Icy Sparks Read Online Free PDF

intruding on some summer squash.
    â€œNext year, I’m planting even more marigolds and zinnias,” Matanni said, plucking a pockmarked leaf off a tomato plant, “to keep away these bothersome bugs.”
    I whistled through my fingers and pointed at a bunch of wild grass creeping into the green beans. “Way over there!” I said to Patanni. “That grass needs hoeing.”
    â€œAin’t nothing wrong with your arm, Icy Sparks,” my grandfather said, not making a move.
    I moaned, got up from where I had been pulling up milkweed, sauntered over to the green beans, lazily bent over, and tore out the grass. Then, snapping off a bean, I popped it into my mouth. “They sure are sweet,” I said.
    â€œI’ll cook up a pot for supper,” Matanni said. “With some fatback.”
    â€œHow about some greens?” Patanni asked. “The other day, I seen pokeweed growing in the fencerows near the Tillman place. Since then, I been hankering for a mess of greens,” he said. “Pokeweed with spring onions on top, then doused with some of your grandma’s hot sauce.”
    â€œSome snow on the mountain and some heat to melt it,” I said, remembering Patanni’s words whenever he ate pokeweed.
    â€œDon’t forget your cornbread,” Matanni piped up.
    â€œAnd a few slices of sweet tomatoes,” I added.
    â€œYessir,” Patanni said, chopping at the roots of a yellow weed with prickles on its stem. “Ain’t no better eating in the world!” he declared, slamming the hoe ino the ground. “Excepting for…”
    â€œExcepting for what?” Matanni asked, wiping her hands on her apron.
    â€œLouisa’s pokeweed,” he said, throwing back his head, laughing, his white teeth showing. “That girl almost kilt me.”
    My grandmother was shaking her head. “Louisa got confused. She did,” Matanni said. “Poor girl didn’t know the good parts from the bad.”
    With a faraway look in his eyes, Patanni let go of the hoe’s handle, which wobbled precariously above the loose dirt before plopping to the ground. “In no time, I knowed something was wrong,” he said, grimacing, covering his belly with his large hands. “My stomach somersaulting and grinding like it done. The sickness and the vomiting.” A smile, wistful and sad, flickered across his lips. “Louisa ate nary one bite, and you were at Stoddard’s Five and Dime. I was the only one took sick.”
    â€œYou weren’t the only unlucky one,” Matanni said. “Poor Louisa!” she groaned. “She suffered for it, too. Cried and cried. Suffered more’n you. ‘Hit ain’t normal me not knowing what’s good and what’s bad and me growing up in these parts,’ she said, over and over, till you got well.”
    â€œâ€™Tweren’t her fault,” said Patanni, walking over to a brown bucket at the garden’s edge. “Louisa knowed about garden flowers, but she never cared about wild plants.” Dipping his hand into the bucket, he lifted up a Mason jar filled with springwater, unscrewed the lid, and took a swallow. “I tried to learn her, but her eyes would film over like she was dead, and nary a word took root.”
    â€œProbably why she ate them little green crab apples before I was born,” I chimed in. “She didn’t understand they was poison.”
    Patanni closed his eyes. “When the good Lord took Louisa, He brought us pain.” His hand traveled to his chest. “Then He called Josiah home and brought us some more grief. But I reckon I shouldn’t complain about getting sick so many years ago,” he said, blinking open his eyelids. “I’ve lived a long time; your poor mama died young.”
    â€œShe was a good girl,” Matanni said, looking at me. “She almost kilt herself nursing your grandpa back. When she done wrong, it was