SCR "from Tending Roses" 9th Grade Quiz | Wayground (formerly Quizizz)

1.

FILL IN THE BLANK QUESTION

30 sec • 1 pt

A SCR or short constructed response requires___________, __________, and ________________.

Tags

CCSS.RL.2.6

CCSS.RL.8.3

2.

OPEN ENDED QUESTION

1 min • 1 pt

Based on this picture, describe what the story may be about.

Evaluate responses using AI:

OFF

Tags

CCSS.RI.11-12.2

CCSS.RI.8.1

CCSS.RI.9-10.1

CCSS.RL.8.1

CCSS.RL.9-10.1

3.

MULTIPLE CHOICE QUESTION

5 mins • 1 pt

English I Excerpt

While visiting her grandmother’s farm with her husband and her young son, Joshua, Katie finds her grandmother’s journal next to a jar of fireflies.

from Tending Roses

by Lisa Wingate

1 The room was quiet and dark. The uneven rhythm of green light drew my attention to the table. Watching the lightning bugs, I stepped closer. The wildflower book was lying open beside the jar.

2 In the glow from the yard light outside, I sat down to read the spidery writing.

3 When Did the Fireflies Stop Dancing? I read the title, then looked at the lightning bugs, twinkling as if to a melody I could not hear. I thought of Grandma’s face as she watched them with Joshua, her eyes bright like his, mesmerized, thoughtful, as if she, like Joshua, were trying to figure out the secrets of the world.

4 When Did the Fireflies Stop Dancing? I read again, then plunged into the story as the glow flickered against the paper.

5 I often found moments of silence and solitude as I walked from the barn to the house on that crooked, worn path I had trod a thousand times. In light or darkness, in the damp hours of morning when my feet went silent through the low mist, I knew each step, each rise and fall of ground, each scent that drifted on the air—apple blossoms in the spring, honeysuckle in the hot months, curing hay in the fall . . .

6 When my bones were not too weary from work done, and my thoughts not too frazzled from chores left to do, I stopped there and looked over the valley. The breeze combed my hair from my face like my mother’s fingers, whispering of peace, of contentment, of time passing. I looked upon those waving trees, or knobby-legged yearlings in the pasture, or the flowers by the road, and wondered how they grew so tall while my back was to them. Then I turned my back again and hurried on to my tasks.

7 I stopped on the path once in the autumn, on a night when the moon was full, like a fresh cake of butter. Below, I saw the farmhouse, saw bits of my life through the windows, heard the faint sounds of my children laughing the way children do—about nothing at all.

8 I smiled as I gazed at the moon. There, in soft shades of blue and rose, was the celestial face I once knew from my storybooks. I thought of how many times as a girl I stared into that faraway moon and dreamed impossible dreams—wishing for the same treasures I heard my children ask for when I passed their doors at night. I thought of that part of me that once created bigger worlds and I mourned. . . .

9 Through the trees, the light from a nearby farm twinkled as the leaves shivered apart like a curtain. The flicker brought me in mind of neighbors, and then of fireflies. I looked for them in the field, but the darkness was complete. It seemed only a day ago when I ran with my children catching the tiny bits of light to make a lantern jar. Now

the grass contained only the whisper of the breeze. How long had they been gone? Days or weeks, I could not say. I suppose they flew away one night as I lingered over mending, or soiled tableware, or a child’s lessons. They flew away while my head was bent to task and took no time to bid good-bye.

10 But I knew they bade farewell to my children. I knew my children saw them fly away like sparks from summer’s waning flame. My children mourned their passing, as I once had, and knew, I was sure, the very hour when the last of them stopped dancing.

11 I laid the book on the table and carried the jar outside. In the darkness of the yard, I lifted the lid and promised myself I would remember to look for the fireflies tomorrow night.

Excerpt from TENDING ROSES by Lisa Wingate, copyright © 2001 by Lisa Wingate. Used by permission of New American Library, an imprint of Penguin Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC. All rights reserved.

Based on the above reading, paragraphs 5-10 are italicized because...

The narrator is in fact the grandmother.

It shows the grandmother's journal entry.

It is Josh's mother describing her experience.

It is the grandmother's dialogue.

Tags

CCSS.RL.2.6

CCSS.RL.8.3

4.