“Load up the cotton balls for me, partner!” Mr. Jones bellowed, “I need to take Old Dusty here in the barn. It’s her feeding time.” Timothy Jones was a rancher in Fountain Hills, Arizona. His cousin, Allen Berkley was a cotton merchant, whom Mr. Jones sold cotton to. Fountain Hills did not have any fountains or hills. This town was a quiet, vacant location where hay balls rolled silently in the blowing wind. The sun was scorching and unbearable. There were very few trees, laden with coconuts or lemons, and the only water dripping down was sweat. Ranchers imported “Poland Springs” from Spain or Canada to battle the lack of rain. Yes, Arizona was a desert but the land of gold. Gold buried in a treasure chest underneath the bare ground or it can be floating in a stream. The children were not worried about gold. They treasured their home, for they loved to gather lemons, ride horses and savour fresh ice cream made from sugar, milk and thick cream. However, the elders cared for bars of gold, rather than ice cream bars or chocolate bars. Their home is where gold is.

 “Here you are, Old Dusty!” Mr. Jones exclaimed as he placed a large basket of red apples near his ravenous horse.

 “Hey!” Anna Jones, his wife, called out, “Don’t let that horse of yours eat all of the apples. I need some for my apple juice.”

 “Don’t worry Ann,” Mr. Jones reassured, “The Sheriff is importing apples, potatoes, and spices today. I am going out to pan for gold with the others now. Keep an eye on Billy for me. See that he does not juggle the horseshoes or climb on Old Dusty. Also, remember to milk Old Sally.

 “Fine, fine. Billy is mature enough. He is going to turn six tomorrow. By the way, is gold all that you can think of? I have not seen a bouquet of primroses or a field of broccoli since I stepped on this barren land. Try to think of a way to grow more plants. You’ll be glad you did.” Mrs. Jones suggested as she brought him his gold pan.

 “Later, alligator!” Mr. Jones joked, “C’mon boys! We have to pan for gold! Yee-haa!”

The group walked up to the nearest stream and began to splash their gold pans in the crystal waters. As they were waving their pans, Mr. Jones asked, “By the way, cousin Dexter, how much do we owe the Sheriff?”

   “About twenty dollars worth of gold, partner. We can pay his taxes. Not to worry! Keep panning.”

  Many people found numerous gold flakes. They put them in pouches accordingly, but what they were really panning for was a solid gold nugget. After one hour, Mr. Jones panned a gold nugget. “Eureka! A gold nugget! C’mon partners! Pan for more.” 
Encouraged, all of them began to rush for gold. As they were panning, they sang their song, “Who needs pebbles, I’ve been told. All I’m looking for is a bar of gold!” Soon, a whole bag was filled to the brim with gold. “We’ve done well today, boys! Let’s go to the Sheriff!”

 Laden with their treasure, the people rushed to the Sheriff’s office. The Sheriff was a grouchy looking man. A tattoo of a scorpion was etched neatly in black on his elbows. His ginger-tinted cowboy hat was strapped with a loose auburn cord. Crumpled papers, soda cans and apple cores were scattered on his desk, making it a cosy place for flies. “Well, what have we got here for us, folks?” The Sheriff asked, starting a discussion, “Some chocolate malt? Ha!”

The group looked at one another in confusion. Mr. Jones began, “No, sir. We came to pay our taxes. You can take twenty dollars worth of gold from this bag.”

The Sheriff took two pounds of gold and then snapped his fingers, instructing his assistant to come. Then, he commanded, without even looking, “Get me a cup of coffee. Three spoons of milk, and two packets of sugar, exactly.” He spoke to Mr. Jones and his gang, “Now listen, you cowpokes. I have raised the taxes from next month onwards. Pay me thirty dollars worth of gold. Is that clear?”

