Fish Tales

We officially started Summer Reading a week ago, but with Memorial Day weekend and school fully out today really felt like the first day of summer at the library. The theme for Summer Reading this year is Make a Splash (for kids)/Make Waves (for teens) @ Your Library. In honor of the watery theme, here is the text from a couple of favorite aquatic picture books.


Tadpole's Promise
by Jeanne Willis

Where the willow meets the water,
a tadpole met a caterpillar.
They gazed into each other's tiny eyes . . .
and fell in love.
She was his beautiful rainbow,
and he was her shiny black pearl.
"I love everything about you,"
said the tadpole.
"I love everything about you," said the caterpillar.
"Promise you'll never change."
"I promise," he said.

But as sure as the weather changes,
the tadpole could not keep his promise.
Next time they met, he had grown two legs.
"You've broken your promise,"
said the caterpillar.
"Forgive me," begged the tadpole.
"I couldn't help it. I don't want these legs. . . .
All I want is my beautiful rainbow."
"All I want is my shiny black pearl.
Promise me you'll never change,"
said the caterpillar.
"I promise," he said.

But sure as the seasons change,
the next time they met,
he had grown arms.
"That's twice you broken
your promise," cried the caterpillar.
"Forgive me," begged the tadpole. "I could not help it.
I do not want these arms. . . .
All I want is my beautiful rainbow."
"And all I want is my shiny black pearl.
I will give you one last chance,"
said the caterpillar.

But as surely as the world changes,
the tadpole could not keep his promise.
The next time they met,
he had no tail.
"You have broken your promise three times,
and now you have broken my heart,"
said the caterpillar.
"But you are my beautiful rainbow,"
said the tadpole.
"Yes, but you are not my shiny black pearl.
Good-bye."
She crawled up the willow branch
and cried herself to sleep.

One warm moonlit night,
she woke up.
The sky had changed.
The trees had changed.
Everything had changed . . .
except her love for the tadpole.
Even though he'd broken his promise,
she decided to forgive him.
She dried her wings
and fluttered down to look for him.

Where the willow meets the water,
a frog was sitting on his lily pad.
"Excuse me," she said.
"Have you seen my shiny black . . . "
But faster than she could say "pearl,"
the frog leapt up and swallowed her
in one great gulp.

And there he waits . . .
thinking fondly of his beautiful rainbow . . .

. . . wondering where she went.


Arlene Sardine
by Chris Raschka

So you want to be a sardine.

I knew a little fish once who wanted to be a sardine.
Her name was Arlene.
Arlene wanted to be a sardine.

Arlene was born in a fjord.
This Arlene was a kind of little fish called a brisling.
She was a happy little brisling
because she had about ten hundred thousand friends.
First they swam this way.
Then they swam that way.

When Arlene was two, she was fully grown.
For a little fish, she was grown up,
grown up enough to become a sardine.
First thing
Arlene swam into a big net, a purse net, a big purse net.
Arlene swam around in the net for three days
and three night and did not eat anything,
so her stomach would be empty.
There is a word for this.
The word is thronging.
On the third day,
the net was lifted out of the water and emptied onto the deck of a fishing boat.
Here, on the deck of the boat, Arlene died.

However, Arlene's story is not over,
because she was put on ice, in a box, with her friends.
Arlene sailed to a factory.
Machines there, grading machines,
sorted Arlene in between other fish her size.
Arlene took a short, salty bath.
Then she was smoked, delicately.
She was delicately smoked.
Delicately smoked was she.

I'll bet Arlene felt well rested on the conveyor belt.

When Arlene reached the big packing room,
she was picked up
and put into a little can,
a 1/4 dingley can.

They were packed like sardines,
which could be like this:
(2 layers)
or like this:
(crosspacked)
or like this:
(1 layer).

I wonder if Arlene was a little nervous for the final inspection.

Last thing
Arlene was covered in oil,
olive oil,
closed up with no air inside,
hermetically,
and cooked in her can.

At last,
Arlene was a little fish, in oil, packed in a can.
A little fish packed in oil, in a can,
is a sardine.
Arlene was a sardine.
A sardine is what Arlene was.