Who once dressed as an Oompa Loompa?

All about Maddy Eby and Mackenzie Feight

The Creature Constitution Independence Hall Philadelphia, 1786. None of the creatures in the hall were able to sleep. Every night, the mice would run through the spiders' webs. Then the spiders would chase the mice. The crickets would chirp all night. The pigeons in the clock tower would start singing early in the morning. Everyone was tired and unhappy. Maddy the Mouse had the biggest ears in the hall. She heard everything. She worried that no one would ever sleeр. Then the humans began meeting in the hall. Maddy sneaked into the room and listened as they talked. They needed something with rules that everyone would follow. They called it a constitution. Maddy thought a constitution was a great idea. She called a meeting. Every creature came. There were so many animals that they could barely move. "The humans have a great idea," Maddy said. "They are writing a constitution. We should have our own constitution." "What's a constitution?" asked a pigeon. "It's a list of rules for us to live by," Maddy said. "We need rules so we can all sleep." All the creatures agreed. "There are too many of us to talk about the rules right now," Maddy said. "Each group should pick five creatures to talk for them at a meeting tomorrow. They will decide what the new rules will be." The groups each went back to where they lived. They picked animals to speak for their group. The next day, the chosen creatures met. Everyone listened to each other's problems. When the groups started to argue, Maddy reminded them to work together. Each group then shared the rules that they thought would let everyone sleep better. They came up with rules that everyone could agree on. Maddy had found a way for them to all work together. The creatures asked Maddy to be their leader. They would bring new problems to Maddy and the other groups. The night they signed their constitution, the creatures in the building all had a good night's sleep.

Mud Runs A Messy Race. Mud runs are races where people run through mud. People have been running in mud runs for about thirty years in the United States. Races are held all over the country. Some mud runs are for people who are good at sports. Some are just for fun. All mud runs are the same in one way. People get very muddy! They Don't Make It Easy. Running through mud isn't easy. The mud sticks to your shoes and slows you down. It's hard to move forward. The people who plan mud runs know this. They use mud to make parts of the course hard. Racers need to be strong to climb over nets and walls. They need to be careful to get past parts like the balance beam. They need to get down into the mud to crawl under walls or through tunnels. They need to be brave to slide down big hills or even jump over fire! Monsters in the Mud. Some mud runs have an extra twist, such as monsters. In a zombie mud run, racers run away from people dressed as zombies. Racers can run from zombies or choose to become zombies and chase others. Which would you rather be? Run in a Costume. At many races, runners often dress up in costumes just for fun. Costumes get covered in mud, and many also get torn during the race. It's all part of the fun. Race as a Team. People run as teams in some mud runs. They push and pull each other over walls covered in mud. Mud runs are hard, and working as a team can help everyone have a good time. Running for Fun. You don't have to be great at sports to race in a mud run. Many people run just for fun. Just for Kids. Some mud runs are made for children as young as three. The children's races are shorter, but they have tricky parts, mud, and lots of adventure. You might climb a kid-sized wall. You might wiggle through a kid-sized tunnel. If you choose to run, you're in for a good time! Children sometimes have so much fun that they run the races two or three times. In a mud run, even regular people can feel like superheroes!

