About the Author
Elisabeth Hurley was born and raised in Germany. She graduated from Fordham University summa cum laude with a Bachelor of Arts degree in Comparative Literature and a Master of Science degree in Education. For an independent study she received special honors. She held administrative positions in for profit and not for profit organizations, requiring extensive technical writing. A passionate reader with a love for the written word, she has collected children’s books from different time periods. For personal pleasure she read to New York City neighborhood children and wrote a historic exploration of the Hudson Highlands and a detailed travel log about an archaeological excavation she participated in.

By writing a book for children, the author fulfilled a long-time dream. Her recent retirement gave her the free time to let her imagination take full reign. Picturing her granddaughter and niece, both of kindergarten age, helped immensely. Yet, Elisabeth’s own love of nature was the start and focus of the story.

About the illustrator
Erin (Bellamy) Sherman followed her education in the Skaneateles school system and junior college degree in Studio Art & Design with a Bachelor of Arts degree in Illustration from the Rochester Institute of Technology, with additional studies in Graphic Design, also from RIT. She uses her combined skills for the creation of unique and rewarding designs for area businesses. Her website is www.erinsherman.com.

Erin’s great desire is in creating illustrations for children’s books. For this reason she was delighted to illustrate Digging Spring, a story she was attracted to for its “creative imagination of spring in the mind of a child, and for the redemptive quality in its conclusion.” This talented artist enjoys presenting her work to children in elementary schools and to art students at her first alma mater, Cayuga Community College, where she was given the special honor of being chosen Visiting Artist for a number of years.

Availability
Digging Spring can be purchased at Creekside Books and Coffee in Skaneateles. It is also available on www.lulu.com.

As long as I can
remember
I have felt
spring
in the first days
of February.
No matter how
cold it is,
no matter how
thick the ice.

It’s spring I feel!
I can see
snow drops
and crocuses
trying to peek
through
the hard snow.
And in my mind
I can hear
a robin sing.

It’s spring I feel!
Milder breezes
touch my winter skin.
I taste their promise
of longer days
and forsythia gold.
I smell violets
in mud
cleared from snow.
I feel spring!

Elisabeth Hurley
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THANK YOU, MAMA!
A Story About A Little Girl’s Grief and Her Victory Over Fear
By Elisabeth Hurley

Georgia had been spending almost all of her free time at her mother’s grave. She talked to her constantly, sometimes angrily. “Mama, why did you leave me? Why couldn’t we stay together here in our little village? Why do I have to go away and live with people I don’t know. Mama, tell me! Why, oh why?”
There had been no answer from her mother who had died six weeks ago, just two days after Georgia’s eleventh birthday. Anna Schreck, an immigrant from Germany and her mother’s best friend, would invite her for dinner every night. If only “Mrs. Anna” knew how she hated to eat, or, for that matter, do anything at all.

It was Mrs. Anna who had broken the news to Georgia  that her Uncle Nik and Aunt Mary wanted her to live with them in New York.

“No, No, No! I don’t want to leave.”

“Georgia, your uncle and aunt love you. They want to take care of you.”

“How can you say that? They hardly know me. And my cousin Rita hates me already. She doesn’t like the way I speak or dress; they do things differently in New York.  No – I won’t go!”

Frau Anna had tried to calm her down, tried to reassure her. It didn’t help. Georgia felt colder and lonelier than ever.

This morning, in her room, she took out the suitcase her mother had given her for their first vacation trip together last year. Memories overwhelmed her. She cried as if the heavens would break. Her sobs could have softened the giant rock down at the riverbank.

When Georgia felt she was going to die from isolation and fear, she remembered to pray: “Dear God, please help me. I don’t know what to do. I am so scared.”

Praying silently for a while longer, her head on the pillow, Georgia could almost hear her mother’s soft whisper of, “I love you.”

She jumped when the bell rang. The cheerful voice outside tore at her heart. “Your train ticket to New York, Georgia!”

Georgia froze. She dropped the large envelope that had been pushed toward her. The tiny kerchief of calmness from a few moments ago had fallen off her. She shivered. Her mouth felt the burn of a thousand icicles.

