Official Blog of Kristy Gherlone

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Official Blog of Kristy Gherlone
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    • Those Hometown Feelings

      Posted at 10:43 am by writergherlone, on August 29, 2017

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      Those Hometown Feelings

      By Kristy Gherlone

       

      Recently, my husband and I made the long trek back to my home town in northern Maine. We try to make the trip once or twice a year and each time, I find myself battling a wide range of emotions.

      When I was a child, the town was a booming, bustling city that looked like it had been dropped smack dab into the middle of a sea of wilderness. Great Northern Paper Company owned the mill there and most of the forests surrounding it. Nearly everyone worked at the mill. The salaries provided were enough so that most people had a house in town, and a camp on one of the lakes, two cars per household, and yearly vacations.

      We had three elementary schools, a middle school, and a high school. We had an enormous recreational area with a football field, a hockey rink (with warming house), a regular skating rink, tennis courts, a track field, several playgrounds, a golf course, and a large outdoor town pool. The high school had an auditorium worthy of a Boston theatre company. Two or three times a year, we would all settle into the plush, red upholstered and reclining seats, and there, as the lights dimmed, and the curtains drew aside to reveal a spacious stage, we would watch the plays put on by the Millinocket Theatre Company, or the high school drama club. We had a movie theatre, and a bowling alley. We had department stores too, and multiple restaurants.

      We had all of those things, plus our town was cradled by mountain ranges and lakes so beautiful, I couldn’t do them justice with words. Our forest neighborhood offered mountain climbs, boating, swimming, skiing, hiking, snow- mobiling…you name it! We had Baxter State Park and Katahdin, where the Appalachian Trail ends.  We were rich in every sense, but not immune to hardship. We were a close- knit community, connected by so many things, and separated by very little. We struggled through harsh winters and forest fires. Through tragic deaths and illnesses. We spent years laughing and crying together. It was a town where you really knew each other and everyone’s family.  It is a place, that when I visit, I still see people I know in every corner. It’s both a comfort and a heartache.

      After Great Northern sold, the mill began to shut down in stages. People I had known my whole life had to pack it up and move away. Stores closed, one by one. While my town still has some of the things I mentioned, it’s a struggle, I know, to keep them going. I have history there, and not all of it is good, so when I arrive, I find myself riddled with feelings. My town has changed. I have changed.

      My mother sold the camp I spent all my summers at.  Some of my family still lives in town, but most of us don’t speak. Instead of staying with them, my husband and I stay at a hotel. It makes me sad that I can’t give him some of the wonderful experiences I had when I lived there and that he doesn’t know some of the people that used to be a big part of my life.

      My Dad is buried there. His grave sits on the top of a grassy hill, overlooking the mill; the place where he worked for over forty years and probably helped to hasten his demise. He’s alongside people he’d known and worked with his whole life. When I visit, I can hear him speaking to me, “Why are you wasting your time visiting me? I’m not really here, you jar head! I’m up in heaven, so stop blubbering and go have some fun!”

      He’s half- right. It’s not a waste of time to sit in remembrance of things loved, but lost, just so long as you don’t dwell there.  It’s important to make new memories. The forests are still there. Baxter State Park and the Appalachian Trail are still there. My old fishing spots still hold trout. We even have some new things in town, like the ATV Trails. So, my husband and I will continue to go back. Hopefully, someday, he will turn to me and laugh, “Do you remember that time we…” And I will smile when I look back on how much fun he and I had in my new- old hometown.

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged familyfriendly, hometown, maine, mountains, nonfiction, nostalgia, shortstory
    • Sunfish Type of Gal

      Posted at 1:16 pm by writergherlone, on August 26, 2017

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      Sunfish Type Of Gal

      by Kristy Gherlone

      Living in the woods, like I did for many years, I found myself a frequent observer of nature. There was really no way to avoid it because once I stepped outside our brown, boxy camp, I was as much a part of my surroundings as they were of me. The sights and smells left imprints on my psyche and I learned lessons that will stay with me forever.

      Our lake and the surrounding forest held many fascinations. There were giant snapping turtles lurking around in the cove. Fish and baby duck stealing monsters that would poke their muddy green heads out of the water and skulk around brooding. I swore they were stalking me. Just waiting for me to dip a toe in so they could bite it off.

