The Tree In The Meadow: The Adventures of Toby and Tish
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Writing The Tree In The Meadow: The Adventures of Toby and Tish afforded me the pleasure of reliving the unforgettable experience of raising an abandoned baby fawn. Although that was 75 years ago, the memories are as fresh and clear as ever.: the initial surprise, making soda and homemade ice cream, the fire, my Dad's dreadful accident, and tending to Toby's "wounded antlers". (Farm life, Drama, Suspense and Lesson learned) Was Toby always an angel? No, he was not, especially on Mondays, laundry day. He deserved the ire of women who labored over their washboards to provide next week's clean cl...
Writing The Tree In The Meadow: The Adventures of Toby and Tish afforded me the pleasure of reliving the unforgettable experience of raising an abandoned baby fawn. Although that was 75 years ago, the memories are as fresh and clear as ever.: the initial surprise, making soda and homemade ice cream, the fire, my Dad's dreadful accident, and tending to Toby's "wounded antlers". (Farm life, Drama, Suspense and Lesson learned) Was Toby always an angel? No, he was not, especially on Mondays, laundry day. He deserved the ire of women who labored over their washboards to provide next week's clean clothes for their families. (Funny) Besides savoring his bottle of warm, raw milk, he also relished juicy carrot tops and, eventually, strips of bark from Dad's young peach trees. (Keeping Toby out of a venison stew was going to be a full-time job.) For a diversion, there's my 13th birthday party, featuring kissing games, weekend and vacation time visits with my closest friend in grammar school, and a trip to the train depot to pick up my birthday present. Conflict arises when the game warden, Sly, tells us the law says we cannot keep a wild animal in confinement. Toby (Ital) does roam freely, but he has developed an affinity for Dickey and Mickey, my pet chickens, who have graduated from their box on the porch to the chicken coop, which is surrounded by a wire fence. The confrontation with Sly continues throughout the story. I want Toby to be free to come and go; Sly wants to put him in a preserve. Does this make sense to you? It didn't to this 12-year-old. (Toby enjoys eating their cracked corn, and those tempting peach trees just happen to be in the chicken run.) My story evokes many emotions: joy, sorrow, love, excitement, fear and contentment. Every time I edit it, all of these feelings surface. I find myself either laughing or crying. Then when I read of the nap I took under the tree in the meadow, with my head propped up against Toby's back, I feel nothing but contentment.
