Cover image for Ragweed
Avi, 1937-
Personal Author:
First edition.
Publication Information:
New York : Avon Books, [1999]

Physical Description:
viii, 178 pages : illustrations ; 22 cm.
Ragweed, a young country mouse, leaves his family and travels to the big city, where he finds excitement and danger and sees cats for the first time.
General Note:
Prequel to: Poppy.
Reading Level:
690 Lexile.
Program Information:
Accelerated Reader AR MG 4.4 5.0 41629.

Reading Counts RC 3-5 4.8 9 Quiz: 19530 Guided reading level: U.
Added Author:
Format :


Call Number
Material Type
Home Location
Item Holds
X Juvenile Fiction Open Shelf
J FICTION Juvenile Fiction Open Shelf
X Juvenile Fiction Open Shelf
X Juvenile Fiction Open Shelf
X Juvenile Fiction Open Shelf
X Juvenile Fiction Open Shelf

On Order


Author Notes

Avi was born in 1937, in the city of New York and raised in Brooklyn. He began his writing career as a playwright, and didn't start writing childrens books until he had kids of his own.

(Bowker Author Biography)

Reviews 2

Publisher's Weekly Review

In a starred review, PW said, "Consummate storyteller Avi outdoes himself in this prequel to Poppy and Poppy and Rye, cutting loose with a crackerjack tale that's pure delight from start to finish." Ages 8-12. (May) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

School Library Journal Review

In a starred review, PW said, "Consummate storyteller Avi outdoes himself in this prequel to Poppy and Poppy and Rye, cutting loose with a crackerjack tale that's pure delight from start to finish." Ages 8-12. (May) (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.



Ragweed Chapter One Ragweed "Ma, a mouse has to do what a mouse has to do." Ragweed, a golden mouse with dark orange fur, round ears and a not very long tail, was saying goodbye to his mother and, father as well as to I fifty of his brothers and sisters. They were all gathered by the family nest, which was situated just above-the banks of the Brook. "Is it...something about us that's making you leave home?" his mother, whose name was Clover, asked tearfully. She was. small and round, with silky black eyes. "Aw, Ma, that's not fair," Ragweed replied, wishing he could leave without so much fins. "I just want to see things.I am almost four months old, you know. I mean,The Brook is wonderful, but...well, it's not the, whole world." Ragweed's father, Valerian, drew himself up. He was long-faced and lanky, and his scruffy whiskers were touched with gray. "Now, son," he said, "no need to poke fun at us stay-at-homes." "I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't mean to joke. All I'm doing is going off to explore what else there is. You know, before settling down. I won't be gone long." "Will you absolutely promise to come back?" Clover asked. Though Ragweed had carefully slicked down his fur so that it was quite neat and proper, she found a small strand around his ear that required careful adjusting. But then, Ragweed was very special to her. "Of course I will," Ragweed assured her, trying to duck his mother's fussy fixing. "And...and if you meet a young female mouse, Clover added gently, "one for whom you develop a...a fondness, just make sure she...she really cares for you." Ragweed blushed. "Hey, Ma, I'm too young for that stuff. Anyway, if I'm going to get someplace today, I better start moving." This notice of his imminent departure caused Clover to fling her paws around Ragweed's neck and give him a nuzzle about his right ear. "Please, please be cautious!" she whispered. "Promise me that you will." "I promise," Ragweed returned, A reluctant Clover released her, son. Valerian held out his paw. "Ragweed, he said, YOU pre a clear-thiniting, straight-talking, hard-working young mouse. proud of YOU." Ragweed shook his father's paw. "Dad," he replied, "if I can be anything like you, that'll be good enough for me. "Thank you, son" Valerian said, his voice husky. Embarrassed by so much emotion, Ragweed looked sheepishly at his brothers and sisters. Of those still at home, he was the eldest. Even among the older ones who had returned from nearby homes to say goodbye Ragweed was the first to leave the *are a of the Brook.Hardly a wonder that they were gazing at him with affectionate awe. But it was to Rye, his younger brother by a few weeks, that Ragweed went. Rye looked very much like Ragweed, save for a notch in his right ear, the result of an accident. "Okay, Rye," Ragweed said, giving hit brother a mock punch on the shoulder. "You're the big kid in, the nest now. Make sure you take care of things. If you don't, hey, you're. going to answer to me when I come back. Get it?" "I know," Rye replied with a. grin- masking his annoyance that his older-brother was telling him what to do. Next, Ragweed tipped 'a wink to his favorite younger sister, Thistle. "See you around, kiddo," he called. "Oh, Ragweed, I'm going to miss you so much! she cried. Rushing forward, she gave Ragweed a big nuzzle. Ragweed, determined to be lighthearted, stepped back, gave a carefree wave, and set off up the hill, striding boldly toward the ridge. that overlooked the little valley. Halfway up he came to a large boulder embedded in am outcropping Of earth. There he paused and looked down at his family, who were, stil observing his departure. Though he wanted to move on, Ragweed found himself lingering. The spring air was brimming with a delicate sweetness; the vaulting blue sky seemed endless, the sun warm and embracing. Amid moss, and grass, flowers had burst forth with youthful, daring, in. contrast to the shallow old Brook, which wound lazily between low, le* banks, bearing pink and white water lilies on its wide surface. As for the tall trees that stood all around, they were veiled in a downy green mist of just-born leaves. What lay below Ragweed was not merely beautiful, it was home. His home. And there was his family, whom he loved as much as he knew they loved him. Hope I'm doing what's right, he thought with a sigh. Then, reminding himself out loud that "A mouse has to do what a mouse has to do," he -gave a final wave, to his family and continued up the ridge. Ragweed had no notion where he was heading. He had consulted no, one, planned little, "I'll just go where whim takes me," he'd told Rye. As Ragweed went along he now and again broke into snatches of an old -song. His voice was good-if rather low for a mouse-and he enjoyed singing. The song he trilled was one he and his family often sang on hikes and picnics. "A mouse will a roving go, Along wooded paths and pebbled ways To places high and places low, Where birds do sing neath sunny rays, For the world is full of mice, oh! For the world is full of mice, oh!" The song carried him to the crest of yet another hill. There he paused again. The trail seemed to extend from his toes straight out to the horizon. just to see it gave him the wonderful sensation that anything might happen. He took a deep breath. How delicious was the sense of freedom he felt. How fine that he and he alone was responsible for himself He had not-he now realized -- grasped how exciting it would be to grow up and strike out on one's own. Ragweed . Copyright © by Avi . Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold. Excerpted from Ragweed by Avi All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.