medium-sized
boxes, which are easier to lift.
A stack of three to five boxes
makes a nice apiary, or home,
for a colony of bees, having only
one queen for all the boxes.
text © 2021 by Stephanie Jackson 11
 WELL, OF COURSE THERE’S ONLY
ONE QUEEN BEE. AHEM.
MEWY YOUR
HIGHNESS!
Bee season begins as the weather warms up, about the
third week in April. Bees hibernate during the winter (called
overwintering), so this is the time that they “wake up” and
begin flying about. They are hungry and looking for nectar.
Beekeepers sometimes feed the bees with sugar water for the
first couple of weeks until more plants are blooming and more
nectar is available to make honey, which the bees store and eat.
Bees can find drinking water themselves, but most urban
beekeeping laws require beekeepers to provide fresh water. Bees
remember flight patterns and return to the first water source
they find, so it’s important to establish a water source before
introducing the hive to your property. Good water sources
would be a basin at the bottom of a rain gutter, a slow leak from
a rain barrel onto a board, or a bird bath with floating corks.
Bees need a place to land—like floating corks, or rocks and
Beekeepers wear protec-
sticks—so they can drink.
tive gear when inspecting
hive boxes or harvesting
Do beekeepers clean up after bees? Bees are tidy creatures. If other
honey. Using a smoker bees die, they clear the dead bees out of the hive. If wasps or hornets try
causes the bees to “hunker to rob the hive, they kill them and remove the bodies. Even during over-
down” or stay still. Ready wintering, bees take “cleansing flights” away from the colony to go pee
to evacuate the hive due and poop. Beekeepers like to keep tidy apiaries, too, and one problem—
to fire, the bees also eat which isn’t a problem in the wild—is
honey, which makes them
brace comb. Also called burr or
less able to sting.
bridge comb, it is simply honey-
comb the bees have built in a
place that gets in the beekeep-
er’s way. Beekeepers remove
it during inspections.
To inspect a hive, a
beekeeper begins by get-
ting dressed in special gear.
First, the beekeeper slips on a
white long-sleeved shirt that has
a hat with a netted veil attached.
Next are some canvas gloves that

’SCUSE ME, I’VE

GOT TO GO ON A GO, GO! RUN, OR FLY
12 “CLEANSING FLIGHT.” ALONG! TMI, FYI.
 WHY ARE BEES MAYBE THEY’RE SECRET
SEDATE MEANS TO SOOTHED BY FANS OF CAMPING,
CALM OR SOOTHE. WOOD SMOKE? CAMPFIRES, AND
MARSHMALLOWS!

go high up the keeper’s arms, like ballroom gloves. Thick

denim pants and solid athletic shoes complete the outfit.
Only two tools are truly needed to work with bees:
a smoker and a hive tool. Hive tools are small metal
crow bars that serve multiple purposes. Among them are
scraping brace comb, lifting frames, and separating hive
boxes. The smoker looks like a teapot with a small accor-
dion called a bellows. When it is pumped, smoke builds A bee stores the nectar
up in the smoker and pours out the top. Beekeepers smoke their bees to it collects in its honey
sedate them and keep them from flying too much during inspections. stomach, separate from
Knowing that bees take care of themselves, good beekeepers show its regular stomach. When
it returns to the hive, the
restraint rather than interfering with the hive too often. When they do
bee regurgitates the nectar,
peek inside, they are looking for brood (bee babies) and checking on passing it to a house bee.
honey production. If there are little white dots visible in the capped-off With the help of enzymes
cells, then the next batch of bees is growing—the hive is “pregnant.” in a bee’s honey stomach,
Since worker bees only live about six weeks, there should always be brood. the nectar becomes honey,
During bee season, beekeepers adjust the number of boxes in an apiary to which bees eat and store for
give the bees the perfect amount of space to control the temperature and winter.
to encourage honey production.

As bees collect nectar, they move a dust-like powder, pollen, from

one part of the flower to another. Plants must be pollinated to pro-
duce seeds or fruit. Bees pollinate one-third of the foods you eat,
including fruits, nuts, vegetables, herbs, and spices.

13
 WHEN’S MY NATIONAL
AUGUST 21 IS NATIONAL DAY? LET’S HEAR IT FOR
HONEYBEE DAY! LADYBUG DAY!

Bees seldom need protection, but depending on where you

live, you might need to take a couple of precautions. Mice
sometimes try to move in for the winter months, so they
can live somewhere warm and eat all the honey. If this is
the case, you can attach some chicken wire to the bot-
tom hive entrance. As issues arise—and often there are
none—a beekeeper responds calmly.
In fact, staying calm is the only trait you need to be a
good beekeeper. Of course, from
time to time, bees may get inside
a beekeeper’s suit. Staying calm,
A comb tool can be used moving away from the colony, and
to remove the wax caps removing your bee suit is usually all it takes
on the honeycomb cells.
to remedy the situation. Honeybees are gen-
Many plants that are
considered weeds—like tle and don’t like to sting, since they die after
dandelions—are actu- doing so.
ally one of the first food When it’s time to harvest the honey, beekeepers
sources for bees in ring, have a couple of choices. If your only goal is to be a guard-
so protect thosee plant ian or steward over the bees, you can leave all the honey for the bees. If you
hoose to harvest, the manual option is to “crush and strain” the comb. It’s
cho
a quick process using simple tools: a bucket, a straining cloth, and a potato
masher. Another option is a spin extractor, which uses centrifugal force to
separate the honey from
WANT TO START BEEKEEPING? beekeepers, but most is unnecessary. the waxy comb.
With a parent’s help, check your city Unlike with other pets, costs throughout As you can see, bee-
ordinances and homeowner association the season will be nominal, if any. keeping can be as involved
guidelines to make sure that residential It’s a good idea to take a bee- or as easy as you make it.
beekeeping is allowed where you live. keeping class or find a local mentor. Bees are the ultimate pets
You may need to register with your state’s Although maintenance is easy, you may because they take care of
Department of Agriculture. benefit from advice about where to their own needs, pollinate
The upfront cost can be hundreds of place your hive, what type of bees to and beautify the garden,
dollars for one set of hives and removable order (Italians are gentle and produce and produce one of the
frames ($300), a bee package with queen lots of honey, so they’re great for begin- sweetest treats around.
($100), a suit ($40–$80), gloves ($20), a ners), and how to inspect the hive for Honeybees are very
hive tool ($10), and smoker ($20). Other brood. A quality class will cover all the gentle, and beekeeping is
equipment may be recommended by other basics and honey harvesting. a safe hobby to share with
your favorite adult.

HERE, NOMINAL MEANS

14 NOT MUCH, NOT A LOT.
 He appeared on the doorstep one day The baby, she had him intrigued
Both big and small in size Crawling around the house
A dog of mixed-bag breeds Nose to the ground, he followed her round
We decided to call him Heinz Like a cat on the trail of a mouse

For Dad, he’d work all day After school, he’d wait at the gate
Running with the sheep We’d play till the sun’s last light
He asked for little in return Exhausted but happy, inside for tea
A pat, kind words, a sleep He’d sleep by my bed at night

To Mum, he was a protector To each, he was something different

Of danger, he had no fear Loyal, right up to the end
Any threat around, he’d bark it down That bitzer, mongrel, mixed up mutt
No stranger would dare come near Worker, protector . . . best friend.

