Sunshine Picklelime Read Online Free PDF

Didn’t Lemon Pie tell you the wild fig tree is sacred in southern Africa?”
    “Sacred?” PJ said in surprise.
    “You see, PJ,” Mrs. Patel went on, pausing at a red light. “For hundreds of years, families have gone to wild fig trees to talk to their ancestors and to ask for messages and guidance.”
    “Their ancestors also lived in the wild fig tree?” PJ asked, puzzled.
    Mrs. Patel laughed. The light turned green and the VW
varoomed
ahead. “No, child. The ancestors had passed on, one by one, invisible to us but all there in the memories of their loved ones. When family members hada problem and needed to sort something out, they would visit the wild fig tree.”
    “I don’t think Lemon Pie knew that, but he wants to drop wild fig seeds along the coast. Isn’t that great? More trees for more families to visit!”
    “What a lovely idea!” said Mrs. Patel, moving the VW’s stick shift down to a lower gear.
    Fascinated, PJ watched her. She was used to her mom’s Toyota automatic. They slowed down, turned onto a dirt track, and bounced over potholes toward the craggy clifftops.
    “Mrs. Patel, how do you know about the wild fig tree?” she asked.
    “Ah, that’s simple, PJ. You see, many Indian families went to live and work in South Africa’s sugar plantations a long time ago, mainly around a city called Durban on the east coast. It’s very hot and tropical and steamy and lush. Pineapples and bananas are deep gold in color and they are so sweet they make your head spin! I have uncles and aunties there and more cousins than I can count. That’s how I know about the wild fig tree. Your Lemon Pie will come back to us as a wise little bird after all these experiences.”
    PJ was silent for a moment, trying to recall everythingMessenger Gull told her about Lemon Pie’s travels. She hung out the window to study the slope of the cliffs. Jagged ledges held wisps of former nests where Lemon Pie once protected the eggs of local laughing gulls. When would she meet some of those gulls, as Lemon Pie promised?
    The beach seemed equally stark after the oil spill and massive cleanup operation. Only a couple of dark shapes dotted the sand here and there where a stray oil streak had escaped the cleanup and floated back with the tides. PJ touched her tight, springy curls. When they grew wildly bushy again, perhaps the coast guard would ask for more sacks of hair.
    The VW pulled up close to a pathway cut into the cliff. Mrs. Patel switched off the noisy motor and said, “Listen, PJ!”
    PJ opened the car door and raised her head. She could hear the distant
caw-caw
of gulls and steady lapping of the ocean below.
    “Listen beyond those sounds,” said Mrs. Patel. “Come, let me show you.”
    They got out of the VW. Mrs. Patel dropped to her knees and lowered her ear to the sand between clumps of sea oats. When PJ hunkered down and did the same, adeafening roar filled her head. She sat up quickly and looked around, thinking she’d heard the
whup-whup
of Pete’s helicopter.
    “Oh no, child.” Mrs. Patel stood up. “This is a surprise…. I want you to see for yourself.”
    “See what, Mrs. Patel?”
    “Follow the sounds, PJ.”
    They climbed down the stone pathway, holding on to the rope hung there as a handrail. Then PJ began to tune her ears in to the roar of water.
    Halfway down the cliff, Mrs. Patel said, “Turn around, PJ. Look!”
    There it was. A waterfall crashed down inside the ravine and hit a pool that jumped from the impact. Water escaped over the edge in three separate waterfalls that plunged wildly into another pool below, so deep it looked almost purple to PJ. She leaned over.
    Mrs. Patel grabbed hold of her T-shirt. “Careful, PJ! You’re too young for the waterfalls to take you. Let’s keep going, to my secret hiding place.”
    They climbed all the way down to the lower pool. Water swirled and whirled and splashed over the rocks. PJ followed Mrs. Patel along the path to a sandy ledge and into a