Once upon a time, in the faraway land of Kumapachy, there lived a young girl named Pickly. In Kumapachy, everybody had a place and everybody had a talent — everybody except Pickly. She had not yet found her place, and she had not yet found a talent to share.
One morning, Pickly woke up early with an idea. She would journey across Kumapachy until she found her talent.
Her first stop was Clay Beach, where she met a fox named Sandy. Sandy lived in a den she had dug into the warm sand, just big enough for one fox.
“Hello!” called Pickly. “Can you teach me something, so I can find my talent?”
Sandy showed her how she scooped the cool clay from beneath the sand and shaped it into beautiful pottery.
“Wow!” said Pickly. “That looks like fun. Let me try!”
She brushed the sand aside and pulled out a big, soft chunk of clay. She patted and pinched until she had made a small bowl, and she loved it at once. But when she lifted it up to show Sandy, the little bowl slumped and squished back into a lump.
“Oh no!” cried Pickly. “What happened?”
“All my pottery is delicate,” Sandy sighed. “It never lasts long. It falls apart, and I simply start again.”
Pickly felt sad. She loved making pottery, but she wished it did not always end up squashed. She wanted to help — she just did not know how.
Then she noticed a dry scrap of clay lying in the sun. She pressed it with her thumb. It did not squish. It was hard and firm all the way through.
“Sandy, why didn’t this one break?”
Sandy shook her head. “I’m not sure. The sun gets to the scraps I don’t use, and they go bad.”
Pickly thought for a moment. Then she tucked the dry scrap into her bag, waved goodbye, and set off again — still feeling talentless.
Farther along her journey, Pickly came to Rocksville Mine, where she met an elephant named Gem. Gem lived deep in a cave at the back of the mine. Pickly watched her swing her pick and crack the rocks wide open.
“Look here!” Gem announced, pointing at something shiny. “Precious metal. Iron, copper — even silver!”
“It’s beautiful!” said Pickly. “Let me try.”
Pickly heaved at the stone, but it was far too solid for her. The rocks were sharp and tough.
“This is hard work!” she puffed. “What do you do with all these pieces?”
“Once we break them up, we sort them into piles,” Gem explained. “We smash the rock and the metal as small as we can, but we can never get them completely apart.”
Pickly wished she had an answer, but none came. She loved looking at the precious metals; she simply did not know how to free them from the stone.
On the ground she spotted a thin sliver of metal. She bent it easily between two fingers.
“What happened to this one?”
“Found that by the old fire pit,” said Gem. “Don’t ask me how.”
Pickly thought for a moment. Then she slipped the sliver into her bag, hugged Gem goodbye, and thanked her for all she had learned. She set off again — still feeling absolutely talentless.
Deeper into Kumapachy lay the Green Pine Forest, where Pickly met a woodpecker named Chip. Chip lived in a hollow he had carved high in an old tree. He showed her how he cut wood and stacked the pieces to build amazing things.
Pickly wanted to try. She gathered wood and stacked it into a tall tower. It was wonderful — until a gust of wind came whistling through the pines and the tower toppled, piece by piece.
But two small boards near the bottom stayed stuck together. Pickly tugged and tugged, and they would not come apart. A broken twig was wedged tightly between them.
“Why did these hold?” she asked.
Chip shrugged his wings. “Sometimes a piece holds. I never know why. My twigs always snap when I try it on purpose.”
Pickly searched for a way to help, but no answer came. She loved stacking the wood; she simply did not know how to make it stay. She shook Chip’s wing, thanked him for all she had learned, picked up the two stubborn boards, and tucked them into her bag.
Then she walked on, feeling more talentless than ever.
The next place Pickly came to was called Hot Springs Ranch — and it was not at all what she expected. It was freezing!
Beside a fire in the open sat an iguana named Boone. There was no den, no cave, no hollow. There was only the wind and the flames.
“Why is such a cold place called Hot Springs Ranch?” Pickly asked, shivering.
