If the Creek Don't Rise

A couple weeks ago, I found myself sitting in an auditorium listening to one of my favorite authors, Diana Gabaldon. You might know her from her epic Outlander series.  Yeah, that lady.  The one who sold out the auditorium, who has a hit show based on her hit novels.  Oh yeah, and I've read them a jillion times, and absolutely had fantasies about what Jamie Fraser has under his kilt.

So here she is, finishing up her chat with a Q&A.  When asked what she's currently reading, she tells the audience she's reading a book she picked up at the airport, If the Creek Don't Rise. 

Well damn if that doesn't catch my attention.  I've read this book.  A book that sucker punched me and left me gasping for air, wondering what the hell hit me.  If the Creek Don't Rise by Leah Weiss is one hell of a read.  Definitely not for the faint of heart though.  You got triggers?  Maybe watch your step.

It's heartbreaking because it's so real, no softening for the sake of romance, or glorifying the good ole' days.  These are the poor days, no soft treatment for the little woman, no innocent children.  These are the days of poverty, ignorance, abuse, and just trying to decide if fighting to stay alive is worth it.

"I prayed hard to the devil cause my prayers to God won't never answered."

While this is set in the past, it isn't a far off past. It's one that my mother lived through, filled with places that are set in my home state. Following a group of rural people, it isn't a far removed fantasy, or a tragic piece of history. It's still raw and unhealed, with time only barely softening the edges.

"Times like these I wonder if I ever been happy. From the start there's been a film of dingy on my days. I've always done woman's work; man's work too. Woke up with work to do and went to bed before it got done. I see some folks walk easy and carry peace on their shoulders, but I been chained to a iron life."

I recognized the speech, because it was akin to the speech I grew up hearing from my Mamaw. The author captures that deep southern twang, the kind that comes across sounding ignorant even when it carries oh so much wisdom. I grew up in a world where woman's work was never done, and when there wasn't a man to do, they did for themselves. Not that women can't do now. Oh, but we can. There was just something a little more exhausting perhaps about having to do it all in a n age that refused to recognize you as an equal person. It's a great way to compare just how far we've come, and how far we have to go. How much those who are still struggling need our help.

"The good and bad of me is that I see blessings most every day in every way. Even when it's a speck that shines in a great see of sad."

So much sadness. The children, who deserve more. The parents who don't know how to offer more. Then the main characters, who are stuck with their lots in life and trying to decide if it's better to rebel, to dare ask for more. Or easier just to live it while they can. So much depth in the characters, they could have been my neighbors, my family. I knew them. I was them. When it all came to an end, I wasn't dissatisfied, just empty. It was too much and not enough all in one. It's hard to distinguish this as a happy ending or sad ending because there were no magical happy ever afters in a time and place that made them lucky to even get an ever after. It left me with a contentedness, a satisfaction. Yet still, just like Sadie, I want more.

"I look at this tin can of a trailer that don't look bad in the dusky light. I straighten my back, lift my chin, and call out in a strong, strange voice I claim as mine." 

Maybe we'll get some more, Lord willing and the creek don't rise...