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100% written and illustrated by kids ages 6-13

Nature


By

Look

An unseen hand painstakingly covers the bare trees with white snow An unseen hand painstakingly covers the bare trees with white snow. It doesn’t leave a square inch of land untouched, filling the brown earth with clean white. The snow forms a blanket, worn like a comfortable sweater by every tree and every foot of ground. Slowly the hand encases each pine needle with clear ice, adds a slick layer of black ice to every driveway. For the final touch, it sweeps the sky with pale gray, bleaching the blue to a boring charcoal. A young boy excitedly watches this, staring out of his brightly lit house at the snow settling on the big oak tree. To an adult, the old wood and the frail, thin branches look abandoned and gross, as if they’ve been forgotten by Mother Nature. To a child, the squirrels running around its base, the cardinal nesting in the branches, and the chipmunk curled up underneath its cover are plainly visible. They see how majestic the tree is, standing tall and proud. This boy is no different, staring in awe as the flakes tumble from the sky and onto the branches. His father, dressed in bulky layers, joins him at the window. He sees none of the beauty only young eyes can catch. Instead, he angrily mutters about how awful the view is and makes a mental note to chop down that oak tree in the spring. The boy’s dad goes out to shovel snow, but the little boy curls up on his chair and gazes at the scene. As the air grows colder and the drifts of snow pile up, a young chipmunk is amazed at the white fluff falling down. He can’t catch it, and it doesn’t taste good, and it doesn’t smell at all. All it does is lie there on the ground, like a trap for him to sink into. Instead of daring to move and get stuck, he shelters himself under the oak and waits for the stuff to go away. Suddenly, a snowflake falls through the canopy of branches and settles on his furry nose. Shocked, he tries as hard as he can to get a glimpse of this invader. It tickles his forehead, is cool on his fur, and really smells pure and sweet. Its beauty makes him think about things that weren’t snow at all, like courage and love. Happy with his new friend, he runs in a circle. Only after he misses catching a snowflake does he realize that his guest has melted, leaving only wet fur behind. *          *          * In a forest like this one, food is scarce. She knows it. Why else would she work nonstop in the summer months storing food? Why else would she guard her tree ferociously to make sure nothing is stolen? In a way, it’s ironic that the one time she leaves her oak tree, half her supply is stolen. So now, being a lousy squirrel at the bottom of the food chain, she’s only got one chance to get her food back. After tracking down the skinniest male squirrel that has her precious red berries, she begins to chase him. Chattering furiously, the two animals streak through the snowy forest and around tall pine trees. As the snow falls faster and the day grows colder, she can’t help wondering if she should just give up. After all, he probably ate half the food anyway. On the other hand, if she runs fast enough, she can get to his stash. Pivoting nimbly, she darts through the woods. Sure enough, in a few minutes, a squirrel is eating juicy berries with what seems like a smug expression. The old man obeys no rules of the forest. Daily, he plunders the stock of the other animals there. He is lazy, but smart enough to know that he can be. Why should he work, when there is bountiful food to be had just three feet away? Today, the old cardinal gazes out at what he likes to call his territory. Rightfully, at least in his mind, he’s earned that forest. Ever since he was a young bird, he’s made his home there. He battled the elements, and now he gets to relax. No more hoarding food, freezing to death, being scared of the forest animals. He’s done it all. Foolishly, he thinks he can do whatever he wants now. As if proving his point, he flies lazily to the birch tree where two young squirrels store food. Within seconds, the proud cardinal is soaring through the gray sky, carrying a heaping mouthful of food. Who says you have to work to survive? The little boy watches all this and writes it down in big block letters. Then he closes his favorite rust-colored notebook, full now with all his observations. Carefully, he ties a green string around it and wraps Kleenex around this treasure. Prying open a loose floorboard, he places it gently inside the dark hole. Then, he walks out of the study and flicks off the light. *          *          * Fifty years later, the study has been transformed into the room of a little girl. Pink flowers decorate pink walls, and a white fluffy rug covers old wood floorboards. It’s one of the many renovations that have transformed the ancient house into a modern house for a modern family. Barely six years old, she’s twirling around and singing. At that moment, she stumbles over the edge of the rug and falls. Her hand hits the ground, and a snap echoes throughout the tiny room. Cautiously, she pushes the rug aside and sees a dark space where a floorboard used to be. Inside there is a package tied in gross green string and wrapped in yellow paper. She tears off the tissue and unknots the thread. A look of disappointment spreads across her face. Nothing important, nothing except a book. The book has yellowed pages and is full of writing that


