Four Seasons of Patrick

by Susan Hughes

  3

  Room for All

  In the morning, I jumped on my bike. Dad came out onto the porch with his coffee. The leaves on the trees were starting to change color. Some had fallen in the night. Red, yellow, orange on edges of the farm fields.

  “Harry and I are going to the tree house,” I told him.

  “Okay, buddy,” he said. “And, hey—thanks for helping out with Claire, taking her back and forth from school. It’s helped us all to get settled. Linda and I have both made some changes to our schedules so we can help out more with that.”

  I nodded. “Sure. See you later, Dad.”

  The air was crisp. It said summer was ending and autumn was here.

  Harry was waiting for me on the top rail of the fence. He saw me coming from a long way off and he waved, a big wide arc with his arm.

  I pedaled up and braked hard, making a beautiful sliding skid.

  “Nice,” Harry said admiringly.

  I grinned. “Harry, I have another idea,” I told him. “There’s something we have to do.”

  “Sure,” said Harry.

  I hesitated. “We have to build another room in the tree house,” I told him. I looked down. I paused, trying to think of how I would explain.

  “For Claire,” he said. Almost, but not quite, a question.

  I nodded. Grinned. “Right. For Claire.” He understood. Of course he did. He was my best friend.

  So we began that day, that Sunday.

  And on Monday, I told Claire we needed her help with the tree house after school. That we were building a new room for it. She could carry some of the tools and materials, and hand Harry and me the things we needed. The new room was for her, after all, so the least she could do was help out.

  The autumn leaves shimmered. The air was all sunlight and shadows dancing.

  The days went by: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday. We went to school and we worked on the tree house. Then, on Friday, we were done.

  “Come on up,” I said to Claire.

  “Okay,” she agreed. Eyes sparkling, she climbed the ladder.

  The three of us, Harry, Claire, and I, stood in the tree house. Our pearl. We looked out across the tree tops. From here, we could see that the sky went on forever.

  I smiled. Here, Claire and I could stretch out wide, and Harry, too. There was plenty of room for all of us.

  Photo Credit: Georgia Coles

  Interview with Susan Hughes

  Can you tell me how this story began for you?

  I wanted to write a story about a tree house. I saw this image: a boy in a tree house amongst the green of the leaves and the blue of the sky. The idea came to me that the tree house would be a special refuge for the boy. A place he needs to build because he is feeling “crowded” at home, uncertain that there is enough room for him in his father’s affections, uncertain that there is space at home for memories of his mother. The tree house would hug the trunk of the tree but open out into endless space. A place with room for him and for his best friend. A place that, ultimately, the boy decides he must share with a new person in his life.

  As you began to write this story, did you picture it happening in a place you know—and, if so, where is that place?

  Yes, I did. My mother grew up in Colpoy’s Bay, a farming community on the Bruce Peninsula near Wiarton, and her parents continued to live there throughout their lives. My siblings and I loved it when my parents would take us to visit. Each season was special. In the spring, we’d wander down to the creek, amazed at the torrential rush of water into the bay below. We’d roam the pastures in the summer, trying to ignore the stares of the curious cows—and avoid stepping in their pats!—as we explored the “castle,” the ruins of the neighbor’s barn and silo. In the fall, we’d stuff our pockets with chestnuts picked up along the roadside and, on our way back from the corner store, pop black gumballs into our mouths, one after another after another. In the winter, we’d dig forts into the towering snow banks and go sledding down the sides of the sand pit in the back field.

  Did you ever build a tree house there?

  No, we had lots of other types of fun, but we never built a tree house. The farmhouse was surrounded by fields. There was one large sheltering tree behind the house, not suitable for a tree house, but it did have a swing—a wooden slat hung from two thick scratchy ropes—which we took turns on, pushing one another under the shade of the branches. Sometimes the pusher would help twirl the swing—twirling it round and round until the ropes were so tightly wound that the seat was lifted up and the swinger’s feet dangled high above the ground—and then a big push! The swing would whip around and around, in crazy spinning dizzying circles while we screamed. How we loved that!

  In the end, Patrick stops just thinking of himself and comes to realize how Claire feels. What do you think brings about this change of heart in Patrick?

  Once Patrick’s tree house is built, he still worries about the changes happening in his house and in his family, about being crowded out of his father’s life, about his family memories of his mother being lost. He still feels hurt. He still feels that he has lost his home.

  But over time, as Patrick stands in his tree house and stretches and breathes, he begins to feel better, less afraid. He is able to look beyond himself. He has been upset with Claire, and mean to her, shutting her out. But now he is able to see that they share something important. Claire has also lost her home. However, although she has lost as much, or more, than him, she is trying to make Patrick feel better. And when he receives her special drawing of his tree house, he realizes that she doesn’t have anything like a tree house to help her cope with the changes in her life.

  Yes, having the new tree house has changed Patrick. He now feels like he needs to reach out to Claire, to show her that there is room for her in his special place.

  Why does Patrick call the tree house “our pearl” on the very last page of the story?

  Well, I’m going to answer your question by asking you some questions!

  Think back to the chapter titled “Oyster” in the Spring section. Do you remember that Patrick’s teacher, Ms. Dean, explains that an oyster forms layers to protect itself from any irritating particles? She also says that the layers make something very special, a pearl.

  Later, in the chapter titled “An Idea,” Patrick is upset that Claire, irritating Claire, is going to be moving into his house. He is trying to decide what to do. He has many ideas which come one after the other, piling up one on top of the other, layer after layer. His big idea, his “shiny, shimmery, best idea,” is to build a tree house. Did you notice that he calls this idea “the pearl”?

  Does this help you answer the question about why he later also calls the tree house “our pearl”?

  What suggestions do you have for young writers as they work on their stories?

  My advice to other writers is always the same: Read, read, read. Write, write, write. Just do it. When you’re beginning a story, don’t worry too much about how good the story is or how perfect the words are. Get it down on the page. Don’t even worry about starting at the beginning. Jumping in anywhere is okay. You can add the beginning and the end when you like.

  When you’re done, take a break from the story. Set it aside. Let it cool down. Come back to it again later and read it with fresh eyes. You’ll probably want to make changes, tweaks, revisions. Go for it. And repeat again.

  At some point, you’ll read it and you’ll be overcome with that most amazing feeling of: “Hey! I like it. I don’t want to change one word of it.”

  Guess what? Your story is done!

  Thank you, Susan

 

 

 
rayscale(100%); -ms-filter: grayscale(100%); filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share