The people stood dumbfounded. Paying twenty dollars worth was already half their income. Thirty dollars worth, no way! However, they agreed to this unfair arrangement and quietly trotted away. Dust covered their worried faces, while the clouds were turning powdery yellow. The stream flowed gently and the weeds grew by the millions, until the side was speckled with the unwanted plants. Bundles of hay were blowing softly in the gentle wind, while horses were chewing on dry grass. The mushy soil was chocolate brown. Not a single plant clothed the soil with a flowery smile. Spotting the naked ground, a member of the group exclaimed, “Look at that messy porridge, partner. It sure does need some colour. Carrots, lettuce, tomatoes, spinach, cucumbers, peppers, olives could have been grown there. All those luscious vegetables could have been wedged in a loaf of bread to make a sandwich.” Mr. Jones shook his head and the five of them went into a bar to cool themselves. 

All of them ordered a fruit cocktail, while all the other guests savoured a root beer. A server filled a mug with root beer until the whipped froth bubbled to the top like rice being boiled. After the mug was layered with the root beer, a sweet cherry was placed on the top. That cherry should have been placed on a cake or pie but customers wanted more. Soon, fresh fruit cocktails, with a bit of lemon juice and some ice cubes, were served on a tray to the men. As they were sipping their cold drinks, Edmund, a waiter and a friend of Mr. Jones, came up to them and queried, “Good afternoon, friends! Would you like a dish of berries and cream to go along with your drink?” When everyone doused the blackberries and raspberries in silky cream, Edmund recognized Mr. Jones. “Hey, Timothy!” Edmund shouted, “How are you doing? Are you ready for your son’s birthday tomorrow?”

 “Not quite, partner. I need to buy Billy a gift. Do you know where I can get him a “Klondike” ice-cream sandwich? That is what the boy craves for the most.”
 “Well, you could go to “Daisy’s Dairy Stall.” I heard they import some creamy ice-cream bars. My daughter, Isabella thought they were lovely. Do you remember Isabella, Timothy? She still loves to plant flowers, buttercups, especially. You should buy some seeds and have a garden, Timothy.”
 “That is a wonderful idea, Edmund! Yee-haa!” Mr. Jones cried out sarcastically, “Well, I have to go now and buy that gift. See you later.”

Mr. Jones waved “goodbye” to his pals and walked along the path. As he was close to the milk stall, Daisy, the owner, invited him in. “Well, what can I do for you, Mr. Jones?”
 “I’d like one “Klondike” ice-cream bar, please.” Mr. Jones responded.
A dollar and an ice-cream bar changed hands. The “Klondike” bar is a square of ice cream coated with chocolate, packaged in silver foil. As your tongue relishes the soft vanilla ice cream, your pearly whites savour the crunchy chocolate veneer. As Daisy was calculating her money, Mr. Jones questioned her, “What else do you import?”
 “Oh, we import tea leaves, coffee beans, and exquisite cakes.” 

Mr. Jones eyed the multihued, vibrant cakes, all lined up neatly on shelves. Some cakes were embellished with strawberries, some with cherries, and some with piped cream. Most of them were striped with chocolate lines, while others rippled with strawberry icing. There were also chocolate rolls, topped with spiralling vanilla cream and cherries. Seeing all of the delicious cakes, Mr. Jones decided to purchase a cake for his lovable son. Tapping his finger on his chin, he scanned all the flavoured cakes again. Suddenly, he spied a cake with chocolate shreds on the borders. He selected that cake and paid the price. The cake he selected was called Black Forest Cake. It’s a lovely dessert topped with cherries, chocolate shavings and vanilla cream. Each fluffy chocolate layer is spread with vanilla cream and cherries, so each layer looks colourful and well baked. After the cake was wrapped in a nice, sturdy box, Mr. Jones set out for home.

When he reached home, he placed the cake box in the freezer and went to say goodnight to Billy. That night, the stars were twinkling like little crystals, performing a ballet in the dark sapphire sky. The clouds were like indigo cotton balls, gracefully progressing and shielding the moonlight in an ocean of darkness. When morning came, the scenery had converted itself into a dazzling, bright sky. The sun was like an enormous gold orb, shining at the streams and making them sparkle. The sand and dust shimmered clearly like gold flakes dancing in the wind. The sand hills were as golden as freshly baked tortilla chips and the leaves were as green as guacamole. The day was beautiful and it seemed like it was pleasant to congratulate Billy on his birthday. When Billy woke up, Mr. and Mrs. Jones wished, “Happy Birthday, Billy!”

