U-WRITE-IT RESULTS

Greg turned away and looked out the kitchen window. Suppressing his laughter he turned to Nancy with a somber face. "Do you think the neighborhood kids did this?"

Nancy was puzzled at first, but noted the bottles of micro-brew and Willamette Valley pinot noir favorites neatly lined up along the kitchen tiled backsplash. A week's worth of decompression from the strains of being a stock broker staring back at her. She shrugged to herself. All rationality left her mind as she careened into the hole of desperation. The AA meetings she failed to attend, the interventions...it was too much.

Greg felt a stab of joy looking at her pained face. Finally, he thought, finally she s going to admit that she has a problem."

Nancy slowly moved back to reality. Opening the refrigerator, she pulled out a cold beer.

"I don't believe you." Sam rolled his eyes and thought, "Here she goes again with another crazy story."

"Come look. You'll see."

They ran outside and saw bright lights surrounding the mailbox. Then the ground began to shake. They held onto each other, while smoke started rising from around the mailbox.

"What is going on?" yelled Sam. "What type of flowers did you plant?"

Stammering, she answered, "Monkey Flower Magic and Dahlia Fireworks."

The ground shook wildly now, and sparks flew through the air. Suddenly, everything went still and quiet. Surrounding the mailbox were the most beautiful multicolored flowers they had ever seen.

"Next year, can you plant some regular flowers like daisies?"

"Slow down girl! Catch your breath! What did the dog do? Plant a bone?" Emma Jones slowly lifted herself off her favorite green easy chair. Her granddaughter had a vivid imagination, but still she wondered what stirred up the girl this time.

"How did you know, Granny? It's huge! It looks like a dinosaur bone. We might be rich or famous or something if it is!" Nancy took a deep breath as she pushed through the screen door and waited for Granny.

Running to the end of the drive, Nancy patiently waited for her grandmother to catch up.

Pointing to the ground, Nancy said, "See I told you it was huge. How do you think it got here? Should we call a museum and have someone come out and dig it up?"

Grandma Jones looked down and froze. "No, Nancy-girl, go call 911."

"Big fat leaves?" Gramma lays her crocheting in her lap.

Nancy pouts. "Yes. Big, fat leaves. They're ugly. They aren't flowers."

"Your crayon box is in the bureau. Bottom drawer. Tablet on the kitchen table. Bring 'em here."

Crayons and tablet in her chubby hands, Nancy sets them on the sofa before scrambling up next to Gramma.

Gramma picks up her crocheting. "Okay, now you draw me a flower."

With her red crayon, Nancy draws a zigzag line with three pointed mountains. She adds a smile below them, connecting the ends.

"Tulip?" Gramma asks.

"Yep. Like I planted."

Gramma keeps crocheting. "Got any more parts on that flower?"

"Oh..." Nancy trades red for green, adding a stem.

"And?"

"Oh!" Smiling, she adds two big, fat leaves.

Gramma looks up from her crocheting with a smile. "Those look familiar?"

"Flood 'em. "

That's all he said. He didn't glance out the window. He didn't even look up from his farm journal as he pulled another pickle from the jar.

Nancy jammed her hands onto her hips. She glared at Hiram. "Flood 'em? That's all you have to say? Flood 'em?"

Hiram elaborated with a loud, juicy crunch. He turned the page.

Nancy hauled the longest hose out of the barn, rammed it down the mole hole, then turned the water spigot on full blast.

That was Saturday.

Sunday afternoon, Hiram walked out behind the barn. His tidy rows of cucumber sprouts had been excavated. Exposed roots lay curled, shriveled like toes in the morgue.

Handing him the hose, Nancy whispered, "Flood 'em."