Waiulu’s Field of Flowers
Waiulu walked through the field of flowers on her way to school every morning and then again on her way home. Mom and Dad said it was just an old parking lot, but she knew better. She knew every little crack in the pavement, every little nook and cranny where some plant or critter made a home. She had watched many flowers come and go in the rain and sun. It was her field of flowers.
Then one day, workers came with machines and covered her field with black stuff. Dad said it was ‘asphalt’. Waiulu watched the crew working from her window. She noticed every little thing: the sticky smell of hot tar, heat waves and exhaust rising from the heavy machinery, the grime on the faces of the workers, and the great flat boring stretch of blacktop where her field of flowers used to be. Dad said they were ‘resurfacing’ the parking lot for the grocery store. Waiulu didn’t understand why cars had to park in her field. Dad said it was a parking lot, not her field.
But Waiulu knew better. Her field used to be full of all kinds of interesting flowers and critters, and she was very unhappy to see it all disappear under the stinky black stuff. Waiulu wrinkled up her nose at the smell. She didn’t like the machines. She didn’t like the black stuff, the asphalt.
The men were gone that afternoon, so Waiulu went down to find out what this black stuff was all about. The asphalt was still warm. It smelled like a gas station. Waiulu squatted down and poked at the black stuff with her fingers. It felt slightly squishy, but she couldn’t make a dent. She could see little chunks melted together. It was glittery in the sun. Waiulu wondered if the cars would sink if they drove on it. Waiulu pictured all the customers at the grocery store coming out to see their cars swallowed by the asphalt. She felt a little better.
The next day, workers came with machines and sprayed white lines on the new parking lot. Waiulu liked the way the black and white line were so different from each other. like a neatly lined checkerboard. Now the cars would know where to park. Her mom wouldn’t let her go down to get a closer look: Not until the paint dries, 'Ulu. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow.
On the next day, Waiulu ran down right after breakfast. The paint was dry and the white lines were glowing in the morning sun. The orange safety cones were gone and soon cars would be coming. Waiulu ran all around the new field, jumping over lines, and pretending she was walking the tightrope like in the circus. Then a car came and she had to go back upstairs.
Monday morning came and Waiulu headed off to school, across the new parking lot, still shiny and clean. But then she stopped. Right in the middle was a bump. It wasn’t there yesterday. It was perfectly flat yesterday. Waiulu squatted down to see about this new bump, but Mom called from the upstairs window, Hurry, 'Ulu, you’ll be late for school.
Waiulu forgot all about the bump until the next day. Then, on the way to school she noticed it again. Wondering, she stopped to investigate. The bump was definitely higher. She pushed on it, but it was very hard. She kicked at it, but it didn’t budge. She decided she would keep an eye on it.
The next day,Waiulu ran down early so she could check out the bump. The bump was even bigger today, and now there was a little crack in the top. Waiulu was mystified. What was underneath? She wondered if a critter had been trapped when the workers rolled the asphalt over her field. Dad said most likely not. Waiulu was worried about her field underneath the pavement.
Now Waiulu checked the bump in the morning and at night because it was getting bigger and there were more and more cracks all the time. She peered inside but it was pitch dark like a cave. What is under there? she wondered. She pushed the bump hard with her finger but it didn’t give way, even though it looked a little bit like the tops of brownies. She wondered if it tasted like something good to eat?
But the next day something happened: a tiny green knob popped up through the crack. Waiulu thought it looked like a folded-over straw, only green, not red and white striped like the ones at school. Waiulu wondered what it would turn out to be. She wondered how it had pushed through the hard asphalt that could hold cars and people. She couldn’t wait to see what would happen next.
And then, the very next day, there it was: a dandelion bud! The stem was sticking straight up through the crack in the asphalt, and the baby flower was still tightly wrapped in green petals, but she knew it was one of the flowers in her field, fighting back from under the heavy blacktop. By that afternoon, the bud had opened, and there in the middle of the black asphalt parking lot was a bright yellow dandelion blossom waving like a flag.
Waiulu watched as a bee whizzed by, circled, and then landed on the brand new flower. She smiled at the thought that a tiny flower could have cracked open the surface. She thought about the little plant, buried under the hot tar, hidden in the dark, fighting to live.
A few days later, Waiulu plucked the dandelion puff-ball, sending dozens of seeds into the air. The seeds floated on the slightest breeze, spinning lazily, landing all around the parking lot. She pictured all the cars in the lot sprouting bright yellow dandelions blossoms. She smiled. Her field would be all right after all.
