An old folktale story retold.

Five minute story for early readers.

Now, you may not know it, but way down yonder in the low country where the rivers get wide and the moss drapes from the trees like long gray beards, there lived a little old lady named Aunt Tiny. She wasn’t much to look atโ€“-no taller than your knee, with skin as wrinkled as a dried plum. But Aunt Tiny had eyes sharp as a hawk and a mind full of stories and solutions for every sort of trouble.

One sweltering summer, with temperatures clinging like damp laundry, a terrible drought settled on the land. The creek beds turned to dust, the corn withered in the fields, and the critters grew skinny as shadows. One evening, as the sun settled low, a knock rattled Aunt Tiny’s door. There stood Miss Goose, eyes wide with worry.

“Aunt Tiny,” Miss Goose squawked, wringing her webbed feet, “my goslings are near to faintin’ from the heat! They need cool water to paddle in, but there’s not a drop to be found!”

Aunt Tiny clucked her tongue and studied the sky. No sign of rain, not a single cloud for miles. “Now, Miss Goose, frettin’ won’t fill your pond,” she said. “Let old Aunt Tiny think on it.”

Aunt Tiny sat on her porch, rocking back and forth, watching the dust swirls dance. An idea started to peck at her mind, just like a little chick inside an egg. She remembered a tale her Granny had told, about a time the river ran dry and the fish were flopping all about. The animals back then, they’d worked together, each carrying what water they could in their mouths all the way from the sea. It was a long trek, but together, they filled the riverbed.

Aunt Tiny sprang up as sprightly as her old bones would allow. “Got it!” she declared. She called to Miss Goose, then to Brer Frog, Miss Squirrel, and even Mr. Possum, who was generally found nappin’ in the shade. Now, these critters were used to Aunt Tiny’s ways, so they gathered ’round, curious as could be.

“We got ourselves a drought, that’s for sure,” Aunt Tiny began. “But workin’ together, we can fix it. Each of you with a mouth, take a trip to the nearest puddle, streambed, anythin’ with a smidgen of water. Fill your cheeks, beak, or pouch, Mr. Possum.” Everyone looked at Mr. Possum, who’d gotten a bit dozy-eyed.

“Then, we come right back here and spit it into this bucket I found,” Aunt Tiny went on. “Little by little, we’ll make a pool for those goslings.”

At first, they thought she’d lost her marbles, but Aunt Tiny could be mighty convincing. Brer Frog puffed up his cheeks like green balloons. Miss Squirrel, she chattered and scurried, her cheeks bulging like she was hiding a whole stash of nuts. Even Mr. Possum, bless his heart, gave it a go and maybe drank more than he carried.

All afternoon, they worked under Aunt Tiny’s watchful eye. That bucket swelled drop by drop til finally, it held enough cool water to splash the dusty goslings, who perked right. Now, it didn’t solve the drought for good, but it kept those goslings alive โ€™til the rains finally came. And from that day on, no one doubted Aunt Tiny’s wisdom, no matter how outlandish it sounded.

A full bucket of water for the goslings in this folktale story of the Low Country.

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