HomePosts Tagged "kentucky fiction"

So I’m sitting at the bar, looking for a cure for my writer’s block, when one walks through the front door. At the time — late November, mid-week, mid-afternoon — I had only my trusty laptop and coffee for company. The Big Cheese Bar & Grille was certainly not Hemingway’s Good Cafe on the Place St.-Michel, but if I wasn’t here I’d probably have been at Starbucks

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by John Bowers A frog in my playpen. It is my earliest memory. Between the bars, a fat Red Oak River marsh frog on the floor of my playpen, breathing bulbously and staring at me. I cried out in alarm. I hadn’t learned much language yet, and I cried out by echoing the words I had just heard on the TV. “Crest twenty feet!” I yelled. “Cwest twenny fee twenny fee twenny feeeeeet!” My grandpa Farhad rushed into the room and stood looking at me. “You talk to the frog,” he breathed in amazement. He got down on the floor and picked up the frog and held it in his hand, waiting for more information. The Red Oak was flooding and all the property owners along its banks were worried about where it would crest. My successful forecast via the frog became family lore. Mom and I visited Grandpa Farhad at the Talaville prairie home every summer. We lived 600 miles east in Louisville. Come late May we’d leave behind school buses, supermarkets, traffic lights, and urban vermin to make the grueling trip on two-lane roads. I would mentally shelve my latest resentments and crushes, brushing away a year’s worth of tests and

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