The Teddy Bear Picnic

Book Three from the Series THE THREE LITTLE LIBRARIANS AND THE BIG, BAD BROTHER
Copyright October 2008

[Part 3]

Zach hadn’t brought a Teddy Bear of his own, but remembered Little Bear from the church library.  Little Bear had his own library of miniature books, and today was dressed in swimming trunks for summer and tiny reading glasses.  In no time Zach returned, and he told everyone the story of Benjamin Franklin.  Benjamin had invented bifocals, Zach told them, holding up Little Bear and his glasses.

“Look!” said Emilee, “it’s a Praying Mantis!”  There on the quilt, almost camouflaged on a light green square, was a baby Praying Mantis. 

“That’s my favorite wild creature of all!” exclaimed Erin.  Carefully Emilee picked up the mantis, dropped it into Taylor’s cupped hands, who dropped it into Makayla’s, who dropped it into Erin’s hands, cupped gently.  Then Erin carried it to some red-berried Nandina bushes at the side of the church, where it would be safe.   

When all the children had imagined the mantis’s prayers and told about the Teddy Bears they had brought, it was time to go to the gazebo for sandwiches, cookies, fruit, and tiny lettuce salads.  While Allison and Donna filled cups with ice and poured lemonade, Mrs. Cloar cut out slices of the dessert she had brought.  It was what she called an American Flag Pie.  It had a Graham Cracker Crust and a filling of Cool Whip, Philly Cream Cheese, almond flavoring, and sliced bananas.  Then on top there were blueberries and strawberries arranged to look like the stars and stripes of the flag.

Mrs. Cloar called on Jordan to say the blessing, but while all the children had their heads bowed, they heard a buzzing sound.  There was a bumblebee stuck in Abby’s hair.  It had gotten under her barrette.  Quick as a wink, Avery lunged for it and got it out, but it stung him badly on the hand and flew off.  Allison immediately reached for the ice and put it on the sting.  Then she and Avery walked to the Fellowship Hall to get the First Aid kit.

“You know, Mrs. Cloar,” Abby said, with a sad look on her face as she comforted Anna, “I think maybe I shouldn’t call Avery my ‘big, bad brother’ anymore.  He got stung for me.”

“That reminds me of Jesus!”  Emilee said decisively.

At four o’clock Megan’s little brother, Carson, solemnly rang the church bell thirteen times for the first thirteen states, and Megan read the poem about Paul Revere and the Old North Church in Philadelphia.  They packed up the Teddy Bears, food, and quilts.  It had been a really good day, maybe something to write a book about.

(The Three Little Librarians and the Big, Bad Brother is a fictional book based on true events and real characters.)

The Teddy Bear Picnic

Book Three from the Series THE THREE LITTLE LIBRARIANS AND THE BIG, BAD BROTHER
Copyright October 2008


[Part 2]

“These books really looked American for today,” said Donna, holding up the title book of the Cherokee Rose series.  Mrs. Cloar agreed.  Abby breathed a sigh of relief as Avery disappeared into the church, but groaned again when he reappeared, leading Anna, their baby sister.  Abby had wanted to have a nice, quiet picnic without worrying about her siblings, but now they both were joining her.  Anna sat down by Abby and held onto the Teddy Bear Abby had dressed up to bring today.  Abby was going to tell the story of Paddington Bear and the importance of his raincoat.

Last to arrive was Mrs. Cloar’s younger daughter, Erin, who hadn’t been out of college very long, but who had been away two years teaching high school in Hawaii.  Erin brought a large map of Hawaii attached to a tall art tripod, which she placed close to the quilts in the grass as the boys and girls sat down.  She made them all laugh when she told about her first Teddy Bear Picnic on that hill.  She had been five years old and had just sampled a few days of kindergarten.  She had come running up to her mother with a tadpole that had washed up on the shore of the pond. 

“Mom,” I found a lower case frog!” she had said.  Mrs. Cloar laughed until her eyes watered when she remembered it.

Erin told about Hawaii being the fiftieth state, about the sea turtles she loved to see in the water there, and about King Kame-ha-me-ha (teaching the children how to say his name just right).  She also told about a President of the United States who had loved wildlife, Teddy Roosevelt, and about how the Teddy Bear was named for him.  She was just finishing the part of the story that included Koala bears when Zach arrived.

“A picnic!”  Zach yelled.  Then, as he got closer, “a Teddy Bear Picnic!”  Zach was visiting with his grandmother, Nancy, the church pianist, this week and was very excited to see the gathering.  When the others yelled back for him to join them, he said, “Wait a minute.  I’ll be right back!”

(The Three Little Librarians and the Big, Bad Brother is a fictional book based on true events and real characters.)

