Dana Quinney - Wildflower Girl

Copyright 2019 Dana Stewart Quinney

Published by Hidden Shelf Publishing House

Cover photo: Dana Quinney as a child

Graphic design: Allison Kaukola (back cover), KristenCarrico (front cover)

Interior layout: Kerstin Stokes

Editor: Carol Anne Wagner

Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication DataQuinney, Dana Stewart

Wildflower Girl

Printed in the United States of America

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoymentonly. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people.If you would like to share this book with another person, pleasepurchase an additional copy for each recipient. If youre readingthis book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for yourenjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or yourfavorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you forrespecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Reviews

When Dana wasthree years old, she mastered a somersault, a monumental time inher young life. She wanted to remember that somersault forever, andher Mom taught her a way. She applied the same method towardremembering all the important events in her life. They areassembled together in this captivating compilation of shortstories. Travel with Danny through these magical times as shewitnesses a murder (or did she?) from her secret watching place,finds the stars with her adventuresome father, and almost loses herlife in her grandpas waders. And, always the botanist andbiologist, twenty years after Dannys grandpa told her that all ofthe animals isnt all found out she discovers a new species ofFairy Shrimp. I became lost in these fascinating stories.

Carol Howell, Jade Mist ShetlandSheepdogs

This lovely book of short stories is like a portal,taking the reader back to a simpler, more innocent time in amagical place. It is a place that was real, but unavailable toanyone in todays world, unless you allow this book to take youthere. The authors descriptions are crisp and clear. You are takenon one adventure after another in a most vivid and delightful wayand introduced to some amazing characters. Whether or not you arefamiliar with the area and the time, you have a clear view of herworld and her life. I am so thankful for the memories stirred tolife by the authors stories.

Margaret Mib Brown Kelly, childhood friend inKetchum, Idaho

In Wildflower Girl, Dana has gifted us with glimpsesof a childhood that was often magical, without losing sight of someof the hard truths of learning about life in general. She is agifted storyteller and the memories of this time and place are sowell crafted that the reader can see the stories and feel theemotions. Thanks to Dana for the invitation into these experiences;Im sure I am not the only one who will revisit frequently.

Lisa Butterfield, Windanseur Arabians

Introduction

When Iwas small, I set out to find treasure. Im a finder, you see. Wefinders find things. A horse, a dog, a field guide, a book ofpoetry, a notebook, a packed lunch: these were my tools ofdiscovery. I found white buttercups in the snow of the Fourhillsabove our house, shining trout in beaver ponds, silver-markedbutterflies near the mouth of an old mine, strange creatures andstranger flowers in the far places of the world, and above all, Ifound stories.

The Fourhills of Ketchum, Idaho led me into alife filled with creatures and flowers, fish, and trees, wonder andaweall the things experienced by an outdoor biologist as shesearches the world for her kind of treasure. Since you are holdingthis book in your hands, I know that you are a finder, too. Welcometo my world of little lives.

The Purple Glass Pitcher

You cannotremember that much detail after so long a time, people tell me.You cannot remember what its like to be three years old when youare 70. You cannot remember what you were wearing, what clouds werein the sky, what your mother said, how your puppys bark sounded.Thats not possible.

But I can and it is.

I dont remember everything, of course. Justas you have, I have forgotten countless things, countless people,countless happenings. But there are some things I remember with acrystalline clarity, all because of my mother.

I was three and a half years old, and on ablustery gray November morning, I got dressed in navy corduroyoveralls, a green blouse, and my brown-and-gold checked wool coat,the one with the brown velvet collar and the silver buttons thatlooked like little flowers. Mom was busy ironing and sent me out toplay in the yard.

As always at over 6,000 feet, the Novembergrass was crisp, pale, and dormant. A cold wind blew down from theFourhills. Mom tucked the back-end triangle of my yellow headscarfinto my coat collar, and I toddled out into the front yard.

Our yard was raised about three feet from thedirt road that went up the hill past our house, and on two sides,the yard had a bank, a short, steep slope down to the road on oneside and down to the driveway on the other.

This little slope was perfect for me to slidedown on the seat of my pants (grass stains) or roll down, over andover (more grass stains). But today, this little blonde girl in thetidy braids had a mission, something much more exciting thanrolling four feet down a grassy bank onto the edge of a dirtdriveway.

I had seen one of the big boys in theneighborhood, Jimmy Campbell, do a somersault. In fact, I hadwatched Jimmy do several somersaults, and I had been thinking aboutthem for a day or two. Today I was going to do a somersault.

Jimmy had put his head right down on thegrass, yep. I did that and kicked my legs a little, as I had seenJimmy do.

I fell over to one side.

I did it again. I fell over to one side. Bythis time I wasnt paying much attention to where I was, and myscrabbling around on the grass had brought me to the edge of thesteep little bank.

Gritting my teeth, I put my head down oncemore on the cold grass. Bracing with my arms, I kicked up, tryingto stay straight. And I did a headstand, my first! But, because Iwas right on the edge of the bank, I tumbled over and somersaulteddown the bank!

Whoa! This knocked the breath right out of mysmall lungs. But because I had tumbled down the bank as well asdoing my first somersault, this was big. Very big, for someone notyet four years old. I scrambled up the bank and did it again.Whoof! And again.

At this point, I had to tell Mom. I rushedinto the house, breathless. Then I tugged at Moms hand until sheput down the iron and came outside into the icy wind to see me do asilly, tumbling-down somersault. We both laughed, and then ran backinside.

Mom picked up the iron. She was ironing myfavorite dress, a light blue cotton dress with ruffled sleeves,printed all over with blue and yellow butterflies.

I want to remember that forever! I toldher. Forever and ever. I looked out the window for a moment, atthe bare aspens down at Coatss house bending in the wind.

Even at that age, I knew that I forgotthings. But this I wanted to keep. Mommy, how can I remember thisforever and ever? I asked her.

Mom put down the iron again and pushed backher hair. Well, heres how, Danny, she told me. I stared at her;she wasnt joking.

She went on. I know you can count to five.On the first day, you think of it five different times. Each time,you think of what you did, what you saw, what you smelled, what youtouched, what you felt inside, if it was cold or hot, what you werewearing, and what you were thinking.

I nodded eagerly. Five times, I said.

Then the next day, you think of it fivetimes again. Mom picked up the iron. For a week, you think of itevery day, five times. Then for a month, you think of it once aday, and five times on a certain day in that week. Do you know whata month is?