One wonderful summer day, the hummingbirds were quarreling with the butterflies over the biggest red geranium. Dragon flies were coptering around leftover rain puddles and PearBear was lying in the tall meadow grass with his toes pointing straight up. He was watching a dinosaur in the clouds, turning into an Indian, and then into a pear. He thought of a poem.

Sometimes his poems were very good, and sometimes they weren't so hot. This one wasn't the best he had ever done. He had thought of using "clouds" instead of "toads," but couldn't think of a single word that rhymed with "clouds." A lot of words rhymed with "toads." "Roads" was the one to come to mind first. He started another poem.

PearBear stopped composing and sat straight up. He just had a very bright idea. Summer time was Picnic Time. Summer is also a good party time. PearBear thought it would be best to practice on just a small picnic first, to get the hang of it. So, he decided to hold a picnic. Or was it, have a picnic? Whatever.

Oh! So many things to think of. A picnic blanket, and then plates and cups and spoons and knives. And food. Pears, of course, and peanut butter honey sandwiches. And fresh cold milk. Maybe other stuff. Cookies? Oh, yes!

But, who to invite? The meadow mice would be fun, but they were so timid. His mother could come. His father was in Glacier Park for the huckleberry season, so he wouldn't be there. The fox family would be fun, too, if they promised not to eat the mice, but you could never really trust them.

Perhaps it would be best to invite the three rabbits that lived under the rock pile. There used to be six of them, but those fox folks...well, PearBear had his suspicions.

The picnic plans were all made, then. He invited the rabbits, who had never had peanut butter honey sandwiches, but thought they'd try them. Anyhow, everyone liked pears.

Next, he picked two big baskets of Bartlett pears early in the week, so they would be nice and ripe in time for his picnic. While he picked them, he made up a poem.

The day of his picnic arrived, and PearBear was flustered thinking he had forgotten something. He laid out his picnic blanket. It was brand new because he had never had a picnic of his own. He laid out plates, and cups, and even remembered napkins.

Then came the knives, forks and spoons. The knife goes on the right, and the fork on the left. No, right. No, the spoon goes on the left with the fork. No, that wasn't right either. Finally, he decided to set each place differently, because one of them was bound to be right. Last come all the food.

A nice ripe pear was placed on each plate, and the basket in the middle. The rest looked so pretty and tempting that he almost started to eat right then. Instead, he took just one pear from the basket and rearranged the rest of them. No one would ever suspect there was one missing or how many were there in the first place.

PearBear sat down to wait for his guests in the warm noon sun, which was right over his head. He ate the pear carefully, not to drip the sweet juice on his shiny fur, which he had brushed well for the occasion. Then he straightened the napkin around his neck. He thought the rabbits should be arriving soon.



Story Continues in Part 2