by Kathy Sattem Rygg –
Peter Perkins plodded his way through the pumpkin patch. As far as he could see, plump orange-colored polka dots surrounded him. Peter carefully peered at each one. He knew precisely what size he wanted.
“This one’s perfect!” Peter finally said, poking at it with his finger.
“It’s pretty big,” said his mother. “Perhaps you should find a more petite one.”
“No, I want this one,” Peter said. “Pleeeease!”
His mother paused and looked into Peter’s puppy-dog eyes.
“All right,” she said, pursing her lips.
Peter reached down and grabbed the pointy stem.
“Ouch! It’s prickly!” he said.
Peter’s mother picked it up and placed it in Peter’s arms.
“Be careful,” she warned. “It’s particularly heavy. Don’t drop it.”
“I won’t,” Peter promised.
Peter proudly carried his precious pumpkin toward the car. Suddenly, he stepped in a pothole and pitched forward. The pumpkin plummeted out of his arms.
Plunk! The pumpkin hit the ground.
“Oh no!” Peter said. Luckily, the pumpkin didn’t explode. But it began rolling down the path. The pumpkin gained speed, and Peter ran after it, picking up the pace.
The pumpkin rolled onto Mr. Farmer’s property and headed straight for a pigpen. A pungent smell filled the air.
“P.U.!” Peter said.
The pumpkin hit the fence and bounced off like a pinball. It powered on, rolling through a field of purple plants. Furry prairie dogs popped out of their holes staring at the pumpkin with perplexed faces.
Peter followed the pumpkin, but he had a hard time keeping up. The pumpkin rolled onto a pebbled road and past some peach trees. A pigeon flew down and pecked at the pumpkin.
“Go away you pesky pigeon!” Peter yelled. He prayed the pigeon hadn’t pierced his pumpkin.
The pumpkin pushed on, rolling past a red-painted barn and right up to Mr. Farmer’s front porch. It slowed down and finally stopped in place.
Peter caught up to his pumpkin and plopped down beside it.
“I’m pooped!” he said. How was he supposed to get the pumpkin back to his mother’s car? Peter looked around and spotted a pedal-bike.
“I know! I could tie it to the back and pull it!” But Peter didn’t have a pack of string.
Just then Mrs. Farmer paraded out in her paisley apron. She was carrying a basket of potatoes.
“My, look at that pumpkin!” she said, pointing. “Are you going to carve a picture into your pumpkin?”
“Probably,” Peter said. “We’re having a Halloween party at pre-school, and I’m pretending to be a prince. I need to get this pumpkin back to my mom’s car, pronto! But it must weigh more than 20 pounds!”
“Poor, thing,” Mrs. Farmer said, emptying the basket of potatoes onto a palette.
Suddenly, Peter had an idea. “Could I borrow that basket and your pedal bike?” he asked.
“It’d be my pleasure,” Mrs. Farmer said.
Peter piled the pumpkin into the basket and placed it protectively on the pedal bike. Then he propelled himself all the way back to the pumpkin patch. His mother was waiting patiently for him.
“I’m so pleased you found your pumpkin!” she said.
Peter looked at his prized possession. “It was no problem,” he said.
the end.
Question Time:
1. How did Peter lose his pumpkin?
2. What happened while it was rolling away from him?
3. What sound or letter did you hear over and over in this story?
4. Can you name a word that starts with the letter (or sound) P?
5. What kind of face would you like to carve into a pumpkin?