Heinz by Jeannie Meekins

text © 2021 by Jeannie Meekins 15

 The Exp ert
by G. G. Russey
“SO, YOU WANT to keep bugs safe
from Mom’s fly swatter, huh, short stuff?”
asks Krishna. Her eyes follow a housefly lazily
zigzagging around the apartment living room.
“Mm-hmm!” replies Krishna’s little sister,
Anjuli. She stands at attention and nods her
head quickly, her shiny black ponytail bob-
bing behind her.
“I’m going to be a famous expert on bugs
and bug catching soon,” says Krishna, watch-
ing the raisin-sized fly land on the coffee
table. She creeps toward it.
“What’s an expert?” asks Anjuli.
“Someone that knows all about some-
thing. That’s me, so listen and learn.
“Lesson one: If a bug wanders into the
apartment, put a cup over it and then slide
something underneath to seal it in,” she says,
holding up a paper cup and museum post-
card. “Then carry it outside to freedom.
“Lesson two: Houseflies have two big, red
eyes that are really good at seeing movement.”
“Actually,” says Anjuli, “they have three
sets of eyes, made of thousands of tiny eyes.”
“What?” says Krishna, freezing in
midstep.
“We learned about it in school. There’s a
middle set they use for direction. They—”
“No interrupting! Like I was saying,” says
Krishna, “they’re good at spotting movement.
But if you move slowly enough, they won’t see
you.”
Illustrated by Lemady Rochard
16 text © 2021 by David Turka, art © 2021 by Lemady Rochard
Just before Krishna can lower the cup over
the housefly, it zips away. Krishna frowns.
“Krishna, wouldn’t it be easier if you—”
“I’m the teacher. You’re the humble stu-
dent. More humbling, less mumbling!”
“But wouldn’t—”
“Zip it!”
Anjuli stomps off to the kitchen.
Some people think they know everything,
thinks Krishna.
She walks over to the fly’s new spot on
the couch and bends down. Her hand trem-
bles as she slowly lowers the cup.
Suddenly, a pink fly swatter whisks past
her face and slaps right in front of her.
“Gah!” yells Krishna, crashing back onto
her butt. She gets a glimpse of the fly zipping
away.
“Mom!” says Krishna. “I almost had him!
Or her.”
“So did I,” says Krishna’s mom. She points
the swatter at Krishna with a swish. “I can’t let
bugs fly around while you tiptoe after them all
day. And now you’ve got your sister at it!”
Krishna’s mom points the fly swatter
toward the kitchen with a swoosh. Anjuli is
sticking out her tongue in concentration.
She slides a junk mail postcard under a clear,
upside-down cup on the counter.
“I did it! I caught a baby housefly!”
Her mother sighs and drops the fly
swatter to her side. “We’re leaving for your
THOSE GIRLS ARE SO YES, BUT LOOK
NICE, TRYING TO OUT FOR MOM!
SAVE THE BUGS.
grandparents’ house in a few minutes. Please
make sure you’re ready to go,” she says before
walking off to her bedroom.
“Look, Krishna!” says Anjuli, skipping
over. “I heard what you said about flies not
seeing you and figured a clear cup would be
almost invisible to them. And it lets you see
what you’re doing.”
“Gimme that!” Krishna says, snatching
the cup and card. The fly has red eyes, but it’s
tiny—about the size of a pen tip.
“That’s no housefly, small fry. It’s a fruit
fly,” says Krishna. “It’s always important to
get these.”
“Why?”
“Because if they smell old fruit or some-
thing with vinegar, they’ll find it and lay eggs
on it. They can lay hundreds of eggs that
only take about a day to hatch. But fruit flies
are easy to catch. I’ll show you some real bug
catching. I’ll use this cup to catch that housee-
fly while the fruit fly’s still in it.”
“I don’t know about that,” says Anjuli.
“I know you don’t know—watch and
learn.”
Krishna spots the housefly high on the
wall. Standing under it, she goes onto her
tiptoes and slowly reaches her arms as high as
they’ll go. She starts to move the cup over the
housefly, when—
17
 “Girls, are you ready?”
“In a minute, Mom,” calls Krishna, turn-
ing her head.
“Now!” says her mom.
Krishna turns back to the cup.
Both flies are gone!
“Where—?” asks Krishna.
Anjuli shrugs.
“Now, girls!” says their mom, grabbing
the car keys from the counter.
Anjuli and Krishna rush to their room
and throw clothes, books, and games into
bags. As the girls leave with their mother, a
fruit fly crawls across a bowl of ripe tomattoes
on the kitchen counter.
THE GIRLS AND their mom arrive i wake everyone?”
late after a four-hour drive. As they peek in
the front door, they see Grandpa in his read-
ing glasses, halfway through a thick mystery
book. Grandma snores in a chair beside him.
Krishna watches Anjuli tiptoe over to
Grandma, smiling at Grandpa on the way.
Anjuli gently picks up a corner of her grand-
ma’s sari, running her fingers over the golden
threads that catch the lamplight.
“Got’cha!” shouts Grandma, grabbing
Anjuli and pulling her close.
“Grandma!” squeals Anjuli. “I thought
you were asleep!”
“Oh, no,” says Grandpa, glancing up
from his book. “If she were really sleeping,
you would have heard her snoring from the
car.”
“Oh, you rascal,” says Grandma,
laughing.
A SARI IS A LONG PIECE OF COTTON
OR SILK CLOTH WORN WRAPPED AND
DRAPED ABOUT THE BODY.
18
After some hellos, hugs, and kisses,
Grandma cuts up mangoes for everyone.
When they all go to bed, the girls take their
usual spot on the living room’s pullout couch.
Before long, everyone is asleep.
Well, almost everyone.
“Lesson time, short stuff,” says Krishna, a
few inches from Anjuli’s ear.
Anjuli wakes with a gasp and falls out of
bed. Krishna turns on a lamp.
“You’ll need this,” whispers Krishna, toss-
ing Anjuli a heavy old metal flashlight. Still
waking up, Anjuli doesn’t catch it and the
fl shlight hits her in the stomach.
fla
“Oof!” she calls out.
“Shh!” scolds Krishna. “Do you want to
Krishna picks up a clear glass and a thin
scrap of cardboard.
She walks to the bathroom. Light spills
from the edges of the closed door. Krishna
knocks to make sure the bathroom’s empty.
She enters quickly, motioning for Anjuli to
follow. Krishna squints, her eyes getting used
to the light.
Anjuli yawns. “What’s the flashlight for?”
“Advanced bug catching,” says Krishna,
looking up at a moth flying around the light.
“Point your flashlight up there.”
Krishna turns off the bathroom light,
leaving only the light from Anjuli’s flash-
light. The moth keeps flying around the
ceiling.
“Now,” says Krishna, “move the light
down to the wall near me. The mo ill fol-
low, and I’ll put the glass over it.”
 T moth follows Anjuli’s spotlight across
The
the ceiling and down the wall, flying this way
and that around it.
Krishna tries to trap the moth, but it
won’t stay still. She can’t risk rushing and
hurting it. Finally, Krishna sees a split-second
opportunity and makes her move.
“And that’s how it’s done, Anjuli.”
With the moth safely trapped, the girls
head for the front door. On the way, Krishna
trips on a rug and almost falls over.
“Gah! Can’t see anything in here.”
She finds the switch for the overhead light
and flicks it on with her elbow.
“OK, short stuff—open the door so we
can show out our guest and get some sleep,”
whispers Krishna.
“But shouldn’t we turn off—”
“Anjuli! Your next lesson is to listen to
your teacher!” hisses Krishna.
“But if we open—”
“Now!”
Anjuli winces and opens the door for her
sister. As Krishna steps outside, several moths
dart inside to fly around the light.
“Oh,” says Krishna.

A WEEK LATER, they arrive back at

their apartment.
“What a drive,” says Krishna’s mom. “I’m
going to lie down for a while.”
“OK, Mom,” the girls say together.
Krishna pulls a bottle of orange juice
from the refrigerator and sets it on the coun-
ter. As she does, dozens of fruit flies rise from
a nearby bowl of overripe tomatoes.
 “Anjuli!”
“What?” asks Anjuli, dragging her bags.
Krishna points at the spreading cloud of
bugs.
The girls get to work catching and free-
ing the tiny flies. They find them not just by
the tomatoes, but on cabinet doors, bottles of
herbs and spices, hanging pots—every sur-
face, nook, and cranny. Some they scoop right
out of the air.
After half an hour, Krishna worries her
mom will wake up and start swatting.
“There’s too many,” she says. “We’re not
ggoing fast enough.”
“Sorry,” says Anjuli. “I’m trying.”
She’s caught more than I have, thinks
Krishna. “We need a new approach,” she says.
Anjuli looks at her, waiting.
20
“Well,” says Krishna, “have you got any
ideas, sis?”
“Oh!” says Anjuli, her eyes going wide.
“You said they’ll find stuff they like. Why not
put some bait in something they can get into
but not out of?”
Krishna stares at her. Anjuli bites her
lower lip.
“I think you just graduated.”
Anjuli beams.
The girls work together. Anjuli finds
a clean jar in the recycling bin. Krishna
drops in a slice of tomato and a few drops of
vinegar.
“Be careful it’s not too wet in there, or
they could drown,” says Anjuli. Krishna nods.
Anjuli makes a paper cone for the t
the jar to funnel flies inside.
 THOSE GIRLS ARE SMART, BUT
THEY’D NEVER CATCH ME!
OH! MEW!