“Because it’s so cold here that I need a fire just to stay warm,” Boone answered. “I’m always tending it, or the wind blows it out. The fire keeps me warm and cooks my food — but be careful. It can melt anything that gets too close.”
Boone showed her how to build a fire and keep it burning.
“That’s much better!” said Pickly, holding out her hands. “But how do you keep it going for so long?”
“I never stop working at it,” said Boone. “If I did, I would freeze.”
Pickly loved the warm fire and wished she could keep it burning forever, but she did not know how.
She was about to say goodbye when she noticed the sand beside the flames. It had turned hard and cloudy, like a lump of stone — hard, just like the scrap of clay in her bag.
She opened her bag and looked inside. Hard clay. Bent metal. Two stubborn boards. And now, hard sand.
She looked at the fire. She looked at Boone.
“I know what to do,” she said slowly. “Come with me. I need your help.”
Together they left Hot Springs Ranch and hurried to Rocksville Mine.
“Gem!” Pickly called. “This is my friend Boone. He can help you separate your rocks from your metal.”
Boone built a fire, and they watched the metal run shining out of the stone. Gem let out a trumpet so loud it shook the walls.
Pickly pulled the bent sliver from her bag. “Now I need something stronger than a twig — something that can hold two boards together.”
Gem looked at the melted metal. “Long?” she said. “Thin? Sharp at one end?”
When the thin pieces of metal had cooled, they carried them into the Green Pine Forest and found Chip.
“Chip! These are my friends, Boone and Gem,” said Pickly. “We know how to make your wood stay together.”
Gem took up a rock and pounded a long, thin piece of metal straight through two boards. Pickly pulled with all her might, but the boards held fast.
“Walls like that would stop the wind,” Pickly said slowly. “That is what Boone needs. But wood burns — so we need something that can hold a fire and never burn at all. I know just who can help us.”
They followed her all the way back to Clay Beach.
“Sandy! These are my friends Boone, Gem, and Chip,” said Pickly. “We can keep your pottery from breaking. Will you help us too? We need something that can hold a fire.”
Sandy thought for a moment. Then she dug up a great heap of clay and began to build. She shaped a tall clay pipe, wide as a washtub at the bottom and narrow as a bottle at the top. Boone built his fire all around it, and the clay baked hard and firm and crumbled no more. Sandy knocked on it, and it rang like stone. Everyone began talking at once.
Then Pickly noticed that the sand beside the fire had done something surprising. It had turned smooth and hard and clear. She lifted it up — and saw Chip’s face looking right back through it.
“Light can come in,” she said. “Let’s finish this together.”
They carried everything the long way back to Hot Springs Ranch — Chip’s boards, Gem’s metal, Sandy’s chimney, and the clear sheet of sand — all the way to the cold place where the wind never stopped and Boone had nothing at all.
Chip stacked the boards into four tall walls, and Gem hammered them tight. They laid the last boards across the top for a roof, and Chip left a small square gap in the middle. Sandy stood her chimney underneath it, so the narrow end poked out into the sky.
Inside, it went dark.
“We need light,” said Pickly.
Chip cut an opening in the wall, and they set the clear sheet inside it. The last of the sunlight came pouring through, gold across the floor, and then faded slowly as the sun went down.
Boone stepped inside and set his fire down in the chimney. The wind stopped at the walls. For the first time, the flame stood straight and tall, and its light danced across the boards all around them. Far above, a thin thread of smoke slipped out into the night.
“I can sleep,” Boone whispered. Then he looked around at his friends. “Rest here tonight. Tomorrow we will build one for each of you, right where you live.”
And so, by sharing their talents, they had made something far greater than any of them could have made alone. They gazed at what they had built, amazed.
“It isn’t a den,” said Sandy.
“It isn’t a cave,” said Gem.
“It isn’t a hollow,” said Chip.
“You brought us together, Pickly,” said Boone. “And that is your talent. So what do you want to call this place?”
Pickly looked up, smiled at her friends, and said, “Home.”
The End