Waiulu walked through the field of flowers on her way to school every morning and then again on her way home. Mom and Dad said it was just an old parking lot, but she knew better. She knew every little crack in the pavement, every little nook and cranny where some plant or critter made a home. She had watched many flowers come and go in the rain and sun. It was her field of flowers.
Then one day, workers came with machines and covered her field with black stuff. Dad said it was ‘asphalt’. Waiulu watched the crew working from her window. She noticed every little thing: the sticky smell of hot tar, heat waves and exhaust rising from the heavy machinery, the grime on the faces of the workers, and the great flat boring stretch of blacktop where her field of flowers used to be. Dad said they were ‘resurfacing’ the parking lot for the grocery store. Waiulu didn’t understand why cars had to park in her field. Dad said it was a parking lot, not her field.
But Waiulu knew better. Her field used to be full of all kinds of interesting flowers and critters, and she was very unhappy to see it all disappear under the stinky black stuff. Waiulu wrinkled up her nose at the smell. She didn’t like the machines. She didn’t like the black stuff, the asphalt.
The men were gone that afternoon, so Waiulu went down to find out what this black stuff was all about. The asphalt was still warm. It smelled like a gas station. Waiulu squatted down and poked at the black stuff with her fingers. It felt slightly squishy, but she couldn’t make a dent. She could see little chunks melted together. It was glittery in the sun. Waiulu wondered if the cars would sink if they drove on it. Waiulu pictured all the customers at the grocery store coming out to see their cars swallowed by the asphalt. She felt a little better.
The next day, workers came with machines and sprayed white lines on the new parking lot. Waiulu liked the way the black and white line were so different from each other. like a neatly lined checkerboard. Now the cars would know where to park. Her mom wouldn’t let her go down to get a closer look: Not until the paint dries, 'Ulu. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow.
On the next day, Waiulu ran down right after breakfast. The paint was dry and the white lines were glowing in the morning sun. The orange safety cones were gone and soon cars would be coming. Waiulu ran all around the new field, jumping over lines, and pretending she was walking the tightrope like in the circus. Then a car came and she had to go back upstairs.
Monday morning came and Waiulu headed off to school, across the new parking lot, still shiny and clean. But then she stopped. Right in the middle was a bump. It wasn’t there yesterday. It was perfectly flat yesterday. Waiulu squatted down to see about this new bump, but Mom called from the upstairs window, Hurry, 'Ulu, you’ll be late for school.
Waiulu forgot all about the bump until the next day. Then, on the way to school she noticed it again. Wondering, she stopped to investigate. The bump was definitely higher. She pushed on it, but it was very hard. She kicked at it, but it didn’t budge. She decided she would keep an eye on it.
The next day,Waiulu ran down early so she could check out the bump. The bump was even bigger today, and now there was a little crack in the top. Waiulu was mystified. What was underneath? She wondered if a critter had been trapped when the workers rolled the asphalt over her field. Dad said most likely not. Waiulu was worried about her field underneath the pavement.
Now Waiulu checked the bump in the morning and at night because it was getting bigger and there were more and more cracks all the time. She peered inside but it was pitch dark like a cave. What is under there? she wondered. She pushed the bump hard with her finger but it didn’t give way, even though it looked a little bit like the tops of brownies. She wondered if it tasted like something good to eat?
But the next day something happened: a tiny green knob popped up through the crack. Waiulu thought it looked like a folded-over straw, only green, not red and white striped like the ones at school. Waiulu wondered what it would turn out to be. She wondered how it had pushed through the hard asphalt that could hold cars and people. She couldn’t wait to see what would happen next.
And then, the very next day, there it was: a dandelion bud! The stem was sticking straight up through the crack in the asphalt, and the baby flower was still tightly wrapped in green petals, but she knew it was one of the flowers in her field, fighting back from under the heavy blacktop. By that afternoon, the bud had opened, and there in the middle of the black asphalt parking lot was a bright yellow dandelion blossom waving like a flag.
Waiulu watched as a bee whizzed by, circled, and then landed on the brand new flower. She smiled at the thought that a tiny flower could have cracked open the surface. She thought about the little plant, buried under the hot tar, hidden in the dark, fighting to live.
A few days later, Waiulu plucked the dandelion puff-ball, sending dozens of seeds into the air. The seeds floated on the slightest breeze, spinning lazily, landing all around the parking lot. She pictured all the cars in the lot sprouting bright yellow dandelions blossoms. She smiled. Her field would be all right after all.
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