 “Thanks, Mommy! Thanks, Daddy!” Billy sweetly answered.
 “Here you are, son.” Mr. Jones said, “This “Klondike” ice-cream sandwich is just for you. Soon, you will become a rancher and go riding across the Klondike.”

“Daddy,” said Billy as he peeled of the silver wrapping, “Is this real silver that they use as foil?”
 “Why, no son. Do you think they would waste precious silver on foil?”

 “Here, Billy,” Anna interrupted, “I’ve knitted you a bandanna, made you a card, and bought you a small chocolate roll with vanilla cream inside.”
 “Wow, thanks Mommy.” The bandanna was amethyst purple, and it was imprinted with yellow and green rhombuses. Additionally, the card had “Billy” inscribed efficiently in rose pink, in a wreath of white gardenias. Inside it was a poem:

Happy birthday, my little son.
Your smile is like a pretty pearl.
Your cheeks are rosy red and true.
You’re the best in the world.

Best wishes to my darling child.
You’re never growing old,
For, you’ll always be my little baby.
You’re loved more than a bar of gold.

The beautiful poem made Mr. Jones’ heart sink to the bottom. He wished he had written a poem for Billy, but he cooled himself and brought out the cake. Meanwhile, Billy was happily nibbling his birthday treats. When he saw the big cake, Billy rushed to the table to cut it. “Wow, that is a gorgeous cake, Daddy. I’m going to enjoy it.”
 “Yes, you will. It’s called Black Forest Cake. Hurry up now and cut the cake and make your birthday wish.”

Billy cut the cake into three slices and made a wish. Then, Anna put each slice on separate plates and passed it around. When everyone was savouring the welcoming sensation of sweetness, Mr. Jones inquired, “By the way, Billy. What was your birthday wish?”

 “Oh, that!” Billy sniggered, “I hope you won’t mind, Daddy. What I really want most is some greenery. The gardenias on my greeting card enthused me to start some shrubbery. Please, Daddy, can you find a place where trees and flowers cover every inch of that land?”

Mr. Jones was speechless. Everywhere he went, people had been recommending greenery. He stammered, “Uh, um. Let me think. Uh, hmm. I...I...I. Come on son. Let’s go for a ride on Old Dusty...”

 “Timothy Smith Jones!” Anna snapped, “Whether you like it or not, you have to fulfil your only son’s wish. You must go.”

 “But dear Ann. I simply couldn’t find any plants in a wink. I’ll need to go on an long expedition to...”

 “Then you’ll have to go on a long expedition, Timothy. Tomorrow, you’ll go.”

Mr. Jones was alarmed. His profession was to search for gold. Furthermore, he had no idea where to go for finding plants and shrubs. However, he couldn’t’ upset his dear wife, lest she break into tears. He reluctantly concurred to this statement. Meanwhile, Billy was sitting at the dining table, ready for his supper. The family had a nicely arranged candlelit supper consisting of roast potatoes, macaroni and cheese, and pumpkin bread for dessert. The three of them then retired to bed. The endless sky captivated the awakened Mr. Jones. The first star was luminous and lustrous and it appeared to be saying, “Go, Mr. Jones and seek the real Earth, the real world. Get ready for your task.”

When the rooster crowed, the family got up and ate a hearty breakfast of buttered toast, cornflakes and a bowl of fruit salad. “So Daddy,” Billy murmured as he spooned out his cereal, “Are you ready?

 “I’m ready, son,” Mr. Jones nodded, “I’m all geared up.”

 “I’ve packed some sweet cream rolls, buttered bagels, a flask of water, and some leftover Black Forest Cake for your quest.” Anna stated, practically.