The trap is set. “A while. Looks like you caught a lot of

Krishna shoos some leftover fruit flies
from the tomatoes and covers the bowl with a
dishcloth. The sisters look at their handiwork,
then back at each other.
“Might as well keep catching any we can,
partner,” says Krishna.
Anjuli smiles and nods.
After a while, they see some flies in the
trap. Krishna takes the trap outside, with
Anjuli managing the door for her. Krishna
lifts out the cone and taps the side of the jar
until all the fruit flies have flown away. When
the girls head back to the kitchen, they see
their mom leaning against the hall wall.
“Hi, Mom,” says Anjuli.
“How long have you been up?” asks
Krishna.
flies there.”
“Yeah,” says Krishna. “The trap was
Anjuli’s idea.”
Their mom sighs. “You two really care
about bugs, don’t you?”
The girls look at each other.
“Yeah,” they both say.
“Well,” says their mom, “from now on,
how about if when I see one, I don’t reach for
my fly swatter—I reach for my great team of
bug catchers instead?”
“Yeah!” says Krishna. “I could show you
how to catch them too, Mom. I’m a really
good teacher. Just ask Anjuli.”
“Bugs were never my favorite subject,”
says the girls’ mom. “I’ll leave it to the
experts.”

Nest
by Charles Ghigna
Delicate as daylight,
Strong as steel,
Deep as a promise,
Round as a wheel.

Dark as a shadow
When sun settles west,
Home to a family—
A robin’s nest.

21
text © 2021 by Charles Ghigna
 Our Lady
Josephine
by Cicely van Straten
WHEN WE LIVED in Uganda, my father, a
physiologist, worked with animals of all kinds, from
elephants to chimps and tiny bush babies. But one of our
favorites was Josephine.
Uganda is a fertile country, and every home had its
shamba—a garden plot of banana trees, coffee bushes, cas-
sava, maize, oranges, and peanuts. And, of course, baboons
love all those delicious things. They used to come down out
of the bush and raid the shambas. People would rush out
and pelt them with stones.
One day a man brought a badly injured young female
baboon to my father, handed her to him, and demanded a
few shillings. My father bought the young baboon and car-
ried her in his arms to his laboratory. He felt she was too
young to die and he wanted to give her a life. He and an
assistant operated on her for hours, repairing her terrible
injuries, and they nursed her through her convalescence,
spoiling her with every treat they could find. They named
her Josephine. Josephine recovered and became devoted to my
father. She was so tame and gentle that she won all hearts,
and my father let her roam free in the grass enclosures around
his laboratories.
Whenever we went to my father’s labs, there was
Josephine sitting in the sun, grooming her legs or pottering
around searching for insects to gobble. She would run to
greet us—my father first. He submitted to having his leg
hairs groomed and his socks and shoes inspected. Nimble
black fingers with neat nails would explore everything to
make sure there were no ticks or fleas on him and would
pick grass seeds from his socks to nibble. If he was wearing

A PHYSIOLOGIST IS A
UGANDA IS IN KIND OF BIOLOGIST.
Illustrated by Jed Alexander EAST AFRICA. BUSH BABIES ARE CONVALESCENCE
22 text © 2021 by C. A. Van Straten, art © 2021 by Jed Alexander SMALL PRIMATES
WITH BIG EYES.
IS THE PROCESS OF
RECOVERY.
 A FOIBLE IS A MINOR WEAKNESS
OR QUIRK OF CHARACTER.

trousers, she would go carefully through the turnups, or cuffs. Only after all that
would she greet us children!
Baboons are omnivorous. They will eat insects, birds’ eggs, even scorpions
with the stings cleverly removed! But their favorite is termites—fat, white, juicy
termites. But also fish. And this was Josephine’s foible. She could not resist fish!
My father’s department at the university was close to the hospital. Every
Friday at lunchtime the smell of cooking fish wafted from the hospital kitchen.
Suddenly Josephine was nowhere to be seen. Then the phone would ring and an
angry voice would announce, “Professor, your baboon is in the kitchen again!
Come and fetch her immediately!”
Dad would hurry over to the kitchen and find Josephine sitting on the fish-
cutting table. The staff stood back respectfully while she held a fish, head in
one hand, tail in the other, and nibbled luxuriously from side to side. She never
 threatened the kitchen staff, never pounced or bit, just calmly entered—
believing she was welcome everywhere—and gobbled as much fish as she
could.
You must never shout at baboons or treat them roughly. My father
only had to stand in the doorway, hold out his hand, and say quietly,
“Josephine.” She would meekly climb down from the table, take his hand,
and be walked home to the labs again. Baboons have large pouches at the
sides of their mouths, and they store food in them. As they walked home,
Josephine would gradually munch through her stolen fish, savoring her
Friday lunch.
Well, the kitchen staff tried shutting the kitchen doors, but Josephine
would appear hopefully at a window. Uganda is hot and steamy. You
can’t cook all day with doors and windows closed. In the end, the cooks
had had enough and threatened to report Dad to “higher authorities.” So
every Friday, after morning tea break, Dad had to fasten a leash around
Josephine’s tummy and tie her to her little wooden house, with a plastic
bowl of legitimate lunch beside her.
Baboons are very intelligent. Some were trained to lead ox wagons.
In South Africa a baboon had been trained by a lame stationmaster to
sweep the floor, push his trolley (jumping on for a free ride when going
HERE, A TROLLEY
IS A SMALL CART downhill), and even to operate the signal box to change the tracks for
WITH WHEELS, approaching trains.
USED LIKE A
WHEELCHAIR. A new faculty building had been erected on the Makerere University
campus. As a member of the University Medical School, my father was
told to prepare a speech for the grand opening.
Now, Dad wasn’t into that sort of thing. He detested long-winded
meetings and speeches and anything official and pompous. So he began
coaching Josephine in secret.
POMPOUS MEANS When the great day arrived, all the university dignitaries assembled
FUSSY AND SELF-
IMPORTANT. outside the new faculty building. A wide, red ribbon had been drawn
RACE YA,
SLUGGO! across the brand-new entrance. Where was my Dad? A bit late, perhaps, as
usual? Then he appeared, suitably dressed for once, in trousers, jacket, and
tie, holding Josephine by the hand. She was carrying a large pair of scis-
sors. My Dad made the shortest speech ever given and then said that the
new building would be officially opened by My Lady. Josephine and he
moved forward to the red ribbon, and with great dignity and correctness,

24
My Lady Josephine raised her scissors and cut the red tape perfectly. After
which no one was allowed to enter the new building before My Lady had
drunk her orange-juice reward on the steps.
Yes, certain official eyebrows were raised and there were mutters
about disrespect, but mostly there was delighted laughter and clapping.
Josephine had won the day and all hearts.

