Summer of Lost and Found Read Online Free PDF Page A

it’s seen every generation of Europeans in the United States, and probably several generations of Native people prior. I’m wondering if some were caring for the vine, because it’s survived against drought and invasive species and even development in the area.” She was practically bouncing in the driver’s seat.
    We drove out of town, and I was surprised at how un-sandy it was everywhere. Roanoke was a very green place, thick with trees—as much a forest as an island. We took a couple of wrong turns, righted ourselves, and then bumped down a gravelly road, marked with a PRIVATE PROPERTY—NO TRESPASSING sign. Next to it, on the other side of a chain-link fence, was a big banner touting the future site of the Elizabethan Links golf course and luxury resort.
    â€œUh, Mom? Are we supposed to be taking this road?”
    â€œIt’s fine. The property owner said he’s happy to let me study the vine. It’s the looky-loos he’s trying to keep out.”
    I had a hard time imagining why people vacationing would want to drive around to look at an old grapevine. Mom continued, “Also the developers, I suppose. They’re putting the pressure on him to sell his land. If he does . . . we might lose this piece of botanical history.”
    Suddenly, Mom let out a gasp and pulled the car onto the shoulder. She hopped out and speed-walked, arms swinging like a little kid’s, over to this huge, gnarled plant thing at the edge of the woods. It looked like the cross between a tree and a branch-bare bush, with ropy gray-brown stalks intertwining around one another and toward the leafy ends. It dwarfed my mom as she knelt down and touched it. “Isn’t this awesome ?” To me, it looked like . . . a big plant, and not even with pretty buds.
    She motioned for me to come over. I tiptoed around a few piles of deer poo, which I recognized thanks to the “How to Identify Animal Scat” exhibit at Mom’s museum. When I joined her next to the vine, she had some dusty green circles cupped in her hand. They looked like bouncy balls, ones that were filthy from rolling under the fridge or something.
    â€œLook at the grapes! They’re huge.”
    I picked one up and rolled it between my thumb and forefinger. “Are you sure you can eat them?” They were always scaring us about poisonous berries at sleepaway camp.
    â€œRemember what I said in the car? You can, and people even make jelly, juice, and wine out of them.” She dusted off one on the thigh of her cargo shorts and popped it into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Not bad.”
    I circled the Grandmother Vine, careful not to trip over any roots. Mom pulled out her camera and snapped some pictures. I trailed my hand along the smooth surface of the vine as I walked, and a chill ran down my spine. It almost felt like someone was watching us—maybe the guy whose property we were on? The golf-course developers? I glanced around, but I didn’t see anyone through the mess of trees. I pulled out my phone, thinking that maybe the shivery feeling was some kind of signal that I’d gotten a message, from Jade—or my dad. No messages, but I also had no bars. I started walking away from Mom to see if I could pick up a signal.
    I wandered toward the woods, twigs and leaves crunching under my flimsy sandals. It was so quiet in the forest, damp and solemn. The air smelled like the best perfume I could imagine: flowery sweet and piney. Sunlight streamed through gaps in the treetops. I heard the faint noise of rippling water. My dad was right about there being lots of trees and brooks. Maybe New York looked like this island once upon a time, when Native people—the Lenape, whom we studied in history—lived on it and it wasn’t covered in concrete.
    I heard a noise then, like a soft voice. A whisper light as the wind. Something is here with me, in these woods. I could feel