After a cup of Old Sally’s milk, Mr. Jones was bundled up with his gold pan and his sack lunch. Shortly, Mr. Jones began to walk to nowhere. He said “goodbye” to his pals and left Fountain Hills with no other distractions. The land became much more barren and the sun intolerable. The ground looked like an everlasting slab of gold, shimmering up into his eyes. The sky was getting pale yellow from all the dust and not even one bird was soaring in the cotton clouds. When he couldn’t walk any longer, he stopped by a stream to wash his face. Then he realized something, “Eureka! There must be gold in this pool of water! Yee-haa!” Mr. Jones pulled out his gold pan and started panning for his favourite item. At last, he gathered seventeen gold nuggets. “Eureka! Gold, gold, gold!” Mr. Jones yelled out in high spirits. That was a big mistake! Soon, masked men came rushing to the spot on their trusty horses. “You’ve got gold, eh? Well, we’ve got you! Give us your booty now!” The leader proclaimed. Mr. Jones tearfully gave his fortune to the elated bandits. “Now, you are my captive,” the leader then turned to his followers, “Tie him up and bring him to our lair. There, we’ll deal with him.”

Poor Mr. Jones was dragged to the bandits’ hideout. There, he was tied up against a thick tree. Meanwhile, the bandits were making merry. “Bring up the root beer! We are going to have submarine sandwiches and fried potatoes for dinner!”

 “Hurrah, hurrah!” hollered the bandits.

 “Silence! Look at our loot given from our friend over there!” the leader pointed at Mr. Jones. Everyone laughed and made merry over a warm bonfire. “Bring on the dessert, a warm pumpkin pie! Don’t forget to give some dinner to our friend!”

Mr. Jones was untied at last. A plate of stale bread and uncooked rice was slid over to Mr. Jones. Mr. Jones distastefully nibbled his evening meal. Dessert wasn’t better either. He was given a plate of too ripe bananas. The bananas were mushy, and they were spotted with ugly bruises. Mr. Jones pushed his plate away, not even wanting to taste it. Unexpectedly, all of the bandits collapsed after drinking too much root beer. Without further delay, Mr. Jones used a long grape vine to tie all of the criminals together firmly. After tying them up, he grabbed his lunch bag, his gold pan, and his bag of gold, and hurried off. After an hour, Mr. Jones gasped, “I’m thirsty. I’ll take a drink from my old flask. He sipped a few precious drops and reached a dense forest. The forest was very dark and the owls looked like spine chilling witches calling out. The sinister trees looked like tall broomsticks, covered with long spider webs. Mr. Jones gulped and went into the forest. This black forest reminded him of the Black Forest cake he was carrying. The tree stumps appeared to be heaps of animal bones and the leaves shook sadistically like teeth chattering. However, the moon gave the impression of being a glossy ball of cookie dough, shining its light to illustrate the way. Mr. Jones contemplated, “How frightful this jungle is! It’s much more bloodcurdling than being with those outlaws.” Indeed, it was.
Mr. Jones endeavoured to fall asleep in the mound of logs. He was shivering with cold and fear, but he managed to close his eyes. Next morning, he travelled on until he saw a cabin. The log roof was like two shingles of graham crackers, while the door looked like two chocolate wafers pasted together. In addition, the windows looked like squares of rice krispies and the chimney stood tall like an unwrapped chocolate bar. Mr. Jones could see the onion ring like door handle and gumdrop like doorbell. Additionally, the flowers looked like multi-collared lollipops sticking out from the French fry like grass. The log cabin looked like a gingerbread house. Mr. Jones rang the bell. Subsequently, a kindly old woman opened the door and welcomed him in. “Well, well.” The woman said, 

“Who are you? You seem to be in distress.”

 “I’m Timothy Jones. Bandits captured me, but I escaped. Then, I came to this deadly forest. Who are you, ma’am, and why do you live here?”

 “I’m Sarah Jones. My husband died here and I buried him. Our little son got lost in this forest. What a coincidence! Our son was called Timothy also!”

 “Wait a second.” Mr. Jones paused, “Was your son named Timothy Smith Jones?”