      There were several mating pairs of loons. The calls they made through the night could be both a comfort and a fright. Their cries lulled me to sleep as I lay on the swinging bed my dad made for me in the cozy loft. However, if I was awoken in the middle of the night, they sounded like ghosts! Eerie wails of long dead woodsmen that would haunt my dreams if I was able to get back to sleep.

      When I looked through the binoculars from the screened front porch, which I often did, I could spy bull moose on the far shore. Their giant antlered heads would be all the way underwater chomping on aquatic plants. Just when I thought they’d surely die of suffocation, they’d emerge.  Lily pads dangled like Christmas ornaments from their velvety racks.

      Often, I’d take to the forest. I’d wander off, far enough away from the camp that I couldn’t see it, but not far enough so that I couldn’t still smell the wood smoke puffing from the chimney. Just past the pines, through the birches and over the rows of enormous rocks left behind by glaciers, there was a clearing that held a bog. In mid-summer, it was lush and full of green plant life. Yellow lily flowers opened on the surface during the day and clammed shut at night. There were frogs in there, but they were hard to catch. The water was deep and the bottom was too squishy. I once got my shoe stuck in the muck and I never did find it. It’s probably still there to this day.

      If ever I got too bored, I’d head back down to the lake. I’d lay on my belly, draped over the faded and warped pine dock, peek into the shallow water, and look for sunfish nests. They were easy to spot. They’d be the only clean areas dotting the pulpy, dark bottom.
      The female fish crafted large, round circles of sand that looked like the sunshine had come out on a rainy day down there. They were interesting, and I learned a thing or two in all those years of watching.

      Sunfish girls were jealous and possessive. They didn’t like outsiders, and everything and everybody that wasn’t like them was a threat that should be run off quickly. They had an inherent need to protect what they felt was theirs. They’d socialize with their own kind only. The yellow perch, all tiger striped and sleek, would sneak in and try to play with them, but the sunfish wouldn’t have it. They’d chase them off, pecking at them viciously and swishing their tails to shoo them away. I felt bad for the perch as they swam away looking very dejected.

      The sunfish were industrious, spending hours cleaning their own houses. Picking up and spitting out what didn’t belong. I’d test them by dropping tiny stones in the middle of their order. They’d pick them up and move them out immediately. In my often, curious youth, tragedy would occur on occasion. Larger stones would slip from my fingers and go splashing down into their lairs. In no time at all, other sun fish would be called in to help. Everyone would work together to restore what was lost, if it could be (sorry!) As soon as it was done though, everyone would be booted out again.  It seemed they mostly only wanted company when it was to their benefit.

      Sunfish were pretty. Purple finned and red bellied beauties. They had nothing to be jealous about, but it seemed they couldn’t help it. Sometimes they would school up and swim together. They appeared cordial enough to each other, but God forbid if one tried to take something another wanted!

      I’ve known some girls like sunfish in my lifetime. I’m sure you have too. I’ve been on the receiving end of the shoo away from time to time, and it hurt, but I always tried to apply my nature observations for comfort. People really aren’t so different, after all.

      I learned, by watching the fish as much as I did, that they were too self- centered to give you a second thought just as soon as you were out of sight (or threat zone). Their thoughts always turned back to themselves and their needs. I like that. It means less gossip!

      I learned that they often end up alone, living a sad and lonely life, while the others are out having a blast.

      While few other fish are as pretty, looks don’t mean anything if you aren’t fun to be around. There are definitely cooler fish in the lake to hang with!

       

      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged camp, familyfriendly, fish, nature, shortstory, sunfish
    • Daddy’s Coat

      Posted at 4:19 pm by writergherlone, on August 19, 2017

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      Daddy’s Coat

      by Kristy Gherlone

       

