A Good Place is a coming of age story told by a Louisiana teenager, Mayo Moore. It's about his growing up in western Louisiana during the turbulent years of the Civil War.
There are two villages named Westport, both connected in this story.
One sits along the mountainous Atlantic coast of Ireland.
The other is a rural crossroads deep in the rolling piney woods of Louisiana.
Both are good places.
Two good places connected by this story.
The story of an unlikely couple named Joe and Eliza
Come on a country journey to the Old House.
A place where a faithful dog waits by a warm crackling fire.
Where the aroma of a strong cup of Louisiana coffee blends with the taste of hot cathead biscuits topped with homemade mayhaw jelly.
Bursting forth from the Louisiana Piney Woods is Deep Roots, a collection of short stories from author Curt Iles. In the warm and touching style loved by readers of his previous books, Curt weaves stories of the people, places, and history of rural Louisiana.
They say places like Dry Creek no longer exist. In Stories from the Creekbank, you'll travel to a delightful place where you will realize that good people and wonderful experiences can still be found in the small community of Dry Creek, Louisiana.
While editing this book, I would reward myself at a chapter’s end by a slice of Red Delicious apple. The sweet slice would melt in my mouth, making the work and waiting worthwhile.
Eating the apple, slice by slice ,was so much better than devouring it in one sitting. I was able to savor each bite.
That’s how I recommend reading The Mockingbird’s Song. It is designed to be read “one bite at a time.” It is purposely written in story fashion. I firmly believe a story from the heart can carry truth where mere words may not penetrate.
The subject of depression is weighty, emotional, and can be overwhelming. Reading a chapter a day is a good way to make this book your own. I encourage you to use it as a daily devotional guide as you read it “one slice at a time.”
My heart’s desire is that The Mockingbird’s Song will inspire and encourage—one life at a time.
The darkness always comes more quickly down in the swamp. I’m always amazed to come out of the dark woods at dusk using a flashlight, and then upon entering the open fields, realize there is still a good deal of daylight left. Deep down in the woods, the evening shadows rapidly spread through the swamp. When you are alone, there is no darkness quite like the lonely night that fills Crooked Bayou swamp at dusk, especially if you are there alone.
This particular evening I’m not alone in the swamp. I’m sitting, with my youngest son Terry, on the bank of Crooked Bayou. It is the first day of February, and this is our last squirrel hunt of the season. We sit with our backs against a large oak, squinting through the gathering darkness for any sign of a cat squirrel jumping from limb to limb. The trees are completely leafless, a sign that the depths of winter are here. As I look around at the bare and desolate woods of winter, I recall a story my dad, who is a better writer than I am, once wrote about this time of winter in the swamp. Here are his words:
Eliza Jane Clark came awake in the night. She glanced out the window and could sense dawn was approaching. As her bare feet hit the dirt floor of her family’s cabin in Louisiana’s No Man’s Land, she moved quickly. Slipping out of her bedclothes into a blouse and dress, she tiptoed over and took the clock off the mantel above the fireplace. The fire’s light gave enough light for her to see that the time was just after five o’clock. Sunrise that morning would be just before six, and she needed to be at the creek long before then.