Kelly Mows the Lawn
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About this ebook
Kelly wants to play ball, but has to mow the lawn first. She gets knocked out doing a repair to the lawnmower, and wakes up in a new world - she’s the size of an ant with the lawn like a big forest around her. She meets a real ant whose name is Andrew, and has some adventures while learning some things about the ecology of the lawn.
Dave Patterson
Dave Patterson is an award-winning writer, musician and high school English teacher. He received his MA in English from the Bread Loaf School of English and an M.F.A. from the University of Southern Maine’s Stonecoast program. His writing has appeared in Portland Press Herald, the Maine Sunday Telegram, and Slice Magazine, among others. He lives outside Portland, Maine, with his wife, two kids, and dog.
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Book preview
Kelly Mows the Lawn - Dave Patterson
Chapter 1 Daydreaming
Somewhere in the Milky Way - that big bright band of millions and millions of stars that you can see stretching across the sky on a clear night - was one special star, special at any rate, to the people who lived on a planet near that star. They called the star the Sun and the planet the Earth.
(And how can we be part of something that's so far away? Well ... in the same way you can hold your hand way out in front of your face and it's still part of your body.)
Anyway, on one part of that pretty green-and-blue-and-white planet called Earth was a little island called Prince Edward Island, which was named for an English prince who lived over one hundred years ago, or maybe even two hundred years ago - a long, long time anyway. Somewhere on this island was a little town called Pine Valley - not a big town, not a small town, just a town big enough to have the right things: a school, a ball diamond, two churches with big steeples, a corner store and grocery store and Italian restaurant and drug store, a gas station, and some houses for the people.
On one edge of Pine Valley was a two-storey frame house. It was white with blue trim, peeling in places; there had been some talk of painting it for the last year or so. There was a garden at the back and a garage at the side, some paving stones leading from the town sidewalk to a large veranda and three big maple trees across the front. It was a nice house.
A large, orange-striped cat sat on one of the paving stones, in a patch of sunlight that peeked between the trunks of the maples. One paw was half-raised as she paused in her washing to observe what was taking place at the second door, the one on the side of the veranda leading to the kitchen.
A small person - wiry with sandy hair and freckles, and wearing bluejeans - stood in front of the door, hands planted defiantly on hips, angrily dangling a worn baseball glove from her wrist. She glared at the screen, or through it, listening to a voice on the other side. The voice was patient (perhaps patient-wearing- just-a-trifle-thin) and firm. As the cat took another lick at its paw, the voice stopped. The girl glared for a second longer, then turned and flung the glove against the weathered boards of the veranda. She pulled a worn Toronto Blue Jays cap from her head, slapped it frustratedly against her leg, raising a small dust storm, yanked it back in position, sideways, and spoke.
Aw, Mom! Everybody's gonna be there but me! They need me on the team!
No response from within.
Geez! Dumb, dumb, dumb history and stupid music lessons! And that ecology stuff ...who cares? I mean ... who cares? Rain and grass and birds and that sickening 'Miss Flower' ... ah. C'mon, Mom, I have to go to the park! Can I? Huh, huh, huh?
The girl was so sure she had made a strong case that she began to edge toward a well-used, mud-spattered bike leaning against the veranda. She stopped as the voice from within spoke again, a little louder. The cat left its washing and began to amble toward one of the maple trees that had some low, wide branches suitable for cat retreats. The girl was staring at the screen door in disbelief.
Of course I want to be outside and not inside studying that stupid ecology ... but ... mow the lawn? Mow the lawn! It's about the ball game! Mow the lawn? Mom!
Her argument came to an abrupt end as the screen door opened. Kelly was a quick and agile youngster blessed with enough intelligence to admit defeat gracefully in the face of a higher power. She was at the garage in a flash.
All right, all right - I'll go to the ball park after I mow the lawn.
The screen door closed (one might even say it was slammed slightly) as Kelly raised half of the large double door to the sound of screeching hinges. She peered into the gloomy interior, letting her eyes adjust to the dark, then disappeared behind the door. A second later she emerged, a new bright-green lawn mower in tow.
Oh, yeah, I forgot about this, the new mower,
she was saying under her breath, Wow! Looks pretty neat. Guess I'd better try it out.
Like many kids, Kelly was fascinated with machinery. She was also adaptable; she had almost forgotten about the ball game already, and was cheerfully thinking about the new lawn mower. Her father had taught her how to use a power mower the summer before, and some of his instructions had sunk in.
First she checked the gas level; when she saw it was low, she went back to the garage, brought out a red container, and topped up the tank. She made sure the spark-plug wire was tight. Then she pulled the mower to a flat, clean place on the lawn, and after calling and making sure Mom was watching from the window when she started it, the First Big Rule her Dad had made her