25
 A country woman in a coarse
cotton skirt and a large calico bonnet
hurried along the dark streets of Richmond,
Virginia, her chubby cheeks puffing from
exertion. Pausing beneath a blooming
magnolia tree, she glanced behind her, then
stepped quickly across the manicured lawn
and gardens surrounding one of the most
elegant homes in the city. Slipping inside the
Van Lew mansion, the woman underwent a
transformation. She threw off her bonnet to
unveil fashionably styled hair and discarded
her country clothes for the taffeta dress of
a fine lady. Reaching inside her mouth,
she pulled out wads of cotton. Her chubby
cheeks deflated, revealing a thin, birdlike
face.
Disguising her true identity was how
Elizabeth Van Lew survived during the Civil
War. Unlike other Southerners, Elizabeth
detested slavery. She wrote in her diary that
“No pen, no book, no time can do justice to
the wrongs it honors.” When war broke out, she
led a double life. On the surface she maintained
the appearance of a loyal Southerner; but in
secret, Elizabeth organized a spy ring for the
Union and helped scores of captured Northern
soldiers escape from Confederate prisons.
Patriot in Disguise
by Judy Cummings
26 Illustrated by Tord Nygren
Born in Richmond on October 15, 1818,
Elizabeth grew up pampered and waited
on by slaves. Her father was a wealthy busi-
nessman who regularly entertained rich
and influential visitors at the family man-
sion. Everyone assumed that marriage to a
Virginia planter was Elizabeth’s destiny. But
when she entered her teens, Elizabeth was
sent to Philadelphia to live with her mother’s
relations and attend school. Living in the
North, surrounded by abolitionists, deeply
affected Elizabeth’s views. On a return visit
to Virginia, she met the daughter of a slave
trader, whose father had once sold a woman
and her infant to different buyers at a slave
auction. The girl told Elizabeth that when the
baby was yanked from its mother’s arms, the
woman dropped dead from grief.
Hearing this tale changed Elizabeth’s life.
She begged her father to free their slaves. Mr.
Van Lew refused and in his will prevented the
slaves from being freed even after his death.
When he died in 1843, Elizabeth took a radi-
cal step. She freed the family slaves in secret,
but kept them on as paid servants. Forced to
disguise her unlawful action from Richmond
society, Elizabeth had begun to lead her life
of deception.
 SHE’S SO BRAVE AND
SMART!
Elizabeth was appalled when Virginia
seceded from the Union in April 1861, but she
was also wise enough to be careful. “Loyalty
now was called treason, and cursed,” she wrote.
“If you spoke in your parlor or chamber to
your next of heart, you whispered.”
After the Union defeat at the Battle of
Bull Run in July 1861, hundreds of cap-
tured Yankees were brought to Richmond,
where they were herded into hastily con-
verted tobacco warehouses. Conditions for
the prisoners were deplorable. Infested with
lice, they slept on stone floors. There was
little food, and disease spread rapidly.
While Richmond ladies rushed to
nurse the Confederate wounded,
LIKE ME! I’D MAKE
A GREAT SPY.
Elizabeth’s heart ached for the Northern
soldiers who were fighting to reunite the
country. Claiming to be motivated by
Christian charity toward a forlorn enemy, she
asked permission to nurse the Union prison-
ers. Shocked authorities thought such rough
work not proper for a fine lady, but Elizabeth
charmed her way past the officer in charge of
military camps, Confederate General Winder,
by flattering him on his mane of silver hair.
However, Elizabeth did more than nurse
the men. She brought food to the prison in a
27
 special double-bottomed plate. The false bot-
tom was designed to hold hot water and keep
food warm. Instead, Elizabeth hid money in
it that she secretly passed to the men so they
could bribe the guards for better treatment.
One day a guard looked at the plate suspi-
ciously. On her next visit, Elizabeth left the
money at home. When the guard took
the plate for examination, he received only a
lapful of scalding water.
Conditions for the prisoners worsened as
the war ground on. Cells were stuffed to over-
flowing, men starved to death, and inmates
were hanged from their thumbs as a form
of torture. As the prisoners’ lot grew more
desperate, Elizabeth’s methods became more
daring. Knowing that attempted escapes were
common, she built a secret chamber in her
attic where Yankee soldiers could be concealed
in safety until they were able to flee North.
She stationed some of her servants near the
prison to guide men on the run to her house.
By the end of 1863, word of Elizabeth’s
determined loyalty and pro-Union activi-
ties reached Northern commanders. They
recruited her to spy on Confederate troop
locations, battle plans, and food and ammu-
nition shipments. Elizabeth wrote her
dispatches in a colorless ink that looked like
water but turned black with an application
of milk. She was instructed to write in secret
code in case her messages fell into the wrong
hands. Housewives, merchants, even clerks in
the Confederate War Department were in her
spy ring. Some of Elizabeth’s greatest helpers
were free Blacks, who smuggled messages out
DO WE NEED A
SPY RING?
28
of Richmond hidden in loaves of bread, hol-
low eggs, and the soles of their shoes.
The greatest prison escape of the war
occurred on February 9, 1864, when 109
Union prisoners fled Richmond’s Libby
Prison through a rat-infested 50-foot tunnel
they had dug under the street. The escape
could not have succeeded without Elizabeth.
Her money and connections enabled the
captive men to contact Union sympathiz-
ers outside the prison who would help their
flight to freedom. Although the men sent her
coded messages about their tunnel, progress
was slow and dangerous, and Elizabeth did
not know exactly when they would escape.
She nailed blankets over the windows in her
parlor, prepared beds in her secret room, and
waited.
The night of the breakout, a handful of
men, fearful and in need of refuge, stealthily
made their way to the Van Lew mansion.
But Elizabeth was not home. A family emer-
gency had called her away. Her brother, John,
who had been drafted reluctantly to fight in
the Confederate army, had deserted and gone
into hiding. Donning her country disguise,
Elizabeth snuck out to his hiding place. The
next morning she learned to her horror that
escaped Libby prisoners had been turned awayy
from her house. Her servants had feared they
were Confederate spies.
Elizabeth was desperate. She knew that
when Confederate soldiers scoured Richmond
for the escaped prisoners, they would discover
her fugitive brother also. Knowing she had
to take a chance, she marched to General
WE NEED TO WE HAVE
ENEMIES?
WATCH OUR
ENEMIES!
 Winder’s office to tell of her brother’s deser-
tion and to plead on John’s behalf that a
physical ailment made him unfit for ser-
vice. To disguise her true feelings about the
Confederate cause and her anxiety over the
escaped men who were being recaptured, she
invited Winder and his wife to dinner and
chatted like a loyal Southerner throughout the
meal. Winder agreed to intercede for John,
who survived the war. Meanwhile, Elizabeth
managed to meet secretly with several escaped
Libby prisoners and helped arrange their
transport North.
As the bloody battles of the
war continued, Richmonders
grew increasingly alarmed
about spies and secret
Union sympathizers.
Elizabeth wrote in her diary
of her terror of discovery:
“Visitors apparently friendly
were treacherous . . . I have
turned to speak to a friend and
found a detective at my elbow.
Strange faces could sometimes be
seen peeping around the columns and pillars
of the back portico . . .” In the fall of 1864,
Confederate authorities formally investigated
Elizabeth. They concluded that as a rich
Southern woman she might gossip about
wartime matters, but that she would never
take direct action against the Confederacy.
Once again, Elizabeth’s enemies had under-
estimated her.
Following the war, Elizabeth’s work
for the Union was revealed. Southerners
I’LL MARK MY SECRET CUTE DOTS. BUT WHERE’S
NOTES LIKE THIS, SO YOU’LL THE WRITING? IS THE
KNOW THEY’RE FROM ME! SECRET IN INVISIBLE INK?
30
despised her as a traitor. She had spent
her fortune smuggling men to freedom.
Now Elizabeth was shunned by Richmond
society. In recognition of her service,
President Grant appointed her postmaster of
Richmond. But the family mansion, whose
secret rooms had sheltered so many escaping
soldiers, declined into a decrepit shell of its
former glory. With advancing age Elizabeth
became more isolated in her home, a
strange, frail figure feared and taunted by
children. Memory of her wartime hero-
ics faded.
Elizabeth died on
September 25, 1900. Following
her death, a legend arose that
“Crazy Bet” had wandered
the streets in disheveled
attire during the war, sing-
ing and mumbling to herself,
and pretending to be feeble-
minded to disguise her real
identity as the master of Union
spying in Richmond. But “Crazy
Bet” is a myth. What is true are the
words inscribed on Elizabeth’s tombstone.
They memorialize the courage and sacrifice of
this determined patriot who played the part
of loyal Southerner so intelligently that she
fooled those in power and helped the Union
win the war:
She risked everything that is dear to man—
friends—fortune—comfort—health—life
itself—all for the one absorbing desire of her
heart—that slavery might be abolished and
the Union preserved.
MAYBE THE SECRET
IS: THERE IS NO
SECRET.
 1 2 3 4 5

6 7

8 9 10

11 12 13

14 15 16

17 18

19 20

21 22 23

24

25 26 27

28 29 30

31 32

33 34

Across Down
1. Joyful, merry 1. Friends and _______ gather for a Fourth of July
3. What people fly proudly on the Fourth of July picnic
6. Opposite of p.m. 2. Large flightless bird
7. What you do at Fourth of July picnics 3. Wave this when you’re hot
8. Played by the band LOOK! I CAN 4. Lieutenant (abbreviation)
SPARKLE AT
11. To boast BOTH ENDS! 5. _______ of St. Louis
13. _______grounds 9. Short for Chatterbox, the Cricket online forum
14. Large (abbreviation) 10. Benjamin Franklin was a Founding _______
17. “As American as apple _______” 12. The United States of _______
19. Fourth of July noisemaker 15. Male title of respect
22. _______ of corn 16. Fourth of July potato-sack _______
24. Independence Day month (abbreviation) 17. Outdoor meal
25. Kind of weather you don’t want on the Fourth of 18. Snakelike fishes
July 20. Kansas (abbreviation)
26. Marching _______ 21. Fourth of July procession down Main Street
UGLY KNOWS THESE
29. Stadium 23. Decorated wagons in 21 Down AREN’T TO EAT,
RIGHT? I’M AFRAID
31. Where people go to see lions, tigers, and bears 27. District attorney (abbreviation) HE’S GOING FOR AN
32. Extraterrestrial (abbreviation) 28. _______ as a firecracker or a July day INNER GLOW!

33. The fireworks show is an exciting _______ 30. Divides court in volleyball or tennis
34. “And the _______ red glare” 31. Chemical symbol for zinc
OH, YEAH?
ME, TOO! MEWY
SPARKLE!

31
 The Crow’s Gift of
of Fire
AN AUSTRALIAN ABORIGINAL STORY
retold by Kate Walker

LONG AGO
O IN the Dreamtime of Australia’s Wurundjeri
people, sevven sisters possessed fire that they would not share.
They carrried the fire as glowing coals in the ends of their
digging sticks, and never did those digging sticks leave their
hand . The sisters used their fire to cook yams, lizards,
and ffish. All other beings in the land had to eat their
food d raw: raw roots, raw eel, and raw meat. Then one
dayy the sisters made a careless mistake.
They finished their meal and spread sand over
the ashes of their secret cooking place. They hadn’t
noticed a small yam left behind in the ashes. But
young Crow spotted it. He had sharp eyes, and an
even sharper curiosity. The instant the sisters left,
Crow swooped down and pecked at the little yam.
And it was delicious! So soft! So sweet! It was the
he’d
best food he d ever tasted!

