Posts filed under ‘.North_America’

Catapult Canada

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December 3, 2017 at 8:25 pm Leave a comment

Moqui & The Kachina Doll

Moqui & The Kachina Doll
by Linda L. Rigsbee

Moqui is a 10-year-old Hopi Indian girl living in a pueblo in northwest Arizona during the 1700’s, but in some ways the problems she faces are not much different from the problems girls face today.
Moqui wants to fit in with the other girls her age. She wants to do fun things, but her mother thinks she is too young. She is upset about all the boring chores she has been given and wants to be trusted with the care of the Kachina Dolls.
When a Zuni refugee family from another pueblo joins them, Moqui becomes friends with Hanovi, who is four years older. Hanovi is cheerful about her chores and finds ways to make them challenging and fun. Hanovi befriends Moqui and soon she is being included in more interesting chores.
At first it is fun, but soon Moqui realizes the fun includes responsibilities. Life becomes more complicated. She is so caught up with her own struggles that she doesn’t realize how difficult life has been for Hanovi and her family.
At the peak of Moqui’s achievement, the truth is unveiled and Moqui must decide if she wants to make a huge sacrifice to help Hanovi.

This story unfolds with history and authentic Hopi customs. It is a fast read for a suggested audience of ages 8 to 12.

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November 20, 2017 at 3:25 pm Leave a comment

Frida’s Fiestas

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November 13, 2017 at 5:25 am Leave a comment

In Flanders Fields

by John McCrae

In Flanders fields the poppies grow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

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November 10, 2017 at 8:25 pm Leave a comment

The tiger and the grasshopper

November 9, 2017 at 5:25 am Leave a comment

The Battle of Stonington

by Philip Freneau

ON THE SEABOARD OF CONNECTICUT

In an attack upon the town and a small fort of two guns, by the Ramillies, seventy-four gun ship, commanded by Sir Thomas Hardy; the Pactolus, 38 gun ship, Despatch, brig of 22 guns, and a razee, or bomb ship.—August, 1814.

Four gallant ships from England came
Freighted deep with fire and flame,
And other things we need not name,
To have a dash at Stonington.

Now safely moor’d, their work begun;
They thought to make the yankees run,
And have a mighty deal of fun
In stealing sheep at Stonington.

A deacon, then popp’d up his head
And parson Jones’s sermon read,
In which the reverend doctor said
That they must fight for Stonington.

A townsman bade them, next, attend
To sundry resolutions penn’d,
By which they promised to defend
With sword and gun, old Stonington.

The ships advancing different ways,
The britons soon began to blaze,
And put th’ old women in amaze,
Who fear’d the loss of Stonington.

The yankees to their fort repair’d,
And made as though they little cared
For all that came—though very hard
The cannon play’d on Stonington.

The Ramillies began the attack,
Despatch came forward—bold and black—
And none can tell what kept them back
From setting fire to Stonington.

The bombardiers with bomb and ball,
Soon made a farmer’s barrack fall,
And did a cow-house sadly maul
That stood a mile from Stonington.

They kill’d a goose, they kill’d a hen,
Three hogs they wounded in a pen—
They dash’d away, and pray what then?
This was not taking Stonington.

The shells were thrown, the rockets flew,
But not a shell, of all they threw,
Though every house was full in view,
Could burn a house at Stonington.

To have their turn they thought but fair;—
The yankees brought two guns to bear,
And, sir, it would have made you stare,
This smoke of smokes at Stonington.

They bored Pactolus through and through,
And kill’d and wounded of her crew
So many, that she bade adieu
T’ the gallant boys of Stonington.

The brig Despatch was hull’d and torn—
So crippled, riddled, so forlorn,
No more she cast an eye of scorn
On th’ little fort at Stonington.

The Ramillies gave up th’ affray
And, with her comrades, sneak’d away—
Such was the valor, on that day,
Of british tars near Stonington.

But some assert, on certain grounds,
(Besides the damage and the wounds)
It cost the king ten thousand pounds
To have a dash at Stonington.

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September 20, 2017 at 8:25 pm Leave a comment

Ranky Tanky

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September 16, 2017 at 8:25 pm Leave a comment

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