wildflowers she’d picked along with the asters.
I probably should have written my essay on the wildflowers of Ohio
, she thought.
That would have been an easy one for me to write about, and it would have been real interesting, too.
“Look at the pretty flowers Mattie picked for me on the way home from school today,” Mom announced to everyone after their silent prayer and she’d started passing around the food.
“Jah, and Mark told me the ones that look like daisies are called asters,” Mattie explained. “Then Mom told me that they’re also called Christmas daisies.”
Everyone listened intently as Mattie shared this newfound information.
“Did you find out what the other ones are called?” Mom asked winking at Mattie.
“Uh-huh. Those deep purple ones are called ironweed, and the pink ones with the rounded clusters are called joe–pye,” Mattie was pleased to announce.
“That’s very interesting,” Dad said. “How did you get to know all of that?”
“I looked it up in the wildflower book Grandma and Grandpa Miller gave to me on my birthday.”
Mattie went on to tell that joe-pye sort of smelled like vanilla. She’d also learned that this particular wildflower had once been used for healing purposes by some Native American tribes. The ironweed was also used as medicine during the 1800s and after the Civil War.
“Plus,” Mattie added with a smile, seeing that she had everyone’s full attention, “some of our state’s most beautiful butterflies, including the monarch and tiger swallowtail, love to flit around joe-pye and sip its nectar.”
“What about the Great Spangled Fritillary?” Mark asked. “Remember, we saw one of those the day we sat at the roadside stand.”
“That’s right, I almost forgot. The book said that one of our common butterflies, which is the Great Spangled Fritillary, loves the joe-pye flower, too.” Mattie passed Mark the bowl of macaroni salad. “Danki for reminding me about that one.”
Mattie’s brothers, and even little Ada, clapped after Mattie’s very detailed report on what she’d learned, and Mattie was pleased that her parents nodded their heads in approval.
“It’s a good thing I told Mattie not to pick the goldenrod she saw first,” Mark said. “She forgot that Perry’s allergic to it.”
“You’re right, he most certainly is.” Mom gave Mattie’s arm a little pat. “So I’m glad the bouquet you brought me had no goldenrod in it.”
After supper Mark headed out to the barn. He was happy to see that Ginger was moving around in her stall and didn’t seem to be limping as much. A few more days of resting and she’d be good as new.
Mark was kind of upset that Mattie had gotten so much attention during their meal as she’d told all that information about flowers.
Who cares about blumme anyways?
Mark thought.
I was the one who stopped her from picking the goldenrod. I was also the one who pointed out those other wildflowers that she picked for Mom.
Guess that’s kinda selfish of me
, Mark corrected himself.
I really should be happy that my sister enjoyed telling all about the flowers.
Turning his thoughts to other things, Mark spotted some wood stacked along the wall on the other side of the barn. He didn’t think Dad would mind if he took one of the smaller pieces, so he helped himself and took a seat on a bale of straw. Then he removed the pocketknife from his pants’ pocket and started to whittle. Mark had never done any wood carving before, but he’d watched Dad and Ike do it many times, and it didn’t look that hard. He was sure he could carve the wood down so that it looked like a wagon. After all, most of the hunk of wood he was using was square-shaped, so he’d only have to carve out the round wheels. If he did a good job, he might even try making a small horse like the one that had been broken.
Just wait till I show everyone the little wagon I carved.
Mark was excited to get his carving done. He could then prove to
I probably should have written my essay on the wildflowers of Ohio
, she thought.
That would have been an easy one for me to write about, and it would have been real interesting, too.
“Look at the pretty flowers Mattie picked for me on the way home from school today,” Mom announced to everyone after their silent prayer and she’d started passing around the food.
“Jah, and Mark told me the ones that look like daisies are called asters,” Mattie explained. “Then Mom told me that they’re also called Christmas daisies.”
Everyone listened intently as Mattie shared this newfound information.
“Did you find out what the other ones are called?” Mom asked winking at Mattie.
“Uh-huh. Those deep purple ones are called ironweed, and the pink ones with the rounded clusters are called joe–pye,” Mattie was pleased to announce.
“That’s very interesting,” Dad said. “How did you get to know all of that?”
“I looked it up in the wildflower book Grandma and Grandpa Miller gave to me on my birthday.”
Mattie went on to tell that joe-pye sort of smelled like vanilla. She’d also learned that this particular wildflower had once been used for healing purposes by some Native American tribes. The ironweed was also used as medicine during the 1800s and after the Civil War.
“Plus,” Mattie added with a smile, seeing that she had everyone’s full attention, “some of our state’s most beautiful butterflies, including the monarch and tiger swallowtail, love to flit around joe-pye and sip its nectar.”
“What about the Great Spangled Fritillary?” Mark asked. “Remember, we saw one of those the day we sat at the roadside stand.”
“That’s right, I almost forgot. The book said that one of our common butterflies, which is the Great Spangled Fritillary, loves the joe-pye flower, too.” Mattie passed Mark the bowl of macaroni salad. “Danki for reminding me about that one.”
Mattie’s brothers, and even little Ada, clapped after Mattie’s very detailed report on what she’d learned, and Mattie was pleased that her parents nodded their heads in approval.
“It’s a good thing I told Mattie not to pick the goldenrod she saw first,” Mark said. “She forgot that Perry’s allergic to it.”
“You’re right, he most certainly is.” Mom gave Mattie’s arm a little pat. “So I’m glad the bouquet you brought me had no goldenrod in it.”
After supper Mark headed out to the barn. He was happy to see that Ginger was moving around in her stall and didn’t seem to be limping as much. A few more days of resting and she’d be good as new.
Mark was kind of upset that Mattie had gotten so much attention during their meal as she’d told all that information about flowers.
Who cares about blumme anyways?
Mark thought.
I was the one who stopped her from picking the goldenrod. I was also the one who pointed out those other wildflowers that she picked for Mom.
Guess that’s kinda selfish of me
, Mark corrected himself.
I really should be happy that my sister enjoyed telling all about the flowers.
Turning his thoughts to other things, Mark spotted some wood stacked along the wall on the other side of the barn. He didn’t think Dad would mind if he took one of the smaller pieces, so he helped himself and took a seat on a bale of straw. Then he removed the pocketknife from his pants’ pocket and started to whittle. Mark had never done any wood carving before, but he’d watched Dad and Ike do it many times, and it didn’t look that hard. He was sure he could carve the wood down so that it looked like a wagon. After all, most of the hunk of wood he was using was square-shaped, so he’d only have to carve out the round wheels. If he did a good job, he might even try making a small horse like the one that had been broken.
Just wait till I show everyone the little wagon I carved.
Mark was excited to get his carving done. He could then prove to
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