Walk Two Moons
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In her own singularly beautiful style, Newbery Medal winner Sharon Creech intricately weaves together two tales, one funny, one bittersweet, to create a heartwarming, compelling, and utterly moving story of love, loss, and the complexity of human emotion.
Thirteen-year-old Salamanca Tree Hiddle, proud of her country roots and the "Indian-ness in her blood," travels from Ohio to Idaho with her eccentric grandparents. Along the way, she tells them of the story of Phoebe Winterbottom, who received mysterious messages, who met a "potential lunatic," and whose mother disappeared.
As Sal entertains her grandparents with Phoebe's outrageous story, her own story begins to unfold--the story of a thirteen-year-old girl whose only wish is to be reunited with her missing mother.
Supports the Common Core State Standards
She used to tell me about the Black Hills, which were sacred to the Sioux Indians. It was their Holy Land, but white settlers took it as their own. The Sioux are still fighting for their land. I half expected a Sioux to stop our car from entering, and the thing is, I would have been on his side. I would have said, “Take it. It’s yours.” We drove through the Black Hills to Mt. Rushmore. At first we didn’t think we were in the right place, but then, jing-bang, it was right before us. There, high
Gram didn’t even want to get out of the car, so we didn’t stay long. Gramps said, “I’ve had enough of South Dakota, how about you, chickabiddy? How about you, gooseberry? Let’s get a move on.” By late afternoon, we were well into Wyoming, and I added up the miles left to go. Maybe we could make it, just maybe. Then Gramps said, “I hope nobody minds if we stop at Yellowstone. It would be a sin to miss Yellowstone.” Gram said, “Is that where Old Faithful is? Oh, I would love to see Old Faithful.”
lips. “Did it taste a little like blackberries to you?” he said. 38 SPIT At this point in my story, Gram interrupted. “Oh yes, yes, yes!” she said. “I’ve been waiting for that kiss for days. I do like a story with some good kisses in it.” “She’s such a gooseberry,” Gramps said. We were churning through Montana. I didn’t dare check our progress on the map. I didn’t want to discover that we couldn’t make it in time. I thought that if I kept talking, and praying underneath, and if we
“Shoulder? I thought it was an extra lane. That’s a mighty fine shoulder.” So here we were, just a few hours into our trip out to Lewiston, Idaho, and we were safely stopped in a rest area. Then Gramps noticed a woman leaning over the fender of her car. The woman was peering at her engine and dabbing a white handkerchief at various greasy items inside. “Excuse me,” Gramps said gallantly. “I believe I see a damsel in some distress,” and off he marched to her rescue. Gram sat there patting her
turned around. This startled my mother and threw her off guard. She stopped. “Sugar—” he said. My mother opened her mouth, and I was thinking, “Come on! Throw your arms around him! Tell him!” But before she could speak, my father pointed to the fence and said, “Look at that. A morning’s work.” He indicated a new length of wire strung between two new posts. There was sweat on his face and arms. And then I saw that my mother was crying. My father saw it too. “What—” he said. “Oh, you’re too