The mailman never got an answer. Georgia’s unconscious thought was of a miracle. Then darkness took her in its arms and pushed her down the stairs and through the open door.

Georgia realized she was lost. She didn’t know where she was. She was frightened. She was sitting on the edge of a glittering black lake, telling a wrinkly old woman how terribly frightened she was. She pleaded for help.

“I cannot help you, Georgia. This is a road you must walk alone. Just get up and stay on this forest path. If you do so, you will arrive in safety where you belong.”

Georgia cried and begged again.

“You must go, Georgia,” her friend insisted. “There is no other way.”

Finally, Georgia started to walk. When she looked behind her, the woman was gone. Instead, there was the chattering of creatures she couldn’t understand. Wolves were howling. A giant with tree-like arms grabbed her and pulled her toward him. Goblins and witches danced around a bonfire, singing a terrifying song: “We’ll get you, you cannot escape us. Ha, ha, ha!”

For a moment, Georgia couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. Then fear made her run. It didn’t do any good. Big creepers were climbing up her body and hugging her in spider-web fashion. A big, ugly bird beat its wings against her face. Little nasty root children screamed at her, “Coward! Coward! You will never make it!”

Georgia, clammy with cold sweat and stiff with fear, tried to get away from them. Their Rumpelstiltskin-like voices followed her all the way to a huge, dark cave. The forest path led right into it.

Completely exhausted, Georgia fell down. “I can’t go on. I just can’t go on. If only I could die.”
She looked behind her, still hoping to go back to the old woman. She was aching to speak to the only friend she had encountered in this nasty world.

The path had now totally closed behind her. Georgia realized that there was no way back. She would have to go on or be lost forever. For a moment, she thought of her mother. Ignoring the still-piercing cries of the root children, she then took a big step into the cave. A low chuckle followed her into it. “I always knew you would make it.”

Later, when Georgia awoke in the dandelion-strewn meadow in front of her house, the sun was high in the sky. A small smile was around her eyes. She bent down, picked one of the early spring flowers and held it against her chest.

Slowly she walked toward her house. Even more slowly, she climbed the stairs to her room. The train ticket was still where she had dropped it earlier. She picked it up and, together with the single flower from the meadow, put it on top of her suitcase. Then she looked out the window toward her mother’s grave.

“Thank you, Mama. I’ll tell you all about New York in a few days.”

Elisabeth Hurley
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It was last year. Mom had been in the hospital for two weeks. Dad had left us and was far away. I was feeling blue and didn’t even want to think of Christmas. Just the thought of spending the holiday at home gave me the creeps. The thought of spending it in the hospital was even worse. I hated being there and almost had to force myself to visit my mother. I couldn’t stand seeing her sick. All I wanted to do was run.

Thank goodness, Yoni was there. At least, he listened to me when I cried. “Why do all my friends live so far away? They are all having dinner right now with their families. How lucky they are.”

Yoni moved closer to me. “Meow, meow.”

He really acted as if he had understood everything. The only problem was, he couldn’t really help me.
I just kept on weeping. Yoni looked at me with his big, golden eyes. “Yoni, Yoni. If you weren’t here, I wouldn’t have anyone at all. And Christmas is so close!”

Yoni’s black, silky coat was all wet. He must have liked some of the salt on his fur because he licked it for quite a while. When he saw me crying again, he snuggled into my lap.

I couldn’t help it. I was thinking about the days when I still had a family. Even after Dad had left, Mom and I would try to make things special. Long before Christmas Eve, we would light the Advent candles, sing together, listen to our old records, read holiday stories, bake the most delicious cookies anyone had ever had, make presents, set up the toy train and decorate.

Well, that triggered the waterfall again. “Decorate!” I sobbed into Yoni’s soft fur. “What’s there to decorate? The worst part is there won’t even be a tree this year, not even a twig or candle!”

Yoni put his velvety paw on my arm. It was almost as if he wanted to tell me something. “There is so much you can do!”

