Advance Praise for Crows

Wood cut by Nancy Darrell 

When a writer has a book in the pipeline, it's common practice for the publisher to encourage said writer to seek out other authors in the same or similar genre to read advance copies and to offer words of praise. These words will end up on or in the book, as a part of any advertising, and as an inducement to booksellers to stock the book. 

This asking for blurbs, as these bits of praise are called, is one of the parts of writing I hate. Authors are busy people and may not have the time or inclination to read one's book. And now, in this time of Covid-19, many people find it difficult to focus on new reading. And, of course, the reader may not like the book.

Nevertheless, I perservered and asked several authors if they would take a look at And the Crows Took Their Eyes. I am fortunate to have met a number of well-regarded writers over the years and was even more fortunate to receive some very nice comments.

The kindness and generosity of these folks makes my heart sing. 

Praise for And the Crows Took Their Eyes

“Lane’s richly detailed vision of the past expertly underpins a dark story of complex divided loyalties in an isolated, war-torn mountain community.”

– Charles Frazier, author of Cold Mountain, Winner of the National Book Award for Fiction

“In And the Crows Took their Eyes Vicki Lane has done nothing less than commit an act of mountain sorcery. Through her the voices of the dead rise up out of the hollows of Madison County, North Carolina telling a story as tragic and urgent as it was 150 years ago.”

– Tony Earley, author of Jim the Boy

“Vicki Lane casts an unforgettable spell in And the Crows Took Their Eyes, a compelling and humane reimagining of a heart-wrenching period in our American history. “

– Jessica Handler, author  of The Magnetic Girl

“And the Crows Took Their Eyes is a devastatingly beautiful, complex portrait of a small community torn asunder by the Civil War. What Vicki Lane has rendered in this harrowing and profound portrait of life and death in one little corner of Western North Carolina is a world that would otherwise be lost to us or, at best, consigned to a dusty footnote of history. Lane, through the alchemy of her formidable imagination, has breathed life into unforgettable characters living through a time of upheaval and untold tragedy. I will never hear the words Shelton Laurel again without a host of Lane’s powerful and heartrending images coming to mind. And the Crows Took Their Eyes accomplishes what only the very best historical fiction can ever hope to accomplish, connecting us, not only to our history, but to our humanity as well.”

– Tommy Hays, author of The Pleasure Was Mine

Somewhere . . .Someday . . .Somehow . . .

A dark cloud hangs over the world these days. And there's precious little real information on when it will lift. For me, the sense of doom is exacerbated by the idiots clamoring for an end to the  social distancing--that seems to be helping mitigate the spread of the virus--in favor of a reopening of vital services like nail parlors and gyms and estheticians. 

Perhaps it will be a satisfaction to some of these folks to be fit and well-groomed as they--or more likely, their elderly relatives or neighbors--battle Covid-19.

I, on the other hand, am staying put. I had signed a contract to lead a class at John C. Campbell in the last week of May. I knew that they are closed now but hadn't heard from them concerning plans to reopen. So I sent a pre-emptive email, saying that I would not feel comfortable in a group setting that soon. I got a reply the next day saying that they had just decided to stay closed at least through May.

Good. Me too. 

I realize, of course, that this isolation is easy for me--I have the freedom of our farm, Josie two or three times a week, and visits (distanced) with Justin and Claui. I'm continuing to teachy on line, I have another editing job coming up, so far, the groceries we need have been obtainable. I'm way past due for a hair cut but I tidied up the front view myself. I miss my spring prowl around the local nursery but aside from that...life goes on.

But there's essential . . . and there's non-essential. Where do you draw the line?

Bob Bob Bob Bobbabobbob

This is Dave. Josie named her. Dave used to crow like a rooster but then she got in touch with her feminine side and laid 15 eggs in a nest she made in the hay shed. 13 hatched and are doing well.

When I was taking pictures down at the pond a few days ago, there was a great deal of mooing going on. Penny, who is a new mother, was calling her calf which wasn't to be seen.

That's John and Justin up on the hillside, looking for the calf. Justin spotted it under the multiflora rose just below him.

