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Muva the little calf had turned a picnic crate into a train.
“All aboard!” she called. “Apples only. No muddy boots.”
She spread a napkin beside the crate for a station. There were six apples waiting on it, and six little spaces inside the crate. Each apple could have its own seat.
Today, Muva wanted to bring our apples to the picnic tree herself. She had even invited me to be the passenger who carried the blanket.
“A very important job,” I said.
“The most important,” said Muva. “You can't sit on a sandwich.”
She gave her bell a tiny shake. But before her train could leave, she wanted to count its passengers.
“One, two, three…”
She nudged each apple with her nose. One little apple slipped off the edge of the napkin.
Rrrr… bump.
It rolled down a small wrinkle in the cloth and touched her hoof.
Muva nudged it back among the others.
“Four, five, six… seven?”
She looked at the crate.
“Seven passengers. Six seats. Oh.”
The train couldn't leave like that. Muva wanted every apple tucked safely into a space, with none left behind on the station napkin.
I sat down beside her with the blanket.
“Our picnic can wait,” I said.
“Just a little wait,” she told the apples. “Nobody unpack your lunch.”
Muva decided to count faster. Then perhaps she could finish before anything moved.
“One-two-three-four—”
Her nose bumped two apples together. They rolled apart, and she turned to bring one back.
Rrrr… bump.
Now she couldn't remember whether she had counted the apple beside her hoof or the one beside her nose.
“You look very alike,” she told them. “That is not helping.”
She stopped. Her ears drooped a little. She had wanted to be the one who brought the picnic, and her passengers wouldn't even stay in a line.
Then she noticed the wrinkle in the napkin. It made a tiny hill. That was why the apples kept rolling toward her.
Muva smoothed the cloth and folded up its edges. This time, the apples stayed still.
She counted again, pointing with her nose.
“One, two, three…”
She paused above two apples sitting close together.
“Was this one three? Or was that one three?”
Keeping them still had helped. But all the apples were still together. Nothing showed which ones she had already counted.
Muva looked from the crowded napkin to the empty crate.
Six little spaces. Not one apple in them yet.
Her ears lifted.
“Wait. A passenger who gets on the train doesn't wait at the station anymore!”
She picked up one apple and settled it into a space.
“One. You're aboard.”
Now there was one apple in the crate, apart from all the apples waiting on the napkin.
Muva moved another.
“Two. You're aboard.”
She didn't hurry. Each apple moved before the next number came.
“Three. Four. Five.”
Only one apple was waiting now: the little one that had rolled against her hoof.
Muva picked it up.
“Six. You're aboard.”
The napkin was empty. Every space held one apple.
“Six!” said Muva. “There wasn't an extra apple. I counted one again when it rolled back!”
She leaned close to her last passenger.
“You only need one ticket.”
I lifted the blanket. Muva carried the crate, and her bell announced the slowest, proudest little train in the orchard.
Under the picnic tree, Muva put the apples into our two baskets, one for me and one for her, until the crate was empty.
Three in my basket. Three in hers. All six had arrived.
We settled onto the blanket together. Muva rested her chin beside her basket and gave a happy little sigh.
“This train is closed until after lunch,” she said.
“What about the return trip?” I asked.
Muva thought about that.
“The passengers will have to travel in our tummies.”
When you lose your place, you can make a little space for what you've already counted. One at a time, the muddle becomes something you can manage.