Some Arctic Dinos Lived in Herds By Sid Perkins Just as interesting, however, is how this was discovered. Scientists didn’t look at a single fossil bone. Instead, they analyzed a large number of preserved footprints on a mountainside located toward the southern end of central Alaska. Anthony Fiorillo works at the Perot Museum of Nature and Science in Dallas, Texas. As a vertebrate paleontologist, he studies the fossils of creatures with backbones. In 2007, he was part of a research team exploring Denali National Park. “We rounded the corner and there they were,” he recalls. Thousands of footprints had been preserved in stone. “It was amazing.” Dinosaurs died out more than 65 million years ago (not counting birds, their modern-day relatives). So, it’s a bit surprising that scientists know so much about these ancient creatures. Now, a new study reveals that a certain type of duckbilled dinosaur lived in the Arctic year-round. These animals also traveled in herds that included many age groups, they find. The creatures even appear to have gone through a “teenage growth spurt.” Those tracks pepper a steep patch of exposed rock about twice as long as a football field and up to 60 meters (roughly 200 feet) wide. They sit at least 160 kilometers (100 miles) north of the Gulf of Alaska. Between 69 million and 72 million years ago, that now-rocky material was muddy sediment on a floodplain near a seacoast, Fiorillo explains. The hadrosaurs walked across the squishy mud. Later, the footprints they left turned to stone. Previous studies suggested adult duckbills took care of their young, says Fiorillo. The new evidence that these dinosaurs truly traveled in herds with multiple age groups confirms that parents cared for their young well beyond the time they left the nest, his team concludes. The researchers published their findings June 30 in Geology. © Science News for Students Thousands of tracks cover this rocky mountainside in Alaska’s Denali National Park. They provide a wealth of information about the size, age and lifestyle of certain dinosaurs. COURTESY OF PEROT MUSEUM OF NATURE AND SCIENCE EVIDENCE FOR HERDS O F DINOSAURS Small meat-eating dinosaurs called theropods had left behind a few of the tracks that Fiorillo’s team found in Denali. Birds had left some others. But the vast majority came from creatures called hadrosaurs. These large plant-eating duckbilled dinosaurs had been quite common during the Cretaceous Period. That helps explain one of their nicknames: “cattle of the Cretaceous.” For the new study, the researchers focused only on the hadrosaur tracks. More than half of the footprints were preserved so well that they had clear impressions of the skin on the dinosaurs’ feet. Most tracks had a similar level of preservation. That suggests all were probably left within a short period. Other fossils in the nearby rocks, including insect burrows, suggest these hadrosaurs had left their footprints during the summer. These are trace fossils — evidence of ancient life other than a preserved carcass or bone. At the time these dinosaurs lived, Fiorillio says, the average temperature in the warmest months was between 10° and 12° Celsius (50° and 54° Fahrenheit). That’s about what conditions are like today along the border between Canada and the lower 48 U.S. states, he notes. The team measured a large sample of the duckbills’ footprints. They fell into four distinct size ranges. The largest tracks, presumably made by adults, measured about 64 centimeters (25 inches) across. The smallest tracks, 8 centimeters (3 inches) wide, were likely left by young duckbills. They would have been no more than a year old. Tracks of two other size groups were probably made by juveniles and near-adults. These data suggest the community of hadrosaurs included four different age groups. © Science News for Students A hadrosaur footprint made roughly 70 million years ago. For scale, the long blue bar at right is 10 centimeters long; each small blue or white bar measures 1 centimeter. COURTESY OF PEROT MUSEUM OF NATURE AND SCIENCE © Science News for Students THESE DINOSAURS DIDN’T MIGRATE About 84 percent of the tracks sampled for the new study had been left by older hadrosaurs — adults or near-adults. Roughly 13 percent came from the youngest members of the herd. And a mere 3 percent came from herd members considered to be juveniles, says Fiorillo. The rarity of tracks by these tweens suggests that the young of this species had a rapid growth spurt. If true, they would have spent relatively little time at this vulnerable size — and therefore left very few tracks. “What’s really neat is how many small tracks there are,” notes Anthony Martin. An ichnologist — or expert in trace fossils — he works at Emory University in Atlanta, Ga. Other scientists had analyzed fossil bones from duckbills. These studies had hinted that the equivalent of adolescent hadrosaurs would have experienced growth spurts. But the new findings are “the best evidence that I’ve seen,” says Eric Snively. He’s a vertebrate paleontologist at the University of Wisconsin- La Crosse. “This is a great study,” he adds, “and further evidence that juvenile hadrosaurs grew up in an eye-blink.” Also previously, researchers had proposed that Arctic dinosaurs migrated farther south for the winter. That’s because even if the region was much warmer than it is today, nights in the high Arctic would have been 24 hours long. So, with no sunshine for several months, Alaska would have had long periods of very bleak, chilly weather. But finding juveniles in the herd strongly suggests that these dinosaurs remained in the Arctic all year. That’s because adolescents and preadolescents wouldn’t have had the strength or stamina to make those long treks, Fiorillo maintains. Field work is often harsh. Paleontologists studying the dinosaur footprints here on an Alaskan mountainside sometimes worked in cold and fog. COURTESY OF PEROT MUSEUM OF NATURE AND SCIENCE © Science News for Students The presence of very young dinosaurs might have been expected, he notes: If this were a nesting region, the babies would have hatched sometime just before summer. And remember, that’s when these tracks were left. But that wouldn’t explain the juveniles, he says. The team’s findings “suggest that these dinosaurs were overwintering in Alaska somehow,” says Snively. At the time, the average temperature in the region remained above freezing even during the winter, he notes. But, he adds, “this study raises interesting issues about how the dinosaurs could live in the region when it was pretty dark for several months at a time.”