      “Mom, you gave me an extra again,” Katie said as she placed the last setting at the table, only to realize she still had a plate in her hand.
      She glanced briefly, but painfully, towards her dad’s chair. Her heart squeezed at the sight. His olive colored winter coat, puffy with downy feathers still hung over the back as if at any moment he’d be coming in to put it on.
      “Just habit, I guess. I’m sorry. Bring it here,” her mom said.
      Katie, lost in a memory, didn’t hear her.
      **
      “What do you want for Christmas daddy?” Katie, at fifteen, had asked her dad that year. She’d taken a part time job a few weeks before, and was proud that she’d finally be able to purchase the gifts for Christmas all on her own.
      She didn’t know, at the time, how tight her parents’ budget was, and what a relief it was for them. She couldn’t know. Her dad never deprived her of anything and never let on how much he went without sometimes.
      “Oh, I don’t know. How about a tin of those peach blossoms I like?”
      “But daddy, I meant a real gift. I always get you candy. I want to get you something you really want.”
      “Oh, I don’t know. I don’t want you spending your money on me. Save it up! Get yourself something special,” he’d said, ruffling her hair as he headed off for work.
      She’d had to ask her mom later what he wanted.
      “Well, you know… there’s this coat he’s been wanting. He saw it in the Sears and Roebucks. Said it looked real warm. Supposed to be filled with goose feathers or some foolishness, but don’t worry about it. His coat’ll do another year. That one’s too expensive, in my opinion. Ninety-nine dollars!” Her mother clucked and shook her head.
      Katie knew the coat he had been wearing was dangerously worn out. Many years of harsh Maine winters and several dozen washings had left it thin and faded, but he never complained no matter how cold it got. He used to say, ‘I’m tough I is I am I are, and when I’m mad I spits tar.’ It used to make Katie giggle when she was little, and her eyes roll when she got older.
      He probably could have bought a new coat the year before with the money he had in savings, but Katie had needed braces.
      “Ninety-nine dollars?” Katie asked nervously. She had one hundred and fifty saved up. Ninety-nine was a lot of money… Nearly all of her Christmas budget.
      “Yeah. That’s why I said don’t worry about it. He’ll manage.”

      Her mom had married him when Katie was just eight years old, so he wasn’t her real dad then. He’d only become he real dad by the way he treated her, and by the way her heart felt about him. He became as real as anyone else’s. They’d been so poor before. Never enough food, or anything else for that matter.  He’d taken them in, and treated her like she was his very own daughter. That first Christmas he’d bought her every single thing she’d scribbled down on her list. She knew he wanted her to know how loved she was and that she’d never have to worry again.
      Katie went off in search of the catalogue and looked it up. It was nice. It was rated to forty-five below. He could use that, working outside like he did a lot of the time. He was getting old. His hair, gone gray years before, had thinned to unmanageable wisps, and his hands, all gnarly from arthritis, could barely hold a wrench anymore. She knew the cold bothered him, though he’d never admit it.
      Katie studied the picture again.
      Ninety-nine dollars! She sucked in her breath. It was a lot of money. There were so many things she could buy with that!

      Without any more hesitation, Katie called the number on the catalogue.
      Christmas morning, she watched as he opened the big brown box. She’d never seen him cry before, but as he unwrapped the tissue paper and pulled the coat out of the box, his eyes were misty. He choked up as he reached over to hug and thank her.
      He wore that coat every winter day until the last one, and every time he put it on, he’d say the same thing, “Boy oh boy this is a nice coat. So sturdy and warm.”

      **
      “Katie! I said bring it here!” Her mom’s voice, tinged with annoyance, brought her back to the present.
      Katie snapped to and handed the plate back to her mother.
      She turned around and went over to her dad’s chair. She ran her hand over the soft fabric of the coat. She lifted it up and held it to her nose, breathing in deeply.
      It smelled of tobacco and mint. Of wood shavings and oil. There was a whiff of coffee and just a hint of cologne. Everything that was her dad was captured in that coat. There were a thousand memories wrapped up in there; of him pulling her on the sled, the year he taught her to drive a snow mobile, that fall he took her hunting, and of him chopping down countless Christmas trees. The threads that ran through the length of that coat, holding it together, were like the threads of their relationship. Sturdy. Just like her love for him would always be, even though he was gone.
      “I can put it away in the closet if it will make you feel any better,” her mom said.
      “No, don’t!” Katie said quickly. After all, she liked to pretend too.

      There would always be a place at the table, even if only in their memories

      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged childhood, family, familyfriendly, fiction, flashfiction, shortstory, stepdad
    • Harvey

      Posted at 1:17 pm by writergherlone, on August 12, 2017

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      Harvey

      by Kristy Gherlone

       

      Harvey had been waiting all year for the snow to come again.  He’d overheard the birds whispering icy secrets to each other for days, so he knew it would be soon.  He shivered with anticipation, shaking the last of the stubborn, cranky leaves to the pavement.  They skittered away, alarmed to be so suddenly homeless.  He watched through the night, stretching his limbs from time to time to ease his creaking trunk and to test the air.  Just as the first sliver of light peeked over the horizon, he heard one tiny flake giggle as it swam through the air.  He reached out to grab it before the morning warmth could steal it away, and gently tucked it into the crook of his branch.  He captured as many as he could, lovingly placing them in his care until his arms ached under the strain.  His nearby friends danced and shook in the wind trying to rid themselves of the tiny offenders, but not Harvey.  He’d waited a long time.  He wanted to keep them for as long as he could.