ABORIGINAL REFERS TO YAMS ARE CHUNKY ROOT

Illustrated by Lydia Hess THE INDIGENOUS OR NATIVE VEGETABLES, AKIN TO SWEET
32 text © 2021 by Kate Walker, art © 2021 Lydia Hess PEOPLE OF AUSTRALIA. POTATOES. YAM YUM!
 Clever Crow knew immediately the
treasure he had found. The precious fire
belonging to the sisters made tough food ten-
der and raw food sweet. On the spot, Crow
vowed to steal the fire and keep it for himself.
Crow was as beautiful as he was clever.
He had pure white feathers and could talk
anyone into anything. But before he went
in search of the sisters, he spent the morn-
ing preparing a plan. First, he dug a deep
hole down into the middle of a large termite
mound. Next, he scoured the countryside
catching the biggest, angriest snakes he could
find. One by one he dropped them into
the termite mound, and from being
lumped together the snakes grew
angrier still.
This was exactly what Crow wanted.
With everything ready, he flew down to the
river where he knew the sisters would be
found. As usual, each had her digging stick in
hand, and at the end of each stick was a pre-
cious glowing coal.
Crow greeted them by spreading his
snowy wings and bowing his head.
“Sisters,” he trilled, “I have made a great
find.”
The sisters greeted him as respectfully.
“What have you found, young Crow?”
they asked.
“It is so good a find it must be shared,” he
said, dancing about flashing more of his fine
white feathers. “It is a mound of termites! Full
of juicy larvae! Full of tangy, young ants! I’ve
been feasting all morning and wish others to
enjoy them, too.”
TERMITES BUILD LARGE
NESTS ABOVE GROUND.
THEY CAN GET VERY BIG!
Termites were a delicacy, most especially
plump larvae and crisp young ants. The sisters
thanked Crow and followed him eagerly as he
flew off toward the mound.
The termite nest was as big as a boulder,
made of gray earth and noisy, too.
“Can you hear how many termites are
inside?” Crow warbled.
The sisters could indeed hear a great noise
of activity inside.
“These termites are the fattest I’ve ever
eaten.” Crow now staggered to show how full
he was from the morning’s feast.
The sisters immediately used their dig-
ging sticks to break open the termite mound.
Only what spilled out was not termites, it
was a tangle of writhing, angry snakes! The
snakes were so enraged they attacked the
sisters, though it was the sisters who had set
them free. The seven women had to use their
digging sticks to fend them off. They had to
fight so hard that the live coals flew from the
ends of their sticks and tumbled away across
the ground—which was exactly what Crow
had been waiting for.
He swooped. One by one he picked
up the scattered coals with a piece of bark.
He carried each coal back to a tree where a
kangaroo-skin bag hung in readiness. Crow
dropped all seven coals into the bag. Too late
the sisters realized their fire coals had been
stolen. The last they saw of Crow were his
white wings flapping away and the bag dan-
gling from his silver beak.
The sisters could not follow him, but
there was another who could. All morning,
33
 Eaglehawk had watched young Crow catch
snakes and prepare his plan. Eaglehawk had
also seen him find the piece of yam and dance
about, warbling to the world he’d never tasted
anything so good. So when Crow flew off,
Eaglehawk followed. He was an old bird and
every bit as clever as Crow. He had understood
immediately the value of the stolen fire.
As soon as Crow settled in his favorite
tree, Eaglehawk settled on the branch below.
Unlike Crow, Eaglehawk never lied. His
words were truthful and plain.
“I saw what you put in the bag,” he said.
“It was coals for making fire—fire that can
soften and sweeten food. Will you give me a
coal so I can cook a possum?” he asked.
Crow laughed. Like the sisters, he wanted
to keep the treasure all for himself. But old-
man Eaglehawk was a large bird, and it was
not wise to refuse him.
So Crow said, “Catch your possum, old
man, and I’ll cook him for you.” Which he
did. Crow cooked the possum in the tree,
then threw it down to Eaglehawk on the
branch below.
The cooked possum still smoldered, and
Eaglehawk blew on it. If he could bring a
little flame to life, he could make a piece of
living coal himself and forever after have fire
that he might use. But the smoldering pos-
sum would not flame. It did, however, give
off a wonderful aroma—a sweet smell that
wafted across the land, bringing a group of
Wurundjeri people to the place.
They had seen Crow cook the possum in
the tree and now called up to him, “Share the
CELESTIAL MEANS
HEAVENLY. I KNOW
SOMEBODY LIKE THAT!
34
fire with us so we, too, can have food that is
tender and sweet!”
Again Crow laughed and this time
swooped from his branch and flew away.
The people followed him, and as they did,
more Wurundjeri joined them. Then many
of their neighbors, too, who had smelled
the delicious aroma of cooked meat. Soon,
whatever tree Crow perched in, a large crowd
gathered below.
“You must share your fire with us!” they
cried out.
Some threw stones. Some shook his tree.
Others began to climb it.
Crow grew angry. As angry as the snakes
he’d trapped earlier, and to fight off the
crowd, he used the only weapon he had. He
pelted the people below with live coals from
his bag. The bush was touched with fire for
the first time and burst into wild, crackling
flames. Within minutes fire raced across
the land, threatening to destroy everything.
Old-man Eaglehawk left his meal of pos-
sum and soared into the air. He called on the
Wurundjeri people and their neighbors to
help put out the fire.
Finally, they did. The fire was hemmed in
with stones, but not before the seven sisters had
been swept away by it into the sky. There they
remain today. The glowing points of their celes-
tial fire sticks form the stars of the Pleiades.
After the fire died down, glowing coals
were scattered everywhere across the land.
Without meaning to, Crow had given
Aboriginal people the gift of fire. The people
collected coals and preserved them. They
THE PLEIADES, ALSO KNOWN
AS THE SEVEN SISTERS, IS
A STAR CLUSTER IN THE
CONSTELLATION TAURUS.
learned to cook food and use fire for harden- Crow survived the fire, but his beautiful
ing wood and keeping warm. They also began white feathers were turned black from being
to use fire for hunting, to clear paths through singed. To this day all crows are black with
the bush, and to help new plants grow. not a single white feather anywhere.

Author’s Note My story is based on a myth belonging to the Wurundjeri people, the tradi-
tional owners of the Birrarung (Yarra River) valley area where present-day Melbourne stands.
Dreamtime is the time before history in which Aboriginal spirit beings created all things. It
is usual for Aboriginal Dreamtime stories to have several different versions. As clans and tribal
groups merged and divided, elements of their traditional stories changed over many years of
verbal telling. There are also many different stories dealing with the acquisition of fire. Each
tribal area had its own mythology.
My own Aboriginal heritage is that of the Dhurag people of the Hawkesbury River dis-
trict of New South Wales.

35
 The great explorer Captain James Cook Australian
stepped ashore in Australia in 1770 and claimed it for Aboriginal
Britain. He saw no land being farmed by the native people in arid
inhabitants. To an Englishman this meant nobody owned areas lived a
nomadic life.
the land, and therefore it was free to take. Except, two
hundred years later, Captain Cook was proved wrong.

Farming with Fire by K ate WalKer

The Hunter-Gatherer Puzzle
Australia’s Aboriginal peoples were tradi-
tionally hunters and gatherers. Men fished,
and hunted large game such as kangaroo and
wallaby. Women hunted small animals such
as lizards, and gathered plants and seeds. But
a young archaeologist, Rhys Jones, became
baffled when studying Aboriginal culture in
the 1960s. How, he wondered, had these peo-
ple survived by hunting and gathering alone,
especially in one of the most desolate land-
scapes on earth? In his view it was impossible!
So how had they survived?
A WALLABY IS A KIND OF
SMALL KANGAROO.
KA-BOING-KA-BOING!
Just as amazed were early British colo-
nists who stepped ashore and found vast
grasslands dotted about with thickets of
trees. Why, they wondered, had trees grown
in clumps rather than spread evenly across
the land? The colonists did not look for
answers. But Professor Rhys Jones did, and
by delving deeper into age-old Aboriginal
foraging practices, he uncovered a startling
fact. Aboriginal people had guaranteed the
success of their hunting and gathering by
farming their environment. And their main
farming implement was fire.