She went by the name of Belisa Crepusculario, not because she had been baptized with that name or given it by her mother, but because she herself had searched until she found the poetry of "beauty" and "twilight" and cloaked herself in it. She made her living selling words. She journeyed through the country from the high cold mountains to the burning coasts, stopping at fairs and in markets where she set up four poles covered by a canvas awning under which she took refuge from the sun and rain to minister to her customers. She did not have to peddle her merchandise because from having wandered far and near, everyone knew who she was. Some people waited for her from one year to the next, and when she appeared in the village with her bundle beneath her arm, they would form a line in front of her stall. Her prices were fair. For five centavos she delivered verses from memory, for seven she improved the quality of dreams, for nine she wrote love letters, for twelve she invented insults for irreconcilable enemies. She also sold stories, not fantasies but long, true stories she recited at one telling, never skipping a word. This is how she carried news from one town to another. People paid her to add a line or two: our son was born, so-and-so died, our children got married, the crops burned in the field. Wherever she went a small crowd gathered around to listen as she began to speak, and that was how they learned about each others' doings, about distant relatives, about what was going on in the civil war. To anyone who paid her fifty centavos in trade, she gave the gift of a secret word to drive away melancholy. It was not the same word for everyone, naturally, because that would have been collective dece it. Each person received his or her own word, with the assurance that no one else would use it that way in this universe or the Beyond. Belisa Crepusculario had been born into a family so poor they did not even have names to give their children. She came into the world and grew up in an inhospitable land where some years the rains became avalanches of water that bore everything away before them and others when not a drop fell from the sky and the sun swelled to fill the horizon and the world became a desert. Until she was twelve, Belisa had no occupation or virtue other than having withstood hunger and the exhaustion of centuries. During one interminable drought, it fell to her to bury four younger brothers and sisters, when she realized that her turn was next, she decided to set out across the 2 plains in the direction of the sea, in hopes that she might trick death along the way. The land was eroded, split with deep cracks, strewn with rocks, fossils of trees and thorny bushes, and skeletons of animals bleached by the sun. From time to time she ran into families who, like her, were heading south, following the mirage of water. Some had begun the march carrying their belongings on their back or in small carts, but they could barely move their own bones, and after a while they had to abandon their possessions. They dragged themselves along painfully, their skin turned to lizard hide and their eyes burned by the reverberating glare. Belisa greeted them with a wave as she passed, but she did not stop, because she had no strength to waste in acts of compassion. Many people fell by the wayside, but she was so stubborn that she survived to cross through that hell and at long last reach the first trickles of water, fine, almost invisible threads that fed spindly vegetation and farther down widened into small streams and marshes. Belisa Crepusculario saved her life and in the process accidentally discovered writing. In a village near the coast, the wind blew a page of newspaper at her feet. She picked up the brittle yellow paper and stood a long while looking at it, unable to determine its purpose, until curiosity overcame her shyness. She walked over to a man who was washing his horse in the muddy pool where she had quenched her thirst. "What is this?" she asked. "The sports page of the newspaper," the man replied, concealing his surprise at her ignorance. The answer astounded the girl, but she did not want to seem rude, so she merely inquired about the significance of the fly tracks scattered across the page. "Those are words, child. Here it says that Fulgencio Barba knocked out El Negro Tiznao in the third round." That was the day Belisa Crepusculario found out that words make their way in the world without a master, and that anyone with a little cleverness can appropriate them and do business with them. She made a quick assessment of her situation and concluded that aside from becoming a prostitute or working as a servant in the kitchens of the rich there were few occupations she was qualified for. It seemed to her that selling words would be an honorable alternative. From that moment on, she worked at that profession, and was never tempted by any other. At the beginning, she offered her merchandise unaware that words could be written outside of newspapers. When she learned otherwise, she calculated the infinite possibilities of her trade and with her savings paid a priest twenty pesos to teach her to read and write, with her three 3 remaining coins she bought a dictionary. She poured over it from A to Z and then threw it into the sea, because it was not her intention to defraud her customers with packaged words. One August morning several years later, Belisa Crepusculario was sitting in her tent in the middle of a plaza, surrounded by the uproar of market day, selling legal arguments to an old man who had been trying for sixteen years to get his pension. Suddenly she heard yelling and thudding hoofbeats. She looked up from her writing and saw, first, a cloud of dust, and then a band of horsemen come galloping into the