       

      *Also, my new story, Ice Cream or Moxie, is now available at Shortfictionbreak.com!

      Posted in Uncategorized | 2 Comments | Tagged familyfriendly, microfiction, shortstory, snow, trees, winter
    • Sometimes the Sun, Sometimes the Rain

      Posted at 12:30 pm by writergherlone, on July 28, 2017

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      Sometimes the Sun, Sometimes the Rain

      By Kristy Gherlone

       

      Ah and Bao were two little slippers, crafted on a day so fine, the sun glimmered in the sky like a brand-new penny. Ah saw it shining boldly over the tops of the adjacent buildings when the factory lady carried her over by the window. She took it as a sign of good luck. She was sure it meant that she and her sister Bao were destined for great things.

      The factory lady held her up to the light. Her eyes squinted as she finished the last of the hand stitching. “You sure are a cute little thing,” she grinned, pinching her nose, “some of my very best work,” she said proudly, snipping the last of the stray threads. “I bet you’ll go to a good home. Some little girl will be happy to have you.”

      She brought Ah back over to her work table and set her down next to Bao.

      “Where do you think we’ll end up?” Bao asked excitedly as soon as the factory lady walked away.

      “I don’t know,” Ah whispered back. Her tummy was full of butterflies thinking about all the possibilities.

      “Maybe Australia, or Mexico, or even Italy! It could be anywhere!”

      “Yes,” Ah said, speculating, “maybe.” Her mind wandered to exotic places where the breezes were warm and the wild animals napped under the shade trees.

      “Do you think we’ll go by plane or by boat?” Bao asked.

      Ah didn’t have the chance to answer, not that she knew the answer, because the factory lady had come back. In her hands, she held a polka dot box.

      Ah was fidgety with nervous excitement as the factory lady scooped them up. She twitched and accidentally jumped out of lady’s hands. She landed with a soft thump on the floor. She held back a sneeze as the dust kicked up and tickled the inside of her nose.

      “Oh goodness,” the factory lady said, quickly picking her back up, “I hope you’re not hurt.”

      She turned Ah over in her hands. “No. Just a little dirty,” she seemed relieved. She brushed her off and set her into the box next to Bao. “You two stick together, now. No matter what happens, you must promise me that you won’t get separated,” she tucked them in securely with a piece of soft, pink tissue paper. “You won’t do anyone any good if you’re apart,” she added, closing the box.

      It was cozy and warm in there.  Before long, despite the excitement of the adventure ahead, Ah and Bao fell fast asleep.

      They slept all through the long and choppy boat ride across the ocean. They slept all through the narrow channels and passage ways that led into the shallower rivers, and they slept through the grating, grinding noises of the boat crashing against the city port dock.

      Ah and Bao didn’t wake up until the deck hands picked them up and hurled them onto the rough, wood- planked pier.

      “Are we here? Can you see anything?” Bao asked Ah, rubbing the sleepy bugs from her eyes.  She wiggled around, trying to see out, and rustled the paper.

      “Rats!” The deck hand hollered in surprise, seeing the box move.  He kicked it. The top flew off and Ah went soaring into the air. She landed in the mud very close to the edge of the water.

      “Huh,” the deck hand said shaking his head, when he didn’t find any rodents, “I guess not.” He went to retrieve Ah.  “It was probably just the wind,” he brushed her off, but she was dirty and a bit scuffed. He stuffed her back into the box and drew and X across the top with a black marker.

      “Is this box no good?” The sisters heard another man ask. They felt themselves being lifted into air.

      “They’ll be alright. Send ‘em over to discount. They’ll sell.”

      “Okay, boss.”

      Ah and Boa were tossed onto a truck. The smell of diesel and wood smoke was strong as they drove along. Ah’s dreams of wild animals and tropical places diminished with each passing mile. She shivered within the box. “It’s cold here,” she remarked.

      “It is,” Bao agreed, “but I guess we wouldn’t be needed in too warm a place.”

      “I suppose you’re right,” Ah sighed.

      The truck’s tires screeched as they came to a stop. The doors crashed open.