 “Yes.” The woman replied.

 “Oh, mother. It’s me, your son who got lost thirty years ago. And I am still lost.”

The woman was overjoyed and proudly embraced her son. She invited him for tea. As Sarah Jones was placing a plate of piping hot cinnamon rolls on the table, Mr. Jones began to tell his tales. Mrs. Jones thought for a little while and announced, “Why, son. If you want to grow plants, you need seeds. Here are the seeds of various flowers, vegetables, and fruits. Plant them in your backyard.” Mrs. Jones handed her son three separate pouches. Then, she continued, “If you want to find some flowers, go to the Spring Gardens. These gardens are across the Cave of Jewels, the Gold Gate, and the Raging River.”

After receiving the directions, Mr. Jones bid his mother a tearful farewell. As he neared the end of the forest, a cunning fox approached him. “Hey traveller,” it bellowed, “You may not go out of the forest unless you bring me an animal. I haven’t eaten breakfast as yet.”

Mr. Jones took out a buttery bagel from his bag and replied, “Oh, partner! I’ve already found an animal for you. See, I have the eye as proof.” The fox’s mouth watered on seeing the eye, which was actually the bagel. Mr. Jones threw the bagel to the fox who guzzled it in a flash. Now, Mr. Jones had five bagels left in his bag. The fox’s eyes gleamed with pleasure as it howled, “Good, traveller. Now bring me the entire animal.”
Mr. Jones looked around and saw a log being burnt by the fire. He pointed at the flames and responded boldly, “Look, good fox. I have even roasted a deer for you. It’s being roasted on that fire. Hurry up and pounce on it, or else you will get a burnt breakfast.
Without thinking, the famished fox leaped into the fire and got burnt himself. “Eureka!” Mr. Jones danced a little jig, “Now nothing can stop me! Yee-haa!”  Then, he walked out of the forest. After a short distance, Mr. Jones felt hungry. He unwrapped his bundle and chomped on a sweet cream roll. Soon, his sweet cream rolls were finished. All he had left was five bagels, three pieces of cake, and a half-full flask of water. He bundled up his possessions and started off to the Cave of Jewels. 

Suddenly, a sweet little squirrel hopped along with a shiny red gem in its tiny arms. “Say, partner,” Mr. Jones said, puzzled, “Shouldn’t you be searching around for nuts and berries? Why are you hopping around with that gem?”

 “Is this a gem?” the squirrel asked innocently, “It looked like a strawberry to me. What do I do now? I’m hungry.”

 “Don’t worry, little fellow. I’ll trade four breadcrumbs for that gem of yours. What do you say, partner?”

The youthful squirrel happily traded and hopped off with his lunch. Mr. Jones beamed with happiness as he fixed his eyes on his prize. “Eureka! It’s my lucky day!” Now he knew that he was on the right road to the Cave of Jewels. When he approached the cave, he was wonderstruck with amazement. Bags of jewels glittered in the sunlight, while pearl necklaces sparkled. Gems of every colour of the rainbow were piled up in stacks. A glittering coat of sparkles and shines bedecked the plain, rocky cave. Rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and amethysts were loaded in mountains while the purest and whitest of pearls were positioned in large gold bowls. It was a dream come true for Mr. Jones. His eyes dazzled with lustre and his eyeballs reflected with precious stones. The gemstones were burnished and shinier than the sun itself. Mr. Jones rushed in and started gathering many bags full of gems and pearls. As he was filling two bags, a voice roared, 
“Who’s in my cave? Answer me.”
 
“It is I. M...M...Mr. Jones.” Mr. Jones trembled.

A ferocious giant came into view. “Grr! You’ve disturbed me, but I’ll give you another chance. These bees perturb and agitate me during lunch. I want you to drive away those bees.”