The Teddy Bear Picnic

Book Three from the Series THE THREE LITTLE LIBRARIANS AND THE BIG BAD BROTHER
Copyright October 2008


[Part 1]

Soon the day came for the Teddy Bear Picnic.  The Fourth of July weekend was in full swing, and it included a beautiful Saturday afternoon.  While their parents worked in the Fellowship Hall on plans for Vacation Bible School the next week, the little librarians spread out quilts on the ground on a little hill overlooking the pond behind the church.  Nearby was the church gazebo, where Mrs. Cloar had moved some antique garden tables and covered them with fresh tablecloths.  The tablecloths had thousands of tiny pink, lavender, and yellow flowers printed all over them, something Mrs. Cloar always called mille fleurs (MEEL-FLUHR) in French.  She also had clear glass vases of pink roses on the tables, the ones she said had come from the “Birthday Rose,” because it always started blooming in her garden in late May, just in time for her birthday and her sister’s.

Mrs. Jane Murray, who was the church organist and the director of the girls’ mission groups, placed every plate, napkin, and piece of silverware just as Martha Stewart would have done them. Mrs. Murray believed that the etiquette that belonged with French cooking and the hospitality that belonged to the Old South should be passed on to the girls, who might serve as missionaries in any part of the world. Her husband, Jimmy, who was the church architect and cabinet builder, made many trips back and forth from their house next door, carrying precious pieces of silver and glass to accent the tables.

Megan and Emilee unpacked the basket of goodies prepared by their grandmother, Jennifer, while Abby unpacked the basket of goodies prepared by her grandmother, Iva Lee.  Soon another large basket appeared in the hands of smiling Allison, a nurse off duty today to bring her daughters, Taylor and Makayla, who were new library staffers.  Talley arrived next, with her mother Donna, who said she had stayed out of the kitchen so that Talley could bake cupcakes all by herself.  They looked delicious.

“Oh, no!” said Abby.  “I forgot my big, bad brother would be here today.”

Avery had appeared out of nowhere with his friend Jordan, and the two boys helped Donna get a large, heavy box out of her RV.  Talley’s grandmother had sent a present for the library, lots of books, including her favorite Christian romance stories by Al and Joanna Lacy.   

(The Three Little Librarians and the Big, Bad Brother is a fictional book based on true events and real characters.)

Five Deacons and a Cow on the Fourth of July

From Stories from Jones Farm
Copyright July 1993

[Part 3]

“Do you think it’s okay if we pray for the cow?” Erin asked, looking up at me.

“As hard as those men are working,” I said, “I bet they’re already praying for the cow.  You know, Dad is a deacon, and Ed and Bobby are deacons at Dad’s church, too.  I guess they’re used to praying over just about everything they do.”  Together we were deep in thought as we walked from the gate to the house. 

“Come to think about it, Erin,” I said, “Doug is a deacon at his church in Greeneville.”

“And Daddy’s a deacon, too, at our church,” Erin added quickly.  “He helped with the phone calls.”

“It’s sort of funny,” I said.

“What is?”  Erin looked at me quizzically.

“Well, some people celebrate the Fourth of July with alcohol and wild parties, but just look at how five deacons spend the Fourth in Baileyton.”

“Rescuing one of God’s creatures…,” Erin said wistfully.

The cow had to rest unmoved for the remainder of the day, and the air cooled toward dusk so that the poor old dear began to swallow water from the fire hose more easily.  The next morning Dad drove over with his modified, red, H-Farmall on which he’d attached a front loader.  He and Ed managed to fasten a couple of girths around the cow’s belly, and Dad hoisted her up off the ground a foot or so to ride in the front loader. The spot where the cow had lain left a nearly bare patch of crispy grass, and the fur was scorched off her on the side that had made contact with the ground.  Very, very slowly, they made their way across the two fields to the barn behind Mom and Dad’s house.  It was lucky that the creek was dried up, and didn’t present the usual obstacle.  In the barn they unfastened her, and gave her freshly mown hay and lots, and lots, of water.   

Later we named the cow “Betsy,” after Betsy Ross, to sound patriotic, and when her calf was born in September, we named him “Firecracker.”  Betsy later had three other healthy calves in subsequent years, and was only a “dizzy dame” in rare moments.  Mostly, she was a sweet and gentle cow who seemed to remember the kindnesses shown to her.

As for Max, we found out on Monday morning that he had crossed the fence into the neighboring Jeffers Farm and had probably witnessed the whole event from a distance.  We all assumed that Betsy had been looking for him, too, when she had collapsed in the heat.  Maybe we should have added one more thing on the Pet Patrol form, in the Comments box:

“SATISFACTION WITH PET:  100 PERCENT.”