36 text © 2021 by Kate Walker

 A FIRE STICK IS A PIECE OF WOOD IN WHICH
AN EMBER BURNS SLOWLY FOR MANY DAYS
AND CAN BE USED TO LIGHT ANOTHER FIRE.
Fire-Stick Farming
The vast grasslands found by early colo-
nists had been created over many thousands of
years by Aboriginal hunters. They had cleared
parts of the bush by burning away trees and
scrub, and leaving the grass to grow thick and
lush. This sweet, new growth attracted large
numbers of kangaroos and wallabies. Thus, by
creating fresh, grassy pastures, hunters did not
need to scour the bush in search of game. They
knew exactly where the animals would be at
any given time. This made their hunting highly
efficient and guaranteed year-round supplies of
fresh meat.
Hunters purposely left thickets of trees
dotted about the grasslands. These thickets
gave animals places to shelter and hide, which
encouraged them to remain and graze for months
at a time. The thickets also gave hunters cover
when creeping up on their prey. A kangaroo
taken by surprise in open grassland was readily
brought down by a hunting party with boomer-
angs and spears. This ingenious method of land
management and animal control Professor Rhys
Jones labeled fire-stick farming.
Fire-Stick Farming Skills
It took years of skill and knowledge to farm
the harsh Australian landscape with fire. Those
who laid the fire had to know every hillock, A WADI IS
DRY RAVINE
wadi, and creek in the area. They needed a his- OR RIVERBED.
tory of previous burns, and knowledge of when
the rains would come. They also had to know
intimately the plants and animals of an area, and
the ancestral beings connected to that place.
In dry country, for example, firing took place
in winter, ahead of the spring rains. As well as
renewing grassy pastures, fire also produced new
Aboriginal people used fire to create
grasslands where kangaroo could
feed and be successfully hunted.
 An Aboriginal elder teaches children
traditional fire-stick land management.
growth of edible plants that were part of a
traditional Aboriginal diet. These food plants
included tree shoots, ferns, and leaves, all of
which were tastier and more nutritious when
eaten young. Fire-stick farming guaranteed
supplies of plant food as well as meat.
Burn Patterns
The land was always fired a section at a
time in mosaics or burn patterns, and fire was
always started upwind of known firebreaks.
Once started, a fire was shepherded over many
days toward those breaks, where it would burn
itself out naturally. Large animals such as
kangaroo could easily flee the fire zone. Small
animals could shelter underground protected
by the soil as the cool fire—a short-lived brush
fire that does not destroy trees, seeds, or soil
nutrients—passed overhead.
Fire could never spread into a sacred site.
Nor could it enter the territory of another
38
clan. Punishment for firing
the land of a neighboring clan
could be severe, as it might
threaten their food supply or
destroy their sacred totems.
Then four or five years after
an area was burned, tough
grass such as spinifex would
take over and crowd out the
edible plants. This tough grass
was what provided fuel for the
next firing. Fire-stick farming
was a long-term undertaking,
carried out over many years.
And rather than damage the
environment, it burned away only old plant
growth, leaving new plants to flourish.
Modern Fire-Stick Farming
Today in Arnhem Land, in the north of
Australia, Aboriginal people again clear and
cultivate their land using fire. Modern rural
fire services throughout Australia also practice
fire-stick land management now. In cooler
months, firefighters purposely set fire to the
bush to burn away old, dry wood. This back
burning reduces the fuel load and makes
summer bush fires—hot fires—less ferocious
and more easily controlled.
Captain Cook, in his journal, often wrote
about smoke rising from the Australian bush
and native fires burning through the night. Yet
he failed to see what was right before his eyes.
Australia’s Aboriginal people had been farming
their land for tens of thousands of years, not
with plows and fences, but with fire.
 WE YAY!
GREAT!
I’VE GOT ADD THEM WE HAVE GET MORE
SOME MORE TO THE TO READ EVERY DAY!
READER PILE. SHOULDN’T WE THEM WE’LL NEVER
SUGGESTIONS PUT THEM ON FIRST! FINISH THEM
FOR YOU. THE SHELVES? ALL.

Ca m p dead, so Stella and Angel have to take cally engineered

by Kayla Miller care of the cottages themselves without soldiers who had
anyone finding out about Louise. Will special powers. For
Olive and Willow,
their secret be uncovered? Find out in Zara St. James, life
two BFFs, are going
Summer of the Gypsy Moths. couldn’t get worse
to a two-week
Sylvia Beach, age 10 as a subhuman who
sleepaway camp in
Portland, Oregon can control wind
the summer. Olive
and possibly control
is excited to meet
W h e re t h e Re d Fe r n G row s electricity, unless
new people, while
by Wilson Rawls there was some way
Willow is the opposite. When Olive
Where the Red Fern Grows is a story of for the Nazi Empire to be removed.
quickly bonds with the other campers,
sweetness, kindness, loyalty, joy, and She joins the resistance on a risky first
Willow is left jealous and alone. A fight
sadness. It is about mission to kill the Führer on television.
soon jeopardizes their friendship. Will
Billy and his two Can she do it?
they still be friends by the end of camp?
coon hounds. They Shivaji S., age 12
This graphic novel teaches readers that
make an excellent Naperville, Illinois
making new friends doesn’t come easy
for everybody. team hunting coons
until tragedy strikes T h e Wo n d e r l i n g
HorseGirl, age 11
on their final hunt. by Mira Bartók
via Chatterbox
This broke Billy’s In a world divided by humans, animals,
S u m m e r o f t h e Gy p s y M o t h s heart. This book and groundlings, human-animal or
by Sara Pennypacker made me laugh and animal-animal hy-
cry. And I always brids, there lived a
Stella lives with her great-aunt
wanted to turn to the next page. You fox groundling who
Louise and a foster kid named Angel.
would love this book if you love dogs. has no name except
Suddenly, Louise
Kal Eskridge, age 9 13, the number as-
dies, and they are
Birmingham, Alabama signed to him by
left to fend for
the warden of the
themselves. A man
T h e O n l y T h i n g to F e a r orphanage where he
named George
by Caroline Tung Richmond lives. With the help
expects Louise to
It has been a brutal eighty years for of a newly made friend, he must find a
take care of four
the world. The Axis forces have won way to escape and keep himself safe.
summer cottages
World War II by producing geneti- Rhonie Friedman, age 11
nearby, but she is
Los Angeles, California

Do you have a favorite book? Email your review (75 words or less) to cricket@cricketmagkids.com or mail to
Cricket Readers Recommend, P.O. Box 300, Peru, IL 61354. Please include your name, age, and address.
Visit Cricket Readers Recommend online at www.cricketmagkids/books
or Blab About Books at www.cricketmagkids.com/chatterbox. 39
 The
Gardener’s Son
The Story of the Smallpox Vaccine
Part 2
James Phipps is an eight-year-old boy whose
father is a gardener on the estate of Dr. Edward
Jenner in Gloucestershire, England. The doctor’s
greenhouse is filled with exotic plants and fruits,
like oranges, but they are reserved for honored
guests, and James often wonders how an orange
would taste.
Dr. Jenner is fighting an outbreak of small-
pox, a terrible disease that causes painful blisters,
high fever, and often death, usually leaving sur-
vivors pockmarked with ugly scars. Up to this
time, the only defense against smallpox was vari-
olation, a treatment in which drops of pus from a
smallpox blister were rubbed into a cut made on
a patient’s arm. Variolation could be dangerous
and painful, since it infected patients with the
smallpox virus. But those treated generally devel-
T H E FO LLOW I N G W E E K,
James awakened feeling clammy and a bit
shaky. At breakfast he had only a spoonful of
his porridge. Mother placed her hand on his
forehead.
“James, I believe you have a fever,” she
said. “No work for you today. I’ll fetch you
a cup of tea.” James returned to bed, feel-
ing unwell but pleased to be excused from
his weeding. As he settled under the quilt,
by Melissa S. Tesher
40
oped less serious cases of smallpox than if they had
caught the disease naturally, and afterward they
were immune from smallpox.
Dr. Jenner was aware that fair-skinned
Gloucestershire milkmaids seemed to develop an
immunity to smallpox once they had contracted
cowpox, a much milder disease caught from
infected cows. He was convinced that purposely
infecting his patients with the relatively harm-
less cowpox virus would make them immune to
smallpox. To test his theory, on May 14, 1796, he
takes a few drops of liquid from the cowpox sores
of milkmaid Sarah Nelmes and rubs the cow-
pox virus into a cut on James’s arm. Dr. Jenner
expects James to show mild symptoms of cowpox,
and afterward to be immune from smallpox—a
treatment Dr. Jenner calls vaccination.
he glanced at the healing inoculation on the
back of his forearm. A few inches up from
his wrist, he noticed a round pink sore with
an indentation in the center. The next day
he again awakened with chills, and a pain
behind his eyes.
That afternoon, Dr. Jenner stopped by the
Phipps cottage. He held James’s arm up to the
light by the window. Dr. Jenner was normally
calm and measured, as befit a gentleman, but
THE INOCULATION IS WHERE
JAMES WAS INFECTED WITH
THE COWPOX VIRUS.

