Sunday, September 8, 2013

Goblin to Go Story: an apple tree, leaves falling, black-eyed Susans, a horse, people chasing a boy, and a hot falafel

Late one Saturday morning in September, the green goblin sat on the lowest branch of an apple tree in an orchard near his home, watching leaves drift slowly on the breeze. He sighed happily.

"I love this time of year!" he thought. Suddenly, plonk! An apple from a higher branch fell and bounced off the goblin's head, then rolled onto the ground. He rubbed his head and laughed, then jumped off his branch to get the apple.

The green goblin never picked apples off the trees because the family that owned the orchard sold the apples at market, but windfall apples were often bruised or wormy, so it was okay to eat the good parts of those apples. Sure enough, this one was squishy and brown on one side, but the rest looked just fine. The goblin took a big bite. It was crisp and crunchy, just the way he liked it. Yum! He did a happy goblin dance amid the falling leaves.

"Whoa! Whoa!" he heard over the sound of his crunching. "Come back!"

The voices were coming from Farmer McEwan's pasture next door. The goblin stuffed the unfinished apple in his pocket and headed toward the fence. He didn't like to be seen by grown-ups, but he did want to know what was happening. Black-eyed Susans bloomed on both sides of the fence, their golden petals looking like a thousands rays of sunlight. They made a perfect place for the goblin to hide.

He scrunched down and peered through the flowers. Farmer McEwan's big brown horse was galloping around the pasture, and holding onto his mane was a boy the goblin didn't know. Farmer McEwan and another man were chasing after the boy on the horse.

"Uh-oh!" said the goblin. "That would be a long way for a boy to fall."

Thinking fast, he whistled quietly to the horse, whose name was Ben. "C'mon, Ben," he whispered. "I have an apple for you." He whistled again. From way across the pasture, Ben's long ears picked up the sound of the whistle, and the promise of an apple. He changed directions and galloped straight to where the goblin was hiding, then stopped.

The boy had bright eyes and a big smile. His fingers were wrapped tightly into Ben's silky mane. "Hi," said the goblin, climbing over the fence. He pulled the half-eaten apple out of his pocket and handed it to the waiting horse, then turned back to the boy. "You are a very brave boy," he said.

"And strong!" the boy responded.

"Yes, and strong. You've had quite a ride, haven't you?"

"Oh, yes!" said the boy. "I loved it!"

"But you're scaring the grown-ups. They don't know how brave and strong you are, and so they worry that you'll fall off, and, well, I worried, too. At least until I met you and can see how careful you are to hold on like that. How come I don't know you? Where are you from?"

"North Carolina," the boy said. "I'm visiting here with my dad.  -- Oh, here he is!" he added as his father and Farmer McEwan came panting up to the horse and boy. "You'll never guess who I just met!" he called to the grown-ups.

But when the boy turned around, the goblin had disappeared back into the flowers. Farmer McEwan slipped a bridle onto the horse to keep him from racing off again while the boy from North Carolina told his father all about the green goblin.

As Farmer McEwan led Ben back to the barn, the boy kept hold of the horse's mane, and for a long time the goblin could still hear the boy's excited voice carried on the wind.

"Well," thought the goblin, "what an adventure! I'm hungry now, though, and Ben ate my apple." He looked around, but there were no more windfall apples on the ground. He sighed. Sometimes grown-ups he secretly helped would put his favorite treat of instant maple and brown sugar oatmeal out on their back porches as a thank-you. "I don't suppose Farmer McEwan will give me any oatmeal today for getting Ben to stop. It's way past breakfast time."

He climbed back up the apple tree, higher this time so he could see all the way to the farmhouse. Everyone had gone inside, but he thought he saw a dish on the back porch. "Oh, maybe it's for me!" He clambered down the tree and raced all the way there.

Waiting for him on the back porch instead of a bowl of oatmeal was a hot falafel wrapped in pita bread. He'd never eaten a falafel before, but as he bit into the crunchy, golden, savory yumminess he gave a contented sigh. "This," he said, "might be even better than apples!"



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