Richie's Picks: PAINT THE WIND by Pam Munoz Ryan, Scholastic Press,
September 2007, ISBN: 0-439-87362-2
"She dropped her head and licked the baby's damp and clotted fur, her tongue
persuading him to breathe. At last, he twitched and stirred. The small
body roused. The foal, who would become known as Klee, rolled onto his chest,
lifted his heavy, wobbly head, and perked his ears. Minutes later, he stood
but braced his front legs too far apart. He collapsed on the ground, limbs
splayed like bird wings. Artemisia waited until he rose again, stiff-legged
and tottering. She moved closer, extending her back legs and positioning
herself so that Klee could suckle. He tried to nurse on the hock of one leg but
Artemisia shifted away from his awkward attempt until he found a teat."
I'll never forget my surprise when, walking home from Commack High School
North one afternoon, I encountered a horse standing in the small grassy
backyard of our family's suburban Long Island home, craning its head over the
fence
and surveying my arrival.
It turned out to be but the latest highlight in my sister's love affair with
Equus caballus.
It had been, perhaps, a half-dozen years earlier and maybe a dozen paces
from where the young mare was standing that afternoon, that I had overheard a
conversation in which my little sister was earnestly describing for the young
girl next door all of the animals she would be accumulating someday after
she'd purchased her horse and her farm.
"As Artemisia nestled close to her baby, she felt content and in no hurry to
get back to the small band of horses. She welcomed this time, free from
Sargent's constant scrutiny and her duties as lead mare. With Mary, she had
stayed away for a week, enjoying the solitude with her new foal, until they were
discovered by Sargent and herded back to his harem."
Other than some photos of our mother riding horses at a dude ranch in the
Catskills in the days before she met our father, we had scarce few encounters
with horses when we were young children. And it was I who was known in the
family and beyond as the young book-a-day reader. But I unquestionably trace
my sister's current living situation -- a farm and horses down in Costa Rica
-- all the way back to her reading and re-reading of Marguerite Henry's MISTY
OF CHINCOTEAGUE when she was a little girl.
And there is also no doubt in my mind that, decades from now, some guy will
be tracing his little sister's lifelong love affair with horses back to her
reading and re-reading the haunting, new, girl-and-a-horse tale, PAINT THE
WIND by Pam Munoz Ryan.
" 'Maya, do you know anything about your mother's family?'
"Maya searched her memory for the details Grandmother had told her and
slowly nodded. 'My other grandmother died when my mother was really little. I
have a grandfather and he lives with his brother and sister...but they're
actually hillbillies with no education and they live like pigs in an uncivilized
land. Oh, and they don't appreciate culture and are extremely crass and
unsavory.' "
Eleven year-old Maya lost her parents in an accident six years earlier. She
has since lived with her paternal grandmother in Pasadena, California amidst
wealth, sterility, and somberness. It is clear that Grandmother blames her
son's involvement with Maya's "wild" mother for his demise. Maya is not
permitted amusement of any sort, has been shuffled from private school to private
school, and has been required to adhere to a long list of harsh and
unreasonable rules.
But when Grandmother dies suddenly and Grandmother's attorney discovers
belatedly that Grandmother had simply ignored the dictate that Maya spend summers
with her maternal relatives -- who run with horses amidst the wilds of
Wyoming (when not teaching university classes or working as farriers or handymen)
-- Maya finds herself on a plane on the way to meet these strangers of whom
Grandmother had always spoken so disparagingly.
And what is certain from the first pages of the story is that Maya will
somehow be crossing paths with the wild mare, Artemisia.
"Below them, the Honeycomb Buttes rose abruptly from the basin floor in
peculiar sandstone spires of rust, brown, and green. In the east, Continental
Peak saluted, and in the west, the Oregon Buttes lay like a sleeping giant."
Somehow, it doesn't matter that I've now lived in California for decades.
With having spent a childhood and adolescence back East, where most
"mountains" aren't much taller than the buildings in the City, it still kicks off
that
feeling of awe in me when an author like Pam Munoz Ryan writes of fording icy
rivers and paints breathtaking pictures of horses running wild on high
ridges.
PAINT THE WIND is a story that will surely trigger dreams amongst a
multitude of young girls (and boys) of riding like the wind across endless, high
plains.
Richie Partington, MLIS
Richie's Picks http://richiespicks.com
Moderator, http://groups.yahoo.com/group/middle_school_lit/
BudNotBuddy@aol.com
http://www.myspace.com/richiespicks
************************************** See what's free at http://www.aol.com.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Please note: All LM_NET postings are protected by copyright law.
You can prevent most e-mail filters from deleting LM_NET postings
by adding LM_NET@LISTSERV.SYR.EDU to your e-mail address book.
To change your LM_NET status, e-mail to: listserv@listserv.syr.edu
In the message write EITHER: 1) SIGNOFF LM_NET 2) SET LM_NET NOMAIL
3) SET LM_NET MAIL 4) SET LM_NET DIGEST * Allow for confirmation.
* LM_NET Help & Information: http://www.eduref.org/lm_net/
* LM_NET Archive: http://www.eduref.org/lm_net/archive/
* EL-Announce with LM_NET Select: http://elann.biglist.com/sub/
* LM_NET Supporters: http://www.eduref.org/lm_net/ven.html
--------------------------------------------------------------------
LM_NET
Mailing List Home