Mr. Jones contemplated for a while and then went out of the cave. He plucked some big, blooming wildflowers and held it up. In an instant, the bothersome bees flew to the wildflowers and perched on them. “There you are, partner!” Mr. Jones hollered.
The giant was extremely grateful. He allowed Mr. Jones to carry away as much gems, as he liked. Happily, Mr. Jones set out again. Soon, he was famished, so he ate the remaining bagels. Before long, Mr. Jones reached the Gold Gate. The gate was layered in gold shavings and encrusted with numerous pearls. On the border of the gate were crystal bells, chiming a jingling sound. The handles were fashioned in metallic gold with tiny diamonds neatly arranged on the sides. Surrounding the immense gate, were gold rocks and jade green grass. Once again, Mr. Jones bellowed, “Eureka!” He began gathering as many gold rocks and pebbles as he could, and then chucking them into his sacks. 
All of a sudden, a vicious grizzly bear stepped forward. Although it looked cruel, it spoke in a sweet language. “Pardon me, sir. I am told to guard this gate. If you bring me something sweeter than sugar and healthier than cake, I will let you pass.”

Mr. Jones was exhausted of all these ceaseless interruptions, but he gazed at all his surroundings. He soon saw a tree with its branches lowered. Hanging on one of those branches, was a hive. He grasped the hive and gifted it to the pleased bear. As the bear was slurping the honey, Mr. Jones tiptoed through the gate. “Whew,” he panted, “That was a close one. Now, I just need to cross that river.” Again, Mr. Jones trekked on. When his stomach had emptied into a loose bag, he completed his lunch by swallowing his pieces of cake.  However, the Raging River was quite a distance, and he soon became a ravenous wolf again. He flopped down under a tree. The shade from the tree was a comfort, but he still was hungry. Looking up, he saw the tree brimming with succulent peaches. He plucked a handful and started munching. The moist, sweet peaches were thirst quenching, so Mr. Jones let the juicy sweetness splash around in his mouth for a while. When his hunger was extinguished, Mr. Jones took two more handfuls of peaches, bundled them up in his bag, and hiked on. Consequently, Mr. Jones was quite content and in high spirits after relishing the peaches, so he whistled a merry tune. The tune was not so merry when he advanced towards the Raging River. “Gee! How am I going to cross this here river? It’s thunderous and roaring!” Indeed, it was in fact a raging ocean. Scaly crocodiles opened their wide jaws, waiting for a bite. Mr. Jones finally saw a felled tree. The extensive tree was like a bridge across the river. Mr. Jones smiled and began to balance himself on the tree like a tightrope walker. “Steady, steady,” Mr. Jones reassured himself, “Don’t look down, don’t look down. You’re doing fine, Timothy, you’re doing fine.”

At last, Mr. Jones reached the other side. “Eureka! I’ve passed all the obstacles in my path. Eureka!” Soon, he found his way to the Spring Gardens. “Wow, this place sure is breathtaking.” Of course, it was. Numerous fruit trees lined up in a row like miniature pawns. Different varieties of flowers were scattered everywhere, while their soft petals whooshed in the cool breeze. Various vegetables were growing also. Peas were as green as the jungles, carrots as orange as the evening sun, tomatoes as red as a ruby, corn as yellow as gold, and cauliflowers as white as the clouds. It was a dreamland. Meanwhile, the sky was turning a shade of light pink, the clouds were transforming into a light gray fog, and the sun was changing into a light orange sphere. Mr. Jones took one last glance at the beauteous nature and then plucked a few fruits, vegetables, and flowers, enough to fill an empty basket. Soon, a basket was filled with nature’s gifts. Mr. Jones trudged along the way home.

While he was walking, he realized that the plants and trees liberated him from dangerous situations. They rescued him from the robbers, the giant, the river, and more. He returned, a changed man.

When he reached home, Anna and Billy welcomed and embraced him warmly. “Wow, my dear,” Anna said, “You’ve brought vegetation and some treasures. Now we can make Fountain Hills green!”

Mr. Jones whispered softly, with a smile on his lips, “Eureka!”

The Jones family created a beautiful garden near their homes. Soon, neighbours were inspired and covered Arizona with plants and trees. Today, Arizona is much greener. Thanks to the efforts of our old rancher, Timothy Smith Jones.