I remember hugging Yoni. I was kind of thankful that he got me up. I watched the snowflakes outside my window. They swirled and danced in the wind and looked like big, white mosquitoes. When I grew tired of watching, I turned on the light and tried to follow Yoni’s advice. Baking cookies might get me into some Christmas spirit.

It was no good. “Yoni, it’s not working!”

I started to cry again. My room was now as dark as my mood. I couldn’t find a bulb right away. Even when I finally got the light back on, I didn’t feel any different.

I must have startled Yoni when, all of a sudden, it came to me. “Yoni, I’ve got it! I’ve got it!”

It was all so simple. I remembered other times. A very special Christmas flashed in my mind. I could almost feel again how good it had been when Mom, my friend Doris and I brought toys, warm clothes and some beautiful books to the orphanage two blocks from our home.

I remembered how happy the boys and girls looked when Santa gave them their gifts. One little girl didn’t want to leave. She stayed right next to Santa and said over and over and over again, “Santa, I love you. When will you come again? Tomorrow? Yes? Will you? Please!”

It all clicked. Yoni looked startled again when I jumped up. “Yoni, I know what to do. No more feeling sorry for myself. I am going to make this Christmas special. Do you understand, Yoni?”

Yoni meowed his approval while my thoughts were running. A good thing I still had the origami set. I went to work and made some real pretty ornaments. Yoni must have thought they were nice too. He wanted to play with them.

Now that there were ornaments, I had to figure out where to put them. The next day I went for a walk and found a large fir branch that I decorated. I also finished baking the vanillin crescents I had started and put them in the bright red tin Mom had brought home one day.

There was only one thing to do. I went to the kitchen to call the hospital. My mother would be so happy.
The phone rang. It was Mom. “Madeline, guess what? I’ll be home for Christmas. I feel so much better. Are you there? Madeline?”

“Mom, I can’t believe it! It’s you. I was just going to call you. Mom, are you really coming home?”

A Christmas miracle! I hugged Yoni. We both knew that the three of us would have a wonderful holiday.
In a few days it’s going to be Christmas again. I can’t wait to give Mom my present. I know she’ll like it a lot.

- Elisabeth Hurley, December 2008

Elisabeth Hurley
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Last night, driving from
a friend’s home on
local snowy roads,
I still didn’t make
the mind switch from
golf shoes to snow boots.

When my husband got up
to shovel white powder
from our car,
I jumped out of bed
to help and to offer
his warm gloves.

Let me get your gloves …
Where are they?
Where did I store them last spring?
Under the bed? In the closet?
Where? Where? Worries!
I need more sleep …

Where were the gloves?
In the closet, naturally,
and just where they belonged!
Pete, Pete, I found them!
No answer …
Where was my husband?

Still wanting to help,
I ran in my pajamas,
happily offering my hubby
his prized winter possession,
his warm gloves.
And my mittens too!

His comment to all this
morning sacrifice?
You are in your pj’s, oh no …
Get warm quickly!
I am fine, the car is fine.
I don’t need gloves anymore …

My next ‘first snow encounter’
proved more promising.
Enjoying my walk in the park
amidst cotton-covered trees
with red berry ornaments,
I thought, What a morning!

Elisabeth Hurley
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There were other temptations too, of course! Just imagine, being able to visit the Temple of Heaven, the Ming Tombs, Tian An Men Square, the Forbidden City, the Summer Palace, ancient and new neighborhoods in Bejing; a canal ride in China’s Venice, Suzhou; the world-famous Longjing Green Tea Plantation, and the 64.3 ft-high camphor-wood carved Buddha in Hangzhou; the “Bund” waterfront park, and the “old city” in Shanghai; and learning about silk-making, silk-embroidering, and so much more.

Among all these fascinating highlights, the Great Wall remains my favorite. The wall was completed in 221-210 B.C., making it way over 2,000 years old. Hard to believe! Sections have been restored of the wall’s crumbling remains in some areas. We visited one of the restored sections. My friend Christl and I climbed all the way up and enjoyed wonderful panoramic views.