By

The Shimmering Waterfall River

The sight was so beautiful that I began to laugh The sweltering heat of the day made the trail waver like water in the sun. “Ugh, it sure is hot today. Let’s take the Carson’s Crossing path to get away from this heat,” Dad muttered, wiping his brow. “Sure! Yay!” I replied quickly. I absolutely loved walking through Carson’s Crossing’s shaded woods and sparkling rivers. It was always cool and quiet there, even on the hottest of days. My parents and I were taking a stroll through the Rancho Penasquitos Canyon to the waterfall. We sauntered down to Carson’s Crossing and entered the wooded area. Once inside, I stopped and took a deep, substantial breath, drinking in the beauty of our surroundings. Despite the heat of the day, the crossing was cool and quiet. The thick, tall trees blocked out much of the sun, letting only an occasional golden shaft of light touch the earth. The only sound heard in the slightly misty air was the sweet, serene chirping of birds. My parents and I sidled down to the first shimmering pond and jumped over a gap onto a worn, wooden footbridge. We passed along through the lovely woods in silence, each trying to be the last one out of the trees and into the scorching sun. When we stepped out of the crossing, the heat hit us full blast once more. “Come on, there’s not much longer until we reach the waterfall,” my father said. I continued along in silence, looking at the tall, waving grass and the shrub-covered hills, listening to my parents rambling on and on about the unreasonable price of new cell phones. Boy, what a boring subject, especially while out in nature. I tried to block the conversation out of my mind. As we continued along the trail, the scene shifted, dense woods on our right side and open plain on our left. A while later, a massive, lumpy boulder came into view over the grass and trees. “Almost there!” I said cheerfully, trying to get my parents off the subject of newfangled gadgets. That, of course, didn’t work. At last, we reached the waterfall. I ran down the carved stone steps and sat down at the river’s edge. The water laughed and tumbled along, tripping over rocks and at last falling over the edge of the tiny waterfall. Birds sang, and I wanted to sing along with them. Then, my technology-infected parents walked down the stairs. I gave a little sigh of annoyance and wandered off. I decided to explore the area around the river. I climbed up the cold, rough rocks that lined the waterfall. I reached the top of the highest one and pulled myself over the edge. When I stood, I almost fell back down in amazement. There, below me, was the river, shimmering against the earth, twisting and turning like a snake. The water was lined with reeds and cattails, waving in the crisp, cool wind. The sight was so beautiful that I began to laugh. I laughed with the gurgling water, the chirping birds, and the crystal clear sky shining above the earth. Jamie Geng, 11San Diego, California Camille Abelanet, 13Keller, Texas


By

Logs

The morning the oak tree was cut down was dismal and wet The morning the oak tree was cut down was dismal and wet, clouds drooping under the defeated sky. My breath fogged up the school bus window as I strained my eyes for one last look at the tree’s branches; one last look at the way they stretched towards the weak sunlight. I did not feel particularly sad, as I had expected, but then, what was going to happen had not yet fully registered. It was as though I was going to snap my head up in the middle of next day’s math class and say “What!” about twenty-six hours too late. The town council, as they so bravely called themselves, had come to us months before, demanding that we cut down the “safety hazard” in our front yard. My father, never one to respect authority—especially if they were asking him to destroy something he loved, had laughed in their faces and slammed the door. Thinking that they would give up, we had promptly forgotten about the encounter until presented with their lawyer, who listed the laws we were violating until our eyebrows touched our hair. Knowing they had won, the group of committee members had smugly walked down our walkway, smart skirts and pressed pants rippling in the breeze. I had felt a strong urge to yell something at them, but my father’s footsteps drew my attention. He was walking away, toward the kitchen! To my utter disbelief he had picked up the phone and dialed the local tree service company, arranging an appointment for the “soonest time possible.” My father, who loved that old oak as much as I did, had given up. His great grandmother, when her father had built the house, had planted it. His father had taught him to climb in its dependable arms, and he had taught his daughter, me. But he had given up. And then, so had I. And here I was, being pulled away by a cheerful, yellow bus amid drizzling rain and gray skies, wondering if I would hear the crack! of splitting wood all the way in my science room. Then the realization I had been expecting came, and I knew that I wasn’t going to sit around while my favorite part of the neighborhood was destroyed by paranoid monkeys in dress clothes. I was going to try my best, come what may. “Excuse me?” I asked the bus driver, trying not to look at the rolls of fat that cascaded from her stomach, resting on her legs. “Yeah?” “I was—um—wondering if you would let me out. I forgot something at home. I can have my mother drive me to school after I get it, she’s off work today.” This was a lie, but how was she to know? “Sure, hon, get on out. Don’t be late for school!” With a faint hiss like angry snakes hidden inside the dashboard, the doors opened, and I ran down the rain-darkened steps and onto the road. Even though my house was only a few blocks away, I knew I had to sprint to make it there in time. They were coming to cut the oak down at eight-thirty, in less than five minutes. Panting, I reached the back gate of my yard and yanked it open. Hidden by leaves, I put my foot in the familiar knothole and hoisted myself up into the tree’s branches. They stood, immobile and confident under my feet, while their delicate leaves filtered sunlight like stained glass. I climbed from branch to branch, farther than I had ever dared to climb before, so far up that when I peeked down, the whole town seemed unfolded below me like a giant Monopoly board. Suddenly I felt a little scared, as if I might be doing the wrong thing. But I couldn’t turn back now, could I? The rain had started to come down harder by the time the green truck pulled up into our driveway. Scrawled across the side in mud-brown print was Fitch & Thompson’s Tree Service: Providing Help for Trees for Minimum Fees since 2007. I didn’t really see what there was to brag about, but then I wasn’t in the tree service industry. Three men wearing atrocious orange shirts bearing Fitch & Thompson across the back walked the length of the yard and up onto our front step. Before they could knock on the door it opened, and my father and three committee members walked out. When had they gotten here? One of the men walked over to the base of the oak and started to take notes, while the other two pulled the truck out of the driveway and parked it parallel to the edge of the yard, where their soon-to-be victim gallantly stood. They began to prepare their chainsaws, and I knew it was time to announce my presence. However, I didn’t get the chance. “What are you doing up there?” The man who had been taking notes had evidently looked up, and everyone else followed suit. “I’m passively resisting,” I stated bluntly. “You can’t cut her down now. That would be murder.” I said the last bit triumphantly, directing my words at the people who had condemned my friend to die. They sputtered a bit, and the tree man’s jaw fell open, but my attention was now focused on my father. He had a sad, slightly disappointed look on his face, as if he had expected better of me. “Caroline. Come down, now. This is going to do nothing but disrupt things. You can’t stay here forever, and then they’ll just come back tomorrow.” I hadn’t thought about that in my race to figure out what to do, and suddenly the plan seemed much less ingenious. But I would stand my ground. “No. I’m staying up here.” The rain was pouring by now, sticking my hair to my neck and soaking through my clothes. My teeth chattered of their