      “What do we have today?” A woman’s voice asked.

      “Just a bunch of slippers. Some of ‘em are damaged, but they’ll sell. Don’t you worry.”

      “Okay. Bring them on in.”

      Ah and Bao felt the warm air of the shop keeper store as they were brought in and placed on a shelf.

      All through the night Ah couldn’t stop thinking about what would happen to them. What kind of child would want her now that she was dirty and bruised?

      The next morning Ah and Bao heard the shop open. Voices chattered as people flooded in. Their box was opened and closed so many times, Ah was dizzy with it all. The many faces became a blur and to her dismay, no one wanted them.

      Day after day they sat on the shelf, looked at but never bought and each day their price was marked down a little further until they could be had for a mere fifty cents. Ah was starting to lose hope they would ever find their forever home.

      The sun shone brightly one morning after a long period of rain. Someone had left the box open just a tad, and Ah could see out. She took it as a good omen that it would be the day they would be going home, but just like the days before, their box was opened and shut. Opened and shut.

      Ah was starting to get sleepy about mid-afternoon when she heard the chimes on the shop- keeper’s door. She heard to approach of tiny foot prints.

      Their box was opened. Ah nearly gasped at the sight of the child’s face peering back at her. She was the most beautiful child Ah had ever seen, but she somehow she seemed so sad. It hurt Ah’s heart to see such suffering from such a small little girl.

      “Daddy?” Ah heard the little girls say in a small voice, “Daddy, look at the cute kitten slippers.”

      “Close that box,” he boomed, “we can’t afford such nonsense.  You’re getting new shoes for winter and that is it.”

      “But daddy, I’ve always wanted slippers,” the child’s voice was wistful, but defeated.

      “I told you no!” The father scolded. He snapped their lid shut. Ah heard the child sniffling as she was taken away.

      “It’s okay if she wants the slippers,” the shop keeper said kindly, “there’s no charge. They’ve been here a while and I don’t think they are going to sell after all.”

      Ah heard the little girl’s feet running towards them. She felt the sway as their box was lifted off from the shelf.

      “Bao!” Ah cried, “We’ve found a home! Isn’t that wonderful?”

      “Yes!” Bao said. “I’m so happy I could cry!”

      “You better not do that,” Ah laughed. “What good is a soggy slipper?”

      The little girl opened the box when she got home. Carefully, she took Ah and Boa out. She admired them. She smiled broadly before putting them on her feet.

      Each day, Ah and Bao shuffled up the stairs and down. Out to the mailbox and back again. Into the kitchen and into the bathroom. Into a sister’s room and into a brother’s. Never had Ah and Bao had such a time!

      Ah loved the little girl. She loved her giggle and her gentle touch. She loved the way her tiny little toes tickled her belly and the way she stopped to smile down at them throughout the day. Ah knew her life couldn’t have been any better if they had been shipped to a tropical oasis.

      One night, just before the little girl went to bed Ah heard her say a prayer., “Dear lord, please bless daddy, and grandma. Please bless mommy up in heaven and give her a kiss for me, and please keep my new kitty slippers safe because I love them. Thank you, Amen.”

      Ah got teary eye-d. She hugged the little girl so tightly before she jumped into bed, the little girl couldn’t get her off. She had to wear Ah and Boa while she slept!

      Later that evening, long after the stars and moon began to shimmer in the sky, and long after the little girl was fast asleep, Bao smelled something awful. It was a smoky, poisonous odor. She woke Ah up. Something was wrong!  Ah could tell that the little girl was still asleep. She wouldn’t normally act out, but she was worried. She folded herself in and bit the child gently on the pinky toe.

      “Ouch!” the little girl cried, awakening with a fright. She sniffed the air and jumped out of bed. “Daddy! Daddy!” she screamed. She smelled what Ah and Bao did! “The house is on fire!”

      Ah and Boa were hustled out into the cold, dark night. They rushed down the street and away from the heat.  Ah was shaken loose and slipped off the little girl’s foot. She could hear Bao and the little girl crying for her as they hurried away.

      The next morning Ah woke up on the cold, dirty pavement. She was alone and scared. She remembered what the factory lady had told them: “Don’t get separated. You won’t do anyone any good if you’re apart.”

      Ah didn’t care about herself, she could only think about the little girl and Bao. Ah knew she would be very sad without her, as she didn’t have very much to begin with and Bao wouldn’t be any good alone. She might even be thrown away!