today he spoke quickly, with great excitement.
“Yes, all is proceeding just as I had hoped,” he
said, a bit breathless. He bid James’s mother
good afternoon.
The following day, James was well enough
to eat at the table and help his mother sweep
the dirt floor of their cottage. The next morn-
ing, James was back in the garden. This time
he hurried to his work without urging. Over
the following weeks, the sore on his arm
shriveled into a scar and was forgotten.
O N A S W E LT E R I N G August day,
James was skipping stones at the fishpond when
he heard Father’s voice echoing down the hill.
Illustrated by Bethanne Andersen
text © 2021 Melissa S. Tesher, art © 2021 by Bethanne Andersen
“James, come at once!” he called. Father
was perspiring and out of breath. “Dr. Jenner
has asked for you, and right away.”
The two hurried back to the Jenner estate.
To James’s great surprise, Father ushered him
into the cool front room of the main house.
James looked abashedly at his dirty bare feet
on the fine carpet. Dr. Jenner was sitting at
his desk by the window. Two other men were
there as well, with the formal suitcoats and
pale skin of wealthy city men.
“Well, James,” said Dr. Jenner. “The pox
is now broken out in earnest. Thousands have
died in London. It’s time to test that cowpox.”
“What . . . what do you mean, sir?” James
asked.
“Perhaps you should tell him, Mr.
Phipps,” answered Dr. Jenner, looking at
James’s father.
Mr. Phipps cleared his throat. “James, you
are to be variolated. If the cowpox worked as
Dr. Jenner thinks, you won’t get sick. And
you must be protected from the smallpox one
way or another.”
Now James saw that the London men
had brought with them a glass vial, and that
Dr. Jenner’s instruments were laid out on the
desk. He was not afraid of the procedure.
The cut Dr. Jenner had made for the cow-
pox had hurt, but no more than when he’d
fallen and scraped his knee on the flagstones
in the courtyard. No, it was the illness he
dreaded—the many days of high fever, the
risk of spreading rash. He knew that people
sometimes even died from variolation, though
not often.
ABASHEDLY MEANS WITH
EMBARRASSMENT.
41
 “Dr. Greene, Dr. Collins, this is
the boy.” Dr. Jenner pointed to James
as he spoke. “I vaccinated him with the
cowpox in June. The incubation period
was seven days, as expected. Symptoms
were mild fever and ague, and he
developed a single cluster of pox at the
vaccination site. He was completely
recovered within three days’ time.”
Dr. Jenner’s hand felt cool as he
grasped James’s wrist and showed
the city doctors the small, puckered-
looking scar, then went on speaking.

INCUBATION IS THE TIME AGUE IS CHILLS

IT TAKES SOMETHING TO AND SWEATS.
42 GROW OR DEVELOP.
 “I will now perform variolation via the
usual method, on the other arm. Normally
I would expect symptoms of being infected
with smallpox to develop within ten days, two
weeks at most. In this case, I am hoping he
will show no reaction at all—that the cowpox
vaccine has made him immune to smallpox.”
One of the city doctors looked James in
the eye. “You are a brave boy indeed,” he said.
James was unsure whether this was true.
However, Dr. Jenner, the city doctors, and
most of all Father, were watching him so
expectantly that he thought he’d best behave
as if it were.
James sat down on the wooden bench that
had been provided next to Dr. Jenner’s desk
and rolled up his own right sleeve.
“I’m ready.”
T H E N E X T W E E K James was so
apprehensive, he could barely sleep. Every
cough or tickle of James’s nose brought new
anxiety. Every few days Dr. Jenner would look
carefully at James’s arm, place a hand on his
forehead, and put his ear to his chest. Each
day, he pronounced him well. At last, two full
weeks was complete without a symptom, not
even a sore where Dr. Jenner had inoculated
the smallpox.
“It worked! It really worked!” James
exclaimed after Dr. Jenner checked him over,
finding not a single pockmark.
More city doctors arrived at the Chantry
to speak with Dr. Jenner, and to meet James
and examine his arm. James sat awkwardly
on the wooden bench, this time wearing his
Sunday shoes, while Dr. Jenner told the story
of his vaccination and of his lack of response
to the smallpox variolation. The men glanced
at James, murmured, and wrote in their
notebooks.
“All of my tenants are now vaccinated,
and more cowpox serum is on its way through
the countryside. We may yet save thousands
of lives,” Dr. Jenner concluded.
James stood, meaning to head toward his
family’s cottage to leave his shoes and return
to help Father in the garden. Dr. Jenner
stopped him. “One moment, James.”
What now? thought James
with alarm.
Dr. Jenner
looked at James
solemnly,
but his eyes
twinkled. He
reached into
his waistcoat
pocket and put
something round
and golden into
James’s hand—a whole
orange.
D R . J E N N E R ’ S D I S C O V E RY
was, at first, met with skepticism. Within a
few months, though, the quiet of the Chantry
was disturbed by near-daily visitors. Scientists,
doctors, and newspapermen rode through
the gates, all seeking Dr. Jenner. Vials of the
cowpox were sent by fast coach all over the
country, wherever outbreaks of smallpox were
43
 HOORAY FOR SCIENCE!

feared. Poor tenant farmers came as well, by
wagon or on foot. Soon the lines grew so long
that Dr. Jenner hired assistants and created a
vaccination clinic in the summerhouse, where
all who wished could receive the vaccine free
of charge. Often, James would be called from
the greenhouse, where his father was teach-
ing him to tend the palms and pineapples, to
show his scar and tell his tale, urging the visi-
tors not to be afraid.

Edward Jenner
AUTHOR’S NOTE Variolation was practiced by many
cultures in Africa, Asia, and China, long before it became
known to Europeans in the eighteenth century. Several other
individuals, particularly Benjamin Jesty, had tested cowpox
vaccination on a small scale, before it was publicized and
popularized by Edward Jenner. At first others were hesi-
tant to try the new technique, but by 1800 vaccination was
being recommended by physicians and scientists throughout
England, as well as in most European countries.
Dr. Jenner’s vaccine proved as important and effective
in the Americas as it was in Europe. Scientists had not yet
discovered a method for safely storing vaccine serum for long
periods. However, they soon realized that cowpox could be
transmitted directly arm-to-arm, and the lifesaving technique
was brought across the ocean by a human chain of direct
vaccination. One of Edward Jenner’s most prized possessions
was a wampum belt received as a gift from Native American
leaders, grateful to have a means to halt this terrible disease that had decimated their communities.
In 1977, smallpox was declared eradicated—that is, completely wiped out around the world—and
now exists only in a few laboratories, where
it is carefully studied under high security.
No one in the world has died from small-
pox—one of the most feared diseases of all
time—in nearly forty years. The Chantry,
where Edward Jenner lived and worked, is now
a museum, and visitors can see the famous
summerhouse or “Temple of Vaccination.” The
hide of Blossom—the cow from which Sarah
Nelmes contracted cowpox—is on display at
St. George’s University School of Medicine,
also in England. The Temple of Vaccination
44
 WHAT
DRAMA!

WHAT
TALENT!

WAIT FOR ME!

WINNERS
M AR CH 2 0 21 P HOT O G RA PHY CO N T E ST
Through My Lens

First prize 10 and under First prize 10 and under First prize 11 and up
Guadalupe T., age 9 Niso K., age 9 Rina L., age 13
Lutherville, MD Los Angeles, CA Pittsboro, NC

Hawaii Dreaming American White Ibis

Second prize 10 and under Second prize 10 and under Second prize 10 and under
Giada A., age 9 Gwyneth D., age 10 Presley B., age 10
New Milford, CT Morrilton, AR Chagrin Falls, OH

45
 Second prize 11 and up Second prize 11 and up Second prize 11 and up
Carl M., age 12 Delaney B., age 12 Nadia K., age 11
Gaithersburg, MD Thousand Oaks, CA Tenants Harbor, ME

Orb Weaver Spider A Seed’s Beauty Double Rainbow over Rockland Maine Harbor

Thiird prize 10 and under

Evelyn B., age 8
Newark, DE Third prize 10 and under
T
Farah R., age 9
La Quinta, CA

Amazing Ways
Nature Survives

CAN YOU SPOT

THE HORNED
LIZARD?