The wall was originally built taking advantage of the natural terrain for defensive purposes following the highest points and clinging to ridges. It snakes through the countryside 4,000 miles long over deserts, mountains, and plains. It was supposed to protect China from outside ‘Barbarians’ and keep it detached from the rest of the world. However, in the 13th century the wall was breached by the Mongols, and in the 17th century by the Manchu.

The ramparts – Christl and I came across some – were built to enable defending soldiers to fire on the attackers with great impunity. We learned that signal beacons were used by burning dried wolf dung and that the wall enabled speedy communications via smoke, flares, drums, and bells, as well as allowing for the rapid transport of troops across the country.

Christl and I climbed, enjoyed, lingered, explored, and climbed again on this eve of Election Day. Even though we were the first to start up the mountain, we were the last to come down. And on one of our panoramic stops, we encountered pre-election CHANGE – two couples with a New York For Obama Biden sign! Within seconds we joined the couples and shouted with Obama and Biden Yes, We Can! We called out for change and decided that one of us – it turned out to be me – should pose and call to this great historic monument, the Great Wall – Yes, we are ready, more than ready, for change!

It must have worked! Two days after the election someone in our group received news from home, and we knew from him that Obama and Biden had won the election. We also knew from positive and optimistic comments made by people in the streets and in our hotels … that hope for CHANGE had even reached China!

I am still struggling to recover from an intense, very intense, nine-day trip which encompassed 14 to 16 hour days and very little sleep. Nevertheless, I would not want to miss a single experience of this momentous trip, least of all the wondrous Great Wall on the eve of our historic election. Xia-xia, Syracuse Chamber of Commerce!

Elisabeth Hurley
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The wind brings a wintry chill
and the sky is grey.
The pedestrian walk
is a bit slippery.
Is there a touch of snow
in the cold drizzle?

My thoughts rebel.
Give me a few more weeks
of golden autumn!
Let me feel once more
the warm sunshine
of recent days!

And then I think of winter
with its stark and silent beauty.
I remember a drive to work
with roads silvery and white
and the world surrounded by
soft light and lace.

And I remember so vividly
the lake …
Oh yes,  the lake
looking mysterious
and foreign in its
mist and cloud cover.

The image of this
silvery and white winter day
is sketched in my mind and
holds a piece of my heart.
Thinking about it,
I am content.

I am ready
for winter to come.
I look forward
to another season.
My thoughts no longer
rebellious but warmed.

Elisabeth Hurley
October 26, 2008

Driving on Route 20 from East to West
mountain views in my sight.
Mountains tall and rugged,
so different from our Tuscan-like beauty.

Then the mountains were gone.
It was during the night,
in my dreams,
when they reappeared.

This time I was driving South to North.
And this time the mountains remained
until I discovered, as I had known before,
that they were clouds, beautiful clouds.

What precious gift to be given,
day and night,
to calm my tense thoughts and dreams
about the current political landscape.

Elisabeth Hurley
October 23, 2008

My background is in for profit firms and not for profit organizations and includes handling restitution claims of former Nazi victims; interacting with international art dealers, auction houses, and customers of a Madison Avenue gallery; doing financial work for investment advisors; revamping and then managing a settlement house; and increasing the outreach and visibility of a local college=s alumni affairs office.

My Interests:

Family and friends
Our community
A more balanced, more peaceful, and gentler world
Learning about and meeting people who can positively affect the world around us
Nature (my therapy!)
Outdoor activities, especially walking, hiking, kayaking, snowshoeing
Physical and mental health
Reading and writing
Opera, jazz, classical and other music
Traveling

I look with wonder at this tiny fruit
that I could reach from my window
and pluck from its tree.

It is perfectly shaped and beautiful.
And the mystery that’s held inside
is a crab apple’s secret!

In spring it blossoms spectacularly
in a dark pinky red,
filling driveways, roadsides and parks.

In summer the flower fades
and a tiny “berry” forms
amidst the lush green foliage.

Now, in autumn, with leaves
falling from the tree,
the fruit itself is revealed.

And the soon to be snow of winter
will accent the reddish fruit once again,
rounding out a full year of beauty.

Elisabeth Hurley
October 11, 2008