      A steady rain began to fall. It collected on the streets and formed rivers on the sidewalk. Ah was nearly washed down a drain! She took it as a bad omen that all was lost. Her tears mixed in with the rain and were washed out to sea.

      “Daddy!!” Ah heard a small voice squeal. “I found it! I found my lost slipper!”

      Ah’s heart leapt as she sailed up into the sky!  The little girl had found her! She held Ah up and covered her with kisses. “I’m so glad I found you,” she whispered.

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

      Posted in Uncategorized | 4 Comments | Tagged children, childrensstory, familyfriendly, fiction, rain, sales, shortstory, slippers, sun
    • Speed Limit 25

      Posted at 10:20 am by writergherlone, on July 11, 2017

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      Speed limit 25

      By Kristy Gherlone

       

      Old Speed Limit 25 had seen a few things in his thirty years of keeping guard just on the outskirts of Zephyr.

      The highway man had stationed on a fickle stretch of road that didn’t have the sense to know whether it wanted to be straight or curvy.

      He stood day after day next to the fields that, back in the day, used to hold flowers. They were pretty little things, delicate and bright as they sat preening in the sun, and he didn’t mind admitting, even as modest as he was, that they used to flirt with him on occasion, powdering him with perfumed kisses in the springtime. Now the fields had gone to hay, and all they did was sneeze turbulent fluff his way whenever the mood would strike them.

      When the summer would wane, and the days would grow shorter, the chill air from the east would grow bored from being so idle and kick up a spat with the west. They’d throw dusty words around, stinging him as they flung their insults. Eventually, though, the rains would come and cool things off a bit, or if the time was right, winter would be the one to settle in, scolding with icy fingers, leaving feathery prints on his face and sending blankets of snow to smooth things over.

      In his time on his stretch of the road, Old Speed Limit 25 had seen his share of accidents. The screeching tires and twisting metal made his post ache and his bolts go to rust. Some were worse than others, and though he tried to prevent them, all he could really do was give his advice. It was up to them whether they wanted to follow it or not.

      He’d seen wild fires blow in and scar the landscape with their meanness, promising to melt him with their anger. He’d felt the wrath of thundering storms that tried to push him over or rip him from the ground, but he dug in further and held fast. He had a job to do.

      Back when Zephyr buzzed with life, local kids would drive by him, music thumping so loud it would nearly shake him loose. Sometimes in their youthful aggression they’d chuck rocks at him, dinging his metal and leaving a few dents here and there.  He’d even been shot once or twice, but the highway man would always come and patch him back up. He was a nice old sort with a gentle touch. He’d brush him with a new coat of paint and set him straight whenever he needed it, and sometimes he needed it a lot.

      In the heat of the summer the highway man would hack away at the once innocent fronds that grew around him and playfully tickled his feet in their delightful infancy, but became poisonous devils as they grew, snaking up his post and threating to choke him. He’d even give him a shine now and again when he was feeling a little dull, and nowadays that was more often than not.

      It had been quite a time since he’d seen any real traffic. Just an occasional car that whizzed by, completely ignoring him. No one really came by to visit him anymore, with him being so far off the main road and the town dying out. Even the highway man, eventually, had stopped coming by. There was a fence post that sat up a little ways and he’d talk to him every once in a while, but he didn’t know much.

      He missed the family of five that used to live nearby. They always visited him whenever they walked by. The big kids would hold up the little ones so they could trace over him with their chubby fingers, reciting each number and letter in turn, before skipping off again.

      The truth was he wasn’t much needed anymore, and he knew it. There wasn’t enough traffic to warrant a speed limit of 25.  He supposed he’d be retired and sent off to scrap before too long.

      Sure enough, one morning, just after the first dew frost of the season began to melt into tear drops, Old Speed Limit 25 heard the rolling of familiar tires coming his way. It was his time. Some things he would miss, and some things he wouldn’t, especially the loneliness.

      The highway man got out of his truck. His wrench glistened in the sunlight as he walked on towards Old Speed Limit 25.

      “Come on, old feller. You’ve done your time. You’re coming home with me.”

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged familyfriendly, fiction, highways, nostalgia, shortstory, travel
    • Introducing Sassafras!

      Posted at 12:16 pm by writergherlone, on July 7, 2017

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      I’m not sure of how serious a venture this is, but I do enjoy writing small stories about my duck, Sassafras. 

