Jerry squeezed his hands together, staring at a narrow strip of ground bordering Main Street. The year before, Reedville had added a watermelon seed-spitting contest in that very spot. Jerry had come in third. To Ma, it was just another loss. To Jerry? He’d felt amazed as he wiped off his chin.
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“My, that’s a fine looking bear,” Grandpa told me one evening as I cuddled my new teddy. A visit with my grandfather while Mom was on a business trip always meant a swing through the nearest toy department, where I could take my pick, more or less. He loved to watch me play and often joined in.
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On his way into town one hot, sticky Saturday, Paul Bunyan stopped short at a river. Well, not short—Bunyan was a giant who towered over the forest’s biggest trees. He didn’t do anything short. He did stop, however, and point to a logjam in the river, made of oaks and pines
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