ROCKS

WRITERS’ CHAPTER STORY-OF-THE-MONTH  AUGUST 2018

R O C K S 

By: A. Patricia Gainor

Early one lovely Sunday in Spring, we drove with our granddaughter, Gabby, to visit her country cousins in southern New Jersey.  To Gabby, a city dweller, the day promised unaccustomed freedom to roam, explore, and play with other youngsters on the street.   Her favorite friend in the country was Brdigit, the neighbors’ young daughter, who, with Gabby, loved to roam the yards, climb the big trees in the backyards, and call on the other kids who might come out to play.  No dolls for these two, the girls had developed an interest in rocks, stashing those treasures in a shoebox under the front porch.

As soon as we arrived and greetings had been exchanged with the family, Gabby disappeared to call on Bridgit, and the shoebox was unearthed to hold newly found interesting rocks.  On this Sunday the girls wiped their finds free of any soil, and then asked permission to use a porch table to display their treasures.  One of the cousins carried a table down to the front lawn, whereupon the girls carefully arranged the rocks for us to admire.  The adults dutifully came from the house and showed suitable appreciation of the girls’ efforts, ignoring the smirks from the bigger cousins, and warning them to “Hush”.

Then things got interesting.  Based on the praise their dsiplay had received, and after a small conference, Gabby announced, with Br bobbing her head in approval, that they had decided to “sell” their rocks.  No negative comments on the feasibility of such a sale impressed them.  The girls simply and sweetly asked for crayons and paper to make signs advertising their venture.   Shirt cardboards were produced and pieces of oaktag found as well, plus a box of Magic Markers.  Very earnestly, the two five-year olds applied themselves to the task, asking only how, “Do you write cents”?  Three signs were completed:

ROCKS FOR  SALE

    25 CENTS  

The largest was tied to the tree at the curb by Granddad, a smaller taped to their table, and, with Uncle Vic’s permission, the third was taped to the car in the driveway by an unbelieving, and skeptical cousin.  With heavy hearts at the disappointment the girls were to face, we adults went into the house, leaving the big cousins to see to the girls’ safety.  Aunt Toni, the one with the biggest heart of us all, went out and bought three rocks with her quarters.  Now the girls had change, just in case.

Traffic began to come down the street, the cars returning from the church a few blocks away.  From inside the house we could hear their sweet little voices calling, “Rocks, rocks for sale” as they waved to the passing, and slowing cars. Peeking out the window, we could see our little salesgirls had been joined by two small boys who now added their voices to the sales pitch.

Things quieted down after 20 minutes or so.  Two delighted and excited little girls came into the house, their shoebox rich in coin.  They sold every rock and made $7.25.

All it took was a little city chutzpah, and a lot of country kindness.