      She is a willing participant and has been very popular on Facebook! I hope you find these occasional small stories enjoyable as well.

      Sassafras and…

      Home Is Where The Love IS

      by Kristy Gherlone

       

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      “Mama, I have a question. Does everyone live in a house like ours?” Sassafras asked one spring morning.

      “Goodness, no,” her mama answered. “There are many different types of houses. Let’s take a walk around and see what we find.”

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      “I think I found a house!” Sassafras called out excitedly. “At least it looks something like a house, but it’s very small.”

      “Right you are!” Sassafras’s mother said. “That is the chickadees house.”

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      “I found another, but this one is blue!”

      “Very good! That is where the thrushes live.”

      IMG_9145

      “What about this, Sassafras? Do you think this could be a house?” Her mama asked.

      “Hmm,” Sassafras pondered, looking at the big pile of sticks. I didn’t look like any house she had ever seen. “I’m not sure.”

      “It is.” Her mama said. “This house belongs to a raccoon. Some creatures use leaves, sticks, and mud to make their homes.”

      Sassafras wrinkled her nose. “That doesn’t sound very comfortable.”

      “Well, I’m sure they think so,” her mama laughed.

       

      IMG_9170

      “I know this is a house!” Sassafras exclaimed proudly. “I’ve seen Mrs. Robin sleeping here.”

      “Great job, Sassy! You are right! You have found the Robin’s house.”

      “When her eggs hatch, maybe Mrs. Robin will let me babysit,” Sassafras giggled.

      IMG_9152

      “There is a hole in the ground. Could something live here?” Sassafras asked.

      “Watch for a moment and see if anything comes out,” her mama said.

      Sassafras stood over the hole and waited. “Ants!” She cried. “I think this is an ants house!”

      “Very good, Sassafras!”

      IMG_9138

      “I found our house again!” Sassafras cried. “I like it the best.”

      IMG_9807

      “Just remember, Sassafras…It doesn’t matter where you live as long as you are loved.”

      Posted in Uncategorized | 3 Comments | Tagged childrensstory, ducks, education, familyfriendly, fiction, nature, pekin, picturebook, shortstory
    • The Rain Maker

      Posted at 3:37 pm by writergherlone, on June 22, 2017

      IMG_9633

       

      *This story did make the literary pages! It was published by the The Squawk Back and appeared in edition 167 on March 19, 2017. 

      The Rain Maker

      by Kristy Gherlone

      The Rain Maker hears their cries long before she comes sweeping in to pass judgment. She hears it in the deafening stillness of the water. The creatures within lay in wait for her presence, listening in painful silence, praying for a miracle as the muddy depths suck them in and swallow them whole.

       

      Rivers and streams pause suspended, then shrink away as if chased by demons, hiding behind rocks and sinking in holes, their miserable tears devoured by the sun-cracked shores.

       

      She hears it in the crackling discomfort of the forest, assaulted by the hot wind’s laughing breath as it takes reign, snapping brittle branches and sending them crashing to the ground onto the splintering roots. Dry leaves toss and turn trying to find comfort in their stifling beds.

       

      The tree birds whistle as though their beaks are full of crackers, their calls become parched cackles that scream warnings below. They scatter in flight, running from gray ghosts born of tossed embers that shield the sun and choke their eyes.

       

      The Rain Maker moves in closer, growing heavy with sorrow. Creatures cry out for comfort, their tongues swollen with thirst. Tendrils reach for her, winnowing upwards for a taste of her relief. She knows she is being spiteful, withholding; but drought is making the rules. She fights with him, throwing cooling droplets that tease but he sends dusty swirls through the air that snuff out her moisture. He holds her back for only he can hear what whispers from beneath the earth and inside the decaying willows.

       

      Soft wails of release from long hidden prisoners, spilled seeds and locked treasures deep in the ground, denied of light from their ancestors: they’ve been patient, just waiting for release, begging for the fire The Rain Maker steals.

       

      Drought nurtures the flames that sweep through and open the land. The wind howls wickedly as she helps spread its demise, but some things must die so that others might live. Bringing new life that springs from the ashes and fulfilling promises broken each time The Rain Maker wept.

       

      His score harshly settled, the wounds deep and raw, drought takes leave when the captives emerge.

       

      The Rain Maker sweeps in with maternal bliss and offers the forest a Rain Maker’s kiss.

       

       

       

      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged #prose, birds, drought, familyfriendly, fiction, nature, rain
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