Marigolds+by+Eugenia+Collier

Lets look at the first paragraph of “Marigolds” by Eugenia Collier.

1. What are the two main subjects of the first paragraph? 2. Is time or place designated? If so, how do they impact the mood of the story so far? 3. How would you describe the writer’s style? 4. What does the phrase “incongruency of memory” mean? Why is the mind like an abstract painting

Grade: 9 Unit/Genre: Short Story

Marigolds by Eugenia Collier - "Historical Fiction"

. Read the short story Marigolds by Eugenia Collier. At one point in the story, the narrator, Lizabeth recalls an incident that occurred during the Great Depression when she was 14. After reading you have finished reading this piece of historical fiction complete the following writing task:

Rewrite a portion of the short story from Miss Lottie’s perspective. This is a good idea to work from Miss Lottie’s perspective because her character is the object of Lizabeth’s torment in the original story.



1. Write a "micro mini-short story" from Miss Lottie’s point of view. 2. Length: one page at least 25 sentences and 250 words in length. 3. Use Google Docs/for upload the composition of the micro mini short story to your Short Story Task/Reaction 4. You may use your texts and notes during rewrites.

5. Each story must answer the following questions:
 * How does Miss Lottie feel about her living conditions?
 * How does she manage to take care of her son John Burke?
 * Why does she plant marigolds?
 * Why doesn’t she get angry with Lizabeth after Lizabeth destroys her marigolds?

6. A Sample:

//Back when I was just a kid, I was known as the weird girl that no one would talk to. I was also known as the poorest girl in my home town of Jackson, Mississippi. I didn’t care about how my house looked back then and I certainly don’t care about how it looks now. As long as I have a roof over my head I’m fine. I made a promise to my momma that I would grow marigolds when I got older.// //My momma worked hard to keep our family going after my daddy left us. She told me, “Lottie you can always find something good in something bad.” I just told her I didn’t know what she was talking about. So, that day we went outside and planted some seeds. Momma wouldn’t tell me what kind they were. She said she wanted it to be a surprise. When the flowers finally popped their golden round heads out of the earth, a huge wave of excitement ran over me.//

//They were marigolds. Momma had told me that marigold meant hope and that with hope; you can make your dreams come true. That was back in 1847. That was the only good thing I can remember about by childhood. I loved my momma and I always wanted to be just like her when I got older. My son, John Burke, used to be happy and an energetic little fellow. When he was about sixteen, he got mixed up in the wrong crowd and saw some things happen that he had only heard about, but was too naïve to believe. Every since then he hasn’t been the same. I just make him his meals and wash his clothes. He doesn’t do anything except sleep, eat, and sit on the front porch rocking and dreaming his life away.//

//The only thing I look forward to is my marigolds. I kept my promise to my momma and planted them as soon as I got my own place. That’s all my life is, tending to those flowers and thinking to myself about all the good times I used to have. Zing! Those pesky kids are up to no good again. Every day they come out here and mess with me and my flowers, I’m about sick and tired of it. They are supposed to appreciate my flowers not destroy them. “John Burke, JOHN!” I swear sometimes he’s so far off in dreamland he doesn’t even hear a word I’m saying. All I got to do is call old Johnny Boy over here and they all scatter.//

//It’s getting late and I’m worn out. Sometime, either late at night or really early in the morning, I heard someone outside screaming. I put on my old leather shoes and jacket to go and find out what in the world woke me up. When I got out on the front porch the girl who tortures my poor flowers was on a rampage in my flower garden. I walked up to her and was speechless. I didn’t known what would posses someone to do something so hateful. Here I was little old me with the only thing I have left, and she goes and takes it away from me. When she looked up at me I noticed she was crying. She just stared at me before walking away. I wonder about why I didn’t get mad at her, but something told me that this was just a part of life and it was a big stepping stone in hers. There was enough bad in her life, God forbid she didn’t need some old coon yelling at her. I often thing about what might have happened to her. Two months later I was on my death bed, my final breaths of life, when I looked out the window and the best thing happened. I saw her, that same girl that was crying in my flowerbed late that night, walking down the street with a bag of marigold seeds in her hand.//