plaza. They were the Colonel's men, sent under orders of El Mulato, a giant known throughout the land for the speed of his knife and his loyalty to his chief. Both the Colonel and El Mulato had spent their lives fighting in the civil war, and their names were ineradicably linked to devastation and calamity. The rebels swept into town like a stampeding herd, wrapped in noise, bathed in sweat, and leaving a hurricane of fear in their trail. Chickens took wing, dogs ran for their lives, women and children scurried out of sight, until the only living soul left in the market was Belisa Crepusculario. She had never seen El Mulato and was surprised to see him walking toward her. "I'm looking for you," he shouted, pointing his coiled whip at her, even before the words were out, two men rushed her -- knocking over her canopy and shattering her inkwell -- bound her hand and foot, and threw her like a sea bag across the rump of El Mulato's mount. Then they thundered off toward the hills. Hours later, just as Belisa Crepusculario was near death, her heart ground to sand by the pounding of the horse, they stopped, and four strong hands set her down. She tried to stand on her feet and hold her head high, but her strength failed her and she slumped to the ground, sinking into a confused dream. She awakened several hours later to the murmur of night in the camp, but before she had time to sort out the sounds, she opened her eyes and found herself staring into the impatient glare of El Mulato, kneeling beside her. "Well, woman, at last you've come to," he said. To speed her to her senses, he tipped his canteen and offered her a sip of liquor laced with gunpowder. She demanded to know the reason for such rough treatment, and El Mulato explained that the Colonel needed her services. He allowed her to splash water on her face, and then led her to the far end of the camp where the most feared man in all the land was lazing in a hammock strung between two trees. She could not see his face, because he lay in the deceptive shadow of the leaves and the indelible shadow of all his years as a bandit, but she imagined from the way his 4 gigantic aide addressed him with such humility that he must have a very menacing expression. She was surprised by the Colonel's voice, as soft and well-modulated as a professor's. "Are you the woman who sells words?" he asked. "At your service," she stammered, peering into the dark and trying to see him better. The Colonel stood up, and turned straight toward her. She saw dark skin and the eyes of a ferocious puma, and she knew immediately that she was standing before the loneliest man in the world. "I want to be President," he announced. The Colonel was weary of riding across that godforsaken land, waging useless wars and suffering defeats that no subterfuge could transform into victories. For years he had been sleeping in the open air, bitten by mosquitoes, eating iguanas and snake soup, but those minor inconveniences were not why he wanted to change his destiny. What truly troubled him was the terror he saw in people's eyes. He longed to ride into a town beneath a triumphal arch with bright flags and flowers everywhere, he wanted to be cheered, and be given newly laid eggs and freshly baked bread. Men fled at the sight of him, children trembled, and women miscarried from fright, he had had enough, and so he had decided to become President. El Mulato had suggested that they ride to the capital, gallop up to the Palace, and take over the government, the way they had taken so many other things without anyone's permission. The Colonel, however, did not want to be just another tyrant, there had been enough of those before him and, besides, if he did that, he would never win people's hearts. It was his aspiration to win the popular vote in the December elections. "To do that, I have to talk like a candidate. Can you sell me the words for a speech?" the Colonel asked Belisa Crepusculario. She had accepted many assignments, but none like this. She did not dare refuse, fearing that El Mulato would shoot her between the eyes, or worse still, that the Colonel would burst into tears. There was more to it than that, however, she felt the urge to help him because she felt a throbbing warmth beneath her skin, a powerful desire to touch that man, to fondle him, to clasp him in her arms. All night and a good part of the following day, Belisa Crepusculario searched her repertory for words adequate for a presidential speech, closely watched by El Mulato, who could not take his eyes from her firm wanderer's legs and virginal breasts. She discarded harsh, cold words, words 5 that were too flowery, words worn from abuse, words that offered improbable promises, untruthful and confusing words, until all she had left were words sure to touch the minds of men and women's intuition. Calling upon the knowledge she had purchased from the priest for twenty pesos, she wrote the speech on a sheet of paper and then signaled El Mulato to untie the rope that bound her ankles to a tree. He led her once more to the Colonel, and again she felt the throbbing anxiety that had seized her when she first saw him. She handed him the paper and waited while he looked at it, holding it gingerly between thumbs and fingertips. "What the shit does this say," he asked finally. "Don't you know how to read?" "War's what I know," he replied. She read the speech aloud. She read it three times, so her client could engrave it on his memory. When she finished, she saw the emotion in the faces of the soldiers who had gathered round to listen, and saw that the Colonel's eyes glittered with enthusiasm, convinced that with those words the presidential chair would be his. "If after they've heard it three times, the boys are still standing there with their mouths