Farm Fresh Fun #2 (Phoebe G. Green)
Veera Hiranandani
Language: English
Pages: 96
ISBN: 044846697X
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
"Gently humorous black-and-white illustrations pair nicely with the text. With all the foodies out there, this delightful series deserves a long shelf life…and many more courses."--Kirkus Reviews
"Fans of Junie B. Jones and Judy Moody . . . will enjoy this."--School Library Journal
"Age-appropriate humor via an outspoken, lovable, take-charge narrator. Dreidemy’s wiggly spot illustrations, meanwhile, supply plenty of nervous energy."--Booklist
Phoebe’s class is going on a field trip to a farm to learn about where food comes from. Phoebe and her friends can’t wait to collect eggs from chickens, watch goats get milked, pick apples, and help make a farm fresh lunch. But when Phoebe and Sage decide to help goats by opening their gate, a peaceful field trip turns into a wild, noisy adventure. Before long, they learn an important lesson about farm animals—and in telling the truth!
my pocket just in case. Then Mom came down and made me a big bowl of oatmeal my favorite way, with bananas, walnuts, and maple syrup, so I’d have some extra farm energy to do lots of farmy things. “Have a great day at the farm,” Dad said after breakfast, squeezing my shoulder. “Bring me back an apple,” my big sister, Molly, called as she was putting things in her backpack. “Oh, apples would be nice,” Mom said. “I’ll try, but I can’t promise anything.” That’s what Dad always says when I ask
into tiny pieces and put them in a pot with some water and sugar, just like in the movie we saw in school. The apples smelled good, but I knew something was missing. “Excuse me,” I said to the farmer man, raising my hand. “Yes?” he said. He did not have a hat on, but he did have overalls, which looked sort of farmer-ish. I coughed a little to make my voice very smooth and polite. “My friend’s dad who is a chef of desserts from France says that apples and cinnamon are meant to be together,
emergencies!” I said, pulling out the baggie and showing it to him. Camille’s eyes looked like they were going to pop out of her head. Mrs. B was watching in the back. “Well, aren’t you prepared,” the farmer man said, and after he took a sniff of my cinnamon, he let me sprinkle some in the pot. The smell changed from good to extra wonderful. “Oh my, Phoebe,” Mrs. B said, coming up to me and looking in the pot. “I should have expected you might have something for us up your sleeve. Or rather, in
she listened extra carefully. “Are you okay?” Camille asked when I finished, in her soft French way that made everything seem better. “No,” I said. “But I think I’ll feel better someday. Maybe when I’m, like, thirty-two.” “I think you’ll feel better at least by the time you’re sixteen,” she said, and put her long French arm around me. Then she pulled some things out of her pockets and handed them to me. Apples! “I took too many, anyway,” she said. “Oh, Camille. You’re the best French
stopped, facing me. “Maybe you could write a note to Mrs. B telling her how you feel, or make her something?” I wondered what I could write or make for Mrs. B. Then I remembered I had my two apples from Camille. “I know!” I said, pointing my finger in the air. “I’ll make her an apple tart just like I had at Camille’s!” Molly smiled. “Maybe we could make one together,” she said. I jumped up and hugged her, knocking her off her stool, but she didn’t even get mad. We called Mr. Durand for an