Sunshine Picklelime (21 page)

Mr. Splitzky had made an extra gift for PJ. It was a bird feeder, a mini version of the tree house, which he dangled from a branch of the pecan tree. It swayed in a new, salty breeze that seemed to join them straight from the ocean.

Squirt suddenly came leaping between the branches and plopped down on the lawn by Joshua’s feet. Denied the flight show performed by the birds the day before, he seemed determined to stage his own show.

To everyone’s delight, he spun about, doing a series of cartwheels, and ended up in Mr. Santos’s olives.

Covered in oil, he rolled around on the grass and then shot up the pecan tree and slid down the chain, straight into the bird feeder. Josh rose to crumble some of Mr. Kanafani’s bread for him.

“That rascal Squirt,” said Mrs. Picklelime. “Come fall he’ll be cracking pecans and burying them in the garden for winter!”

All eyes were on the squirrel. He twisted in the bird feeder. When it swayed dizzily on the long chain, he took a flying leap into the tree house.

Neighbors only began to clear up and leave around sunset, when the sky turned all shades of soft pink and deep red. As they left, the birds flew into the garden and through the open windows of the tree house.

PJ and Josh climbed the ladder to join them. They all clustered around to watch the sunset darken through the skylight.

“Tree house feels at home here, doesn’t it, PJ?” Josh punched one of the big, puffy blue cushions. “Ruth would approve. She’d also expect me to help you with the gang.” He high-fived Squirt, the gulls, and the owls. “Call me when you’re ready.”

“We will, Josh. And soon.”

Squirt and the birds watched as the two hugged goodbye.

Josh slid down the ladder and then stood at the foot of the tree and said, “PJ, can I adopt you as my new sister?”

“Only if I can adopt you as my brother!”

He looked up at her for a long time as if reluctant to leave, and then walked away, turning back every few moments to wave.

PJ wondered why she couldn’t stop watching him as he unlatched the front gate. Then she realized why. When he wasn’t goofing about, Josh looked even more like Ruth.

“Whooooo,” said Oohoo, fanning herself. “He’s
cute!
Listen, PJ. Domino and I are moving out of Mr. Splitzky’s barn. We’ll find a little place for ourselves in this live oak. We need to keep an eye on you!”

“Oh, don’t be silly, Oohoo!”

Loud hoots and
caw-caws
and wing slapping rocked the tree house.

“C’mon, guys, give me a break,” said PJ.

Big Gull hopped onto the windowsill and said, “Oohoo and Domino aren’t the only ones moving in, PJ. Cardy and Mrs. Cardy are nesting in your corner rosebush where you taught Lemon Pie to sing.”

“I thought I heard them
chirpchirping
earlier.” PJ smiled.

Little Gull piped up. “Gang? I think we should split now and visit tomorrow. You too, Squirt. Been a long day, and PJ looks as though she needs time alone here.”

They surrounded PJ and hugged and said noisy farewells to one another and lifted off as quickly as they had flown in. Squirt was the last to leave.

PJ hung over the door and watched them disappear into the warm night. Dozens of fireflies darted about below, a sure sign they were on the edge of summer.

There was so much to look forward to now.

PJ could smell the rosemary bushes and imagined what it would be like when the air was heavy with jasmine. The garden was beginning to take shape beautifully, and compost was breaking down slowly in the tumbler bins at the back. Rain barrels were full following the recent storm.

PJ thanked Ruth silently in her heart.

Next time Josh visited, they’d play some flute music to the birds.

Soon they could watch the moon change from a circle of clear ice into a perfect crescent surrounded by stars, and on into the large golden strawberry moon of summer.

PJ Picklelime was born during lunches of cheese-and-pickle sandwiches and breakfasts of toast and lime marmalade with Debra Duncan Persinger, PhD, while we crafted our anthology
Sand to Sky: Conversations with Teachers of Asian Medicine
, published in 2008. Both Debra and I had the sort of crazily untamable hair that was once the despair of our respective mothers. When I joked about our hair as a perfect bird’s nest, out popped PJ and chapter one. Thank you, Debra, for stirring my imagination.

My appreciation also goes to Susy Kiefer of Basel, Switzerland, for her chocolate knowledge and the opportunity to step into the kitchen of her favorite Kaffi Zum König, owned by the Gilgen brothers, to observe Peter Gilgen engaged in the fine art of truffle making.

Thank you, Jennifer Arena of Random House, for your inspiring editing and for helping me bring out the very best of PJ. Thank you, art director Tracy Tyler and illustrator Christian Slade, for your super interpretations.

I’m equally blessed with wonderful agents: Edythea Ginis Selman (New York), David Grossman (London),
and Ruth Weibel (Zurich)—all of whom have given me years of encouragement and support.

My great soul sisters Bernadette Winiker, Sophie Keir, and Nancy Casey have given me incredible support through decades of writing and teaching and have offered insightful advice through several drafts of my books.

My appreciation goes to Miriam Hood of Austin, Texas, who was the first person PJ’s age to read a draft of the work and whose enthusiasm spurred me to develop the characters. I am equally grateful for the sharp feedback from Cici Todeschini (Rome), Angela Neustatter (London), Gary Smith (Toronto), Deborah Lyons, PhD (Austin), and Teri Rodriguez (Austin).

Finally I thank my dear neighbor Tina Huckabee for her friendship and comments as she read the work chapter by chapter. We all mourned the death of her daughter Shoshana Weintraub (1992–2006), who gave so much of herself to our community. Part of the proceeds of
Sunshine Picklelime
will be donated to Austin’s Town Lake Animal Center in Shoshana’s memory, to honor the years she volunteered there, along with Tina and Steve and Aaron Weintraub.

Only a person who has lived as richly as Pamela Ellen Ferguson could create such a lush work of fiction. She was born in Mexico, grew up in Britain and South Africa, and has lived and worked in over a dozen world capitals. A former journalist in London’s Fleet Street, she is now an award-winning international instructor in Zen Shiatsu, and her books for adults, both fiction and non-fiction, have been translated into several languages. She lives in Austin, Texas, surrounded by a garden with cacti as tall as trees.
Sunshine Picklelime
is her first book for children.