hanging open, it must mean the thing's damn good, Colonel" was El Mulato's approval. "All right, woman. How much do I owe you?" the leader asked. "One peso, Colonel." "That's not much," he said, opening the pouch he wore at his belt, heavy with proceeds from the last foray. "The peso entitles you to a bonus. I'm going to give you two secret words," said Belisa Crepusculario. "What for?" She explained that for every fifty centavos a client paid, she gave him the gift of a word for his exclusive use. The Colonel shrugged. He had no interest at all in her offer, but he did not want to be impolite to someone who had served him so well. She walked slowly to the leather stool where he was sitting, and bent down to give him her gift. The man smelled the scent of a mountain cat issuing from the woman, a fiery heat radiating from her hips, he heard the terrible whisper of her hair, and a breath of sweetmint murmured into his ear the two secret words that were his alone. "They are yours, Colonel," she said as she stepped back. "You may use them as much as you 6 please." El Mulato accompanied Belisa to the roadside, his eyes as entreating as a stray dog's, but when he reached out to touch her, he was stopped by an avalanche of words he had never heard before; believing them to be an irrevocable curse, the flame of his desire was extinguished. During the months of September, October, and November the Colonel delivered his speech so many times that had it not been crafted from glowing and durable words it would have turned to ash as he spoke. He travelled up and down and across the country, riding into cities with a triumphal air, stopping in even the most forgotten villages where only the dump heap betrayed a human presence, to convince his fellow citizens to vote for him. While he spoke from a platform erected in the middle of the plaza, El Mulato and his men handed out sweets and painted his name on all the walls in gold frost. No one paid the least attention to those advertising ploys; they were dazzled by the clarity of the Colonel's proposals and the poetic lucidity of his arguments, infected by his powerful wish to right the wrongs of history, happy for the first time in their lives. When the Candidate had finished his speech, his soldiers would fire their pistols into the air and set off firecrackers, and when finally they rode off, they left behind a wake of hope that lingered for days on the air, like the splendid memory of a comet's tail. Soon the Colonel was the favorite. No one had ever witnessed such a phenomenon: a man who surfaced from the civil war, covered with scars and speaking like a professor, a man whose fame spread to every corner of the land and captured the nation's heart. The press focused their attention on him. Newspapermen came from far away to interview him and repeat his phrases, and the number of his followers and enemies continued to grow. "We're doing great, Colonel," said El Mulato, after twelve successful weeks of campaigning. But the Candidate did not hear. He was repeating his secret words, as he did more and more obsessively. He said them when he was mellow with nostalgia; he murmured them in his sleep; he carried them with him on horseback; he thought them before delivering his famous speech; and he caught himself savoring them in his leisure time. And every time he thought of those two words, he thought of Belisa Crepusculario, and his senses were inflamed with the memory of her feral scent, her fiery heat, the whisper of her hair, and her sweetmint breath in his ear, until he began to go around like a sleepwalker, and his men realized that he might die before he ever sat in the presidential chair. "What's got hold of you, Colonel," El Mulato asked so often that finally one day his chief broke 7 down and told him the source of his befuddlement: those two words that were buried like two daggers in his gut. "Tell me what they are and maybe they'll lose their magic," his faithful aide suggested. "I can't tell them, they're for me alone," the Colonel replied. Saddened by watching his chief decline like a man with a death sentence on his head, El Mulato slung his rifle over his shoulder and set out to find Belisa Crepusculario. He followed her trail through all that vast country, until he found her in a village in the far south, sitting under her tent reciting her rosary of news. He planted himself, spraddle-legged, before her, weapon in hand. "You! You're coming with me," he ordered. She had been waiting. She picked up her inkwell, folded the canvas of her small stall, arranged her shawl around her shoulders, and without a word took her place behind El Mulato's saddle. They did not exchange so much as a word in all the trip; El Mulato's desire for her had turned into rage, and only his fear of her tongue prevented his cutting her to shreds with his whip. Nor was he inclined to tell her that the Colonel was in a fog, and that a spell whispered into his ear had done what years of battle had not been able to do. Three days later they arrived at the encampment, and immediately, in view of all the troops, El Mulato led his prisoner before the Candidate. "I brought this witch here so you can give her back her words, Colonel," El Mulato said, pointing the barrel of his rifle at the woman's head. "And then she can give you back your manhood." The Colonel and Belisa Crepusculario stared at each other, measuring one another from a distance. The men knew then that their leader would never undo the witchcraft of those accursed words, because the whole world could see the voracious-puma eyes soften as the woman walked to him and took his hand in hers. Copyright © 1989 by Isabel Allende From The Stories of Eva Luna, Translated by Margaret Sayers Peden

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