He got the calfie (whose name, I'm told, is Farthing) out and headed down the hill to Penny.

Bobabull the father was magnificently unconcerned.

Bobadog was delighted to help. And mother and child were together again.

(We have decided to name all the chicks Bob too. Because we know how happy it will make our friend Bobaguy.)

A Bit Disturbing

I awakened from a dream early one morning.

All I could remember was that there was an eighth dwarf.

Named Shredder.

I don't know what to do with that information.

Playing Dressup with Josie

Hey, it's me Josie. I am having a little quiet time while I read my book. We will play in just a minute but you have to be PATIENT.

All right, all right, I'll get the dressup box.

Here it is -- it has lots of good stuff in it.

The big feather is my favorite. I put it in the hat.

Meema says I am a fashionista.

I like to bounce and watch in the mirror. Sometimes my hat falls off.

But I put it back on.

 

Then I dress up Meema and we look in the mirror. She is also a fashionista.

Later we go outside. I pick flowers.

And I run around in the garden. It is not planted yet so that's okay.

It is nice to sit on the grass...or on a blue bench with Meema. It is good to be outside.

I Took 179 Pictures Today

Here are ten.

The Doomsday Alarm

A few days ago I was out pulling some weeds along the driveway, enjoying the sun and the gentle sound of birdsong.

As I neared John's truck, a terrible sound arose. My first thought was that it was some Doomsday alarm, alerting passersby to the imminent explosion of the vehicle, and I reached for my phone to tell John about the problem and ask what I should do.

Then a confusion of guineas ran out from beneath the truck -- mostly males, as they make the harsh chi, chi, chi sound I was hearing, unlike the female's more gentle potterack? potterack? which I would have recognized. (Link HERE to a recording of guinea sounds.)

And yes, confusion is the accepted collective noun for these weird critters--but at least the truck didn't explode.

Spring Chicken Pie

I've always been picky about piecrust, remembering my grandmother's flaky crusts, and I've always made my own from scratch--flour, Crisco, salt, and iced vodka (a recent substitute for water in the recipe.)

But after the Shaker Lemon Pie I wrote about recently, I wanted to try that butter-heavy crust again. So I decided to make a chicken pie--the way my grandmother did-- no veggies, just chicken and broth and wonderful pastry.

I mixed up the pastry in the morning so it would have time to chill. Then I checked out my grandmother's recipe and the foundations of my belief were shaken. SHAKEN, I tell you!

My beloved grandmother used pre-made pastry dough. Pilsbury's New 4 Flaky Pie Crusts, to be exact. "It comes in a flat package with four sticks (just like butter,)" she wrote. 

I knew that in her later years, her biscuits had come out of a can (and were never as good as her scratch biscuits) but her pie crust? 

Reeling with the shock, I decided to go for a walk. I took along a glove and a plastic bag, thinking to pick some stinging nettles to enliven a meal.

Which I did. And blanched them to take away the stinging part. 

Then I made the chicken pie. At some point, realizing it was no longer my grandmother's chicken pie anyway, what with the lack of Pilsbury's 4 Flaky Pie Crusts, I decided to layer 
some of the blanched nettles in with the chicken.

The finished product was beautiful.

And it tasted great - the nettles added a very mild flavor--slightly artichoke-ish. The pie scratched three itches -- wanting to make my grandmother's chicken pie, using that great butter crust recipe again, and including foraged nettles for a taste of Spring.

A Symphony of Greens

We had a mighty rain Sunday night, almost three inches, and  there was talk of tornadoes in the southeast. I fell asleep, wondering if I would hear that train roar sound, should one come our way.  That, I thought, would be the proverbial last straw.

We were fortunate. The branches are running high but there was no damage to the road. Friends in Hot Springs, alas, had flooding.

When the skies cleared Monday morning, all the spring foliage was illuminated.

 The tender new leaves shone greeny-yellow, pinkish green, chartreuse, emerald, and a thousand different hues.

They dress the hills in a subtle tapestry that rivals Autumn's bolder show.