A Pocketful of Passage

4. Tadpole Soup

21 I was always a bit of a tomboy. I preferred overalls to dresses and my hair combed in braids rather than curls and ribbons . I had a doll with a polka-dot dress but rarely played with her. She was too fussy and fragile to take outside, and I loved playing outside! My toys were marbles, a game of jacks, and a worn rag doll that I stuffed down the front of my overalls. Tadpole Soup 01฀Campbell฀text.indd฀฀฀21 12/8/06฀฀฀1:53:39฀PM A Pocketful of Passage 22 Unfortunately, most of Passage Island was off-limits to Jo and me. Beyond the rocky point where the lighthouse stood was the enchanted forest. Daddy used to say, “That’s where the little people live.” He explained that the little people were tiny fairies that watched over the wilderness and made sure children like us behaved. If we went into the forest, chased a snowshoe hare, or picked wildflowers, the little people would see us and tell our parents. Although I never saw one clearly, there were many times I was sure one of the little people had darted among the towering fir trees just as the wind blew. They zipped around and under huge slabs of rock when sunlight filtered through the thick spruce boughs and splashed on the forest floor. Everywhere in the forest, shaggy tufts of lichen grew on dead tree branches. Grown-ups called the stuff “Old Man’s Beard,” but I was sure the wisps of gray were the torn wings of little people. Every spring Jo and I heard the same lecture from our parents. We could not go into the woods without them. Although the island was only about a mile long, it was a big enough wilderness for two little girls to get lost. A bell hung next to the kitchen door. If Mama rang the bell we must be close enough to reach the back door by the time she counted to ten. But I knew that I had grown at least two inches during the winter. This summer my legs were longer and I could run faster. That meant I could sneak 01฀Campbell฀text.indd฀฀฀22 12/8/06฀฀฀1:53:39฀PM Tadpole Soup 23 farther into the forest and still get back to the house by the time Mama counted to ten. My favorite spot was along the cliffs on the north side of the island. There I found a ledge perfectly hidden by elderberry bushes. I lay down with my tummy pressed against the bare rock and scooted right up to the edge. From there, I could look straight down and watch the waves crash against the jumble of rocks fifty feet below me. Sometimes they smacked the shore so hard I felt the spray on my cheeks. There were also wonderful patches of wildflowers in sunny places on Passage Island. Bluebells sprouted in cracks between the rocks, and great clumps of orange wood lilies seemed to reach for the sun. My family called these lovely blossoms tiger lilies. Jo and I always wanted to pick big bouquets, but Daddy said, “No. The flowers are part of the island, just like the hares, wild birds, and foxes. If you girls pick them, there won’t be any seeds for new flowers. The patches will get smaller and smaller until they disappear . And don’t think that the little people won’t tell us if you two pick them!” Once in a while, however, Mama did pick a few wilting blossoms for us to make watercolor paints. She put the petals in a jar of water and placed it in the sun. Slowly the water turned a pale shade of blue or orange. Then we dipped our brushes in the colored water and created lovely 01฀Campbell฀text.indd฀฀฀23 12/8/06฀฀฀1:53:39฀PM A Pocketful of Passage 24 pictures. Thinking back, our tiger lily paint probably left only the palest wash of color on our paper, but to me, it was the finest paint in the world. We also had a grand playhouse among the rocks below the house. In our imaginations, the black boulders became furniture in our seaside cottage. A cracked rock with its ends tipped up made a perfect bed. Two scooped out rocks made easy chairs for Jo and me. Patches...