Five Deacons and a Cow on the Fourth of July

From Stories from Jones Farm
Copyright July 1993

[Part 2]

                “Your dad is out in the fields with the wrecker again looking for Max,” Mom announced.  “The kids might as well start setting the table, but there’s no point in putting ice in his glass yet.”

We gazed out the kitchen window to try to spot Dad.  He had stopped the wrecker beside a crumpled mass about two hundred yards from the pond closest our house.  Mom took over the stove, while I ran down into the field to Dad.  I ran back as fast as I could.  

“It isn’t Max,” I gasped, “but it’s a cow due to have a calf in the fall.  She’s probably had a heat stroke.  We need Doug and Ed.” 

Campbell hurried to the phone to call our vet, Doug Woolsey, and to apologize profusely for bothering him again on a holiday—the cows seemed to never have emergencies on regular weekdays.  Also, he called my cousin Ed Sensabaugh, who always helped Dad on the farm.  When Ed arrived, he “brought the Cavalry.”  Ed and Dad were volunteer firemen whose fire truck was always parked in Dad’s Texaco garage, Jones Bros., in front of Baileyton Elementary School.  Ed also brought another fireman, Bobby Tweed.  Soon they were hosing down the cow with water from the fire truck and trying to revive her by pumping water through a hose into her mouth.

While our two older kids, Alice at 13 and Nick at 12, stood close by Mom’s elbows as she dropped the corn-on-the-cob into boiling water, Erin, our youngest at eleven, begged to go back to the field with me.  By the time I got back to Dad, all three kids had run ahead of me to see what was going on.  Doug arrived only minutes later.  He and his family had been celebrating the Fourth with his parents, whose farm was only a few miles away.  I remember that Doug gave the cow five different medicines that day.  One was an antibiotic and one was an antipyretic—something to put out the “fire.”  The cow’s fever had gone to an impossible 109.3 degrees, and Doug warned us that neither she nor the calf were likely to survive.  Also, if she survived, she might never be “right in the head” again.  The temperature of 109 sounded more like the position of the mercury on the thermometer in our carport or, unfortunately, like the serving temperature of hamburgers. 

While Nick and Alice stayed with Dad, Erin and I walked back towards the house to tell Mom how the cow was doing.  We looked back at the scene as we reached the gate. 

“Look, Mom,” Erin said.  “The trucks even look like the Fourth of July!”  Sure enough, the fire truck was red, of course; Dad’s wrecker was white, and Doug’s truck was dark blue.

Five Deacons and a Cow on the Fourth of July

From Stories from Jones Farm
Copyright July 1993

[Part 1]

                It was the summer of 1993, and we were having a bit of a heat wave in Greene County.  To say it was “a hundred in the shade” was an understatement, and farm work was almost at a standstill, in spite of the fact that the hay was ready to be cut.  A few big, round bales stood proudly in the fields, which were dotted with blue Bachelor’s Buttons, white Queen Anne’s Lace (also affectionately known as “Chigger Weeds”), rosy-pink Sweet Williams, and brave red and blue blackberries under a few lingering white blackberry flowers, but—by and large—only the early mornings and late evenings were any good for work on the Alden and Alba Jones Farm near Baileyton.

                On Saturday morning we were worried.  Our bull was missing, and this was no time for him to be wandering too far away from a pond.  My husband, Campbell, and I had worked at Radio Greeneville for a long time, and knew that a missing bull would be announced on the Local News only three or four times a day.  We decided to list him on Pet Patrol, which was announced twice an hour.  It made for interesting copy:

“BREED OF PET:  ANGUS…WEIGHT OF PET:  2000 POUNDS…ANSWERS TO THE NAME OF:  MAXIMILLIAN II…LAST SEEN IN:  THE BAILEYTON AREA…IF SEEN CALL ONE OF THE FOLLOWING NUMBERS:…”

                My dad shook his head.  “How did the old fellow know I was going to trade him on Monday?  He'll like having a bigger herd.  Max has never wandered off like this before.”

                After church on Sunday, Mom, whose house was two fields and a creek away, drove up to help me finish preparing lunch.  She brought a basket of green beans and corn-on-the-cob from her garden into the kitchen, along with her famous sweet tea and equally famous potato salad, made with cucumber pickles she’d just canned the week before.  I was adding the finishing touches to my traditional American Flag Pie, made with Cool Whip, Philly Cream Cheese, almond flavoring, and hidden sliced bananas on a Graham Cracker crust.  On the top it sported blueberries in one corner and then rows of sliced strawberries in even stripes over the rest of the rectangular glass dish.  I had already tossed the lettuce and tomato salad, garnished the deviled eggs with sprigs of parsley between them, and taken the Boston Baked Beans out of the oven.  Campbell was patting out the hamburgers to place alongside the hotdogs on the grill.