OH, WELL! IT CAN STILL BE A LADYBUG! MEWY MADE

E ERIENCE. HELLO. A SHELTER!
MEWY TWIGS!
AND IF NOT...
LET’S HOPE WE
FIND THEM IN
I WON TIME!
HOW TH
NOT-SO SAFELY, I HEY, CRICKET. LOOK–
CAMP U HOPE. BUT PUSSYWILLOW BUILT A
IS GOI IT’S A SHAME CAMPFIRE! SHE FOUND
PUSS WON’T YUMMY BERRIES FOR
GET HER SOLO NOT TO ALARM ANYONE, BUT I
SMELL SOMETHING BURNING. DINNER, TOO.
BADGE...

AND YOUR, A
UMMM, BEAR?!
GUESTS? WE LIKE MEETING YOU DI
NEW FRIENDS. FRESH WEL AND, LOOK! I MADE
O PUSS
TT E BLOOD, SO TO SPEAK... NO! N YOU SHOULD DON’T WORRY,
A NICE
YOU A SPECIAL BADGE
ONE’S GOT THINGS SORRY, THAT’S A TICK FOR . HAVE SEEN OUR HE TOOK ONE FOR SURVIVING A
JOKE, HA HA. THA . LOOK AT US WARMUP CAMPING TRIP WITH
UNDER CONTRO ! NEW “FRIENDS” FOR YO R
SO WE’RE JUSTT (SHIVE HANDLE THAT AND FLED! S HELP.
IT’S OUR SOLO.
VISITING. CARE FOR MARAUDING
A HEARTY BEAR!! SUPERPOWER.
WARM MEWY YAY!!
BEVERAGE?

46
 Third prize 10 and under Third prize 11 and up Honorable Mention
John E., age 10 Jaiden B., age 13 Abigail L., age 12, South Lake Tahoe, CA.
Exton, PA Chagrin Falls, OH Daphne S., age 9, Charlottesville, VA. Eden H.,
age 9, Brandon, SD. Elena G., age 15, Fortson,
GA. Emi M., age 9, New Haven, CT. Emma B.,
age 11, Wellington, FL. Erica E., age 11, Exton, PA.
Eva T., age 14, Hyattsville, MD. Éva T., age 11,
Sacramento, CA. Joy M., age 7, Rockville, MD.
Lucy R., age 8, Montecito, CA. Marlo G., age 9,
Forest Hills, NY. Olivia A., age 10, Poway, CA.
Orlanda M., age 11, Port Townsend, WA.
Sonja B., age 6, Alameda, CA. Tang L., age 8,
Palmetto Bay, FL. Tyler R., age 10, Montecito, CA.
Violet R., age 12, Berwyn Heights, MD. Yan L.,
age 4, Palmetto Bay, FL.
To s e e m o r e w i n n i n g C r i c ke t L e a g u e
11 and up
e n t r i e s , v i s i t o u r we b s i t e :
Jonah V., age 12 c r i c ke t m a g k i d s . c o m /c o n t e s t s
New York, NY
Solution to Crossbird Puzzle
S T E K C O R T N E V E
34 33

T E O O Z D
32 31

A N E R A H C A
30 29 28

O D N A B N I A R
27 26 25

L J N C S N A
24

F R A E I L C P
23 22 21

R E K C A R C E R I F P
20 19

T H A E E I P Y
18 17

I T R M S G L
16 15 14

R I A F G A R B I
13 12 11

I F N C I S U M
10 9 8

P T A E M A
7 6

S G A L F E V I T S E F
5 4 3 2 1

Acknowledgments continued from inside front cover

N E W P O E T RY CO N T E S T: S U M M E R ! Grateful acknowledgment is given to the following publishers and copyright
owners for permission to reprint selections from their publications. All
It’s summer at last! What a great time to get outside with friends, splash in the community possible care has been taken to trace ownership and secure permission for
each selection.
pool, and maybe start a new hobby—like raising bees! For this month’s contest, everybuggy “I’ve Got to Hold a What?” text © 2014 by Katherine W. Folkes, art © 2014
by Mark Brewer.
would love to read your best poem about the joys and adventures of summer. “Santa’s Summer Vacation” text © 2007 by J. Patrick Lewis, art © 2007 by
Darren Thompson.
Will you write about your favorite outdoor activities, like playing baseball, or skate- “Patriot in Disguise” art © 2009 by Tord Nygren.
boarding, or hiking in the mountains? Maybe your poetry will be inspired by your adventures Photo acknowledgements: 11-14 (BG) Tatiana Goncharuk/Shutterstock.com;
11 (LT) thka/Shutterstock.com; 11 (RB) Jaroslav Moravcik/Shutterstock.com;
at summer camp or trying to earn money at a summer job. You could write about observing 12 (LT) goodluz/Shutterstock.com; 12 (RB) Ververidis Vasilis/Shutterstock.
com; 13 (RT) Lipatova Maryna/Shutterstock.com; 13 (BC) Keep Moment/
nature in summer, like watching robins search for worms in your backyard (sorry, George Shutterstock.com; 14 (LT) GRACIELLADEMONNE/Shutterstock.com;
and Tail). Or you might write a funny poem about your battle with summer bugs or wilting 14 (RC) OlgaKot17/Shutterstock.com; 15 (BG) Tatyana Mi/Shutterstock.
com; 21 (BC) Lost Mountain Studio/Shutterstock.com; 22-25 (BG) Brandi
in the summer heat. You could even imagine the perfect summer vacation for your dog. B/Shutterstock.com; 30 (CC) National Park Service; 36-38 (BG) Andrey
Kozhekin/Shutterstock.com; 36 (TC) W.A. Cawthorne; 37 (BC) Joseph Lycett,
Maybe, like Santa, he’d like to dip his toes in the ocean, too! ca. 1775-1828/National Library of Australia; 38 (LT) Penny Tweedie/Alamy
Stock Photo; 40-44 (BG) Anastasia Panfilova/Shutterstock.com; 44 (LC)
Whether you write about marching in a Fourth of July parade, enjoying a long-delayed chrisdorney/Shutterstock.com; 44 (RB) David Stowell.
family vacation, or just reading quietly under a shady tree, everybuggy in Cricket Country
July/August 2021, Volume 48, Number 9 © 2021, Cricket Media. All rights
will be cooling off in the wading pool and sipping ice tea in their sunglasses as they wait to reserved, including right of reproduction in whole or in part, in any form. Address
correspondence to CRICKET, 1 East Erie Street, Suite 525, PMB4136, Chicago, IL
enjoy your best poem—of 24 lines or less, please—about summer. 60611. For submission information and guidelines, see cricketmedia.com. We
are not responsible for unsolicited manuscripts or other material. All letters and
contest entries accompanied by parent or guardian signatures are assumed to
be for publication and become the property of Cricket Media. For information
Contest Rules regarding our privacy policy and compliance with the Children’s Online Privacy
1. Your contest entry must be your very own original work. 4. Only one entry per person, please. Protection Act, please visit our website at cricketmedia.com or write to us at CMG
COPPA, 1751 Pinnacle Drive, Suite 600, McLean, VA 22102.
Ideas and words should not be copied. 5. If you want your work returned, enclose a self-addressed,
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3. Be sure to include your name, age, and full address on 8. We will publish winning entries in the November/ Printed in the United States of America.
your entry. December 2021 issue and on the Cricket website. 1st Printing Quad
Sussex, Wisconsin June 2021

47
 B U S Y A S A bee. Make a beeline for home. Have you heard these old
sayings? Just watch a honeybee zoom from flower to flower; then, when it has
gathered all the nectar it can carry, watch it head home to its hive in a straight
line—without any detours.
My friend Dorothy Morgan tells me that many thousands of years ago,
home for a honeybee was probably a nest in an isolated dry cave or in a hollow
tree. After people developed a taste for honey eight or ten thousand years ago,
they began robbing the honey from bees’ nests. But the nests were in inconve-
nient places, and humans began to think about moving the bees closer to their
dwellings. The first beekeeper’s hive may have been a short hollow log.
In 1900 a German expedition excavated the Temple of the Sun in Egypt.
Built about 2600 B.C., the walls of the temple held picture relief carvings of
nine stacked beehives. Unlike familiar box-shaped hives, these hives were long
tubes with tapered ends. They appeared to be made of baked clay or Nile
River mud, similar to the mud pipe beehives used in southern Egypt today.
Historians believe that early Egyptian beekeepers moved their hives on
rafts up the 1ong, northward-flowing Nile River. If the beekeepers placed
their bee-laden rafts on the river when flowers began to bloom in the south,
they could follow the plants as they blossomed along the river all the way
north to Cairo. There, markets were eager to buy the honey that the very
small, bright orange Egyptian bee had made on its journey up the Nile.
Now, that’s what I call a well-traveled honeybee!

48
 Photos Shutterstock.com

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