Hiatus

March, it is said, comes in like a lion. That has certainly been the case here in Maryland, snow, sleet, and freezing rain, where I've been suffering from seasonal affective disorder for the past six weeks. Yes, it is real! 

https://mayocl.in/2zumuDB Added to this is the fact that many of my family and dear friends are currently facing severe health crises. There's a feeling of helplessness in these situations that can feel overwhelming at times, even though I know in my heart that my strength and presence may be all that's needed.

Florida's politics may be terrible but this girl has lived there now for, impossible to believe, thirty-five years, and I'm spoiled rotten. There isn't a day that sunshine doesn't beam down on me, not a day that my bare feet don't relish the feel of grass or sand, and rarely a day that I'm not digging in the dirt. My mental health depends upon it.

I haven't written in six weeks because my opinions seemed so irrelevant in the overall scheme of things, and the truth is I haven't honestly found a book that seemed worth sharing. I guess I could call it reader's block. That isn't to say that I haven't been reading at all. I indulged in a very light and breezy reunion with The Number One Ladies Detective Agency in Botswana,  learned a little bit about Russian music in The Weight of a Piano, and grossed myself out listening to Mary Roach's trip down the alimentary canal in Gulp.

But today, my friend Don is walking the neighborhood with his new hip, the sun is shining even if it is only 32 degrees, and I followed the advice of my dear friend of fifty years, my college roommate Catherine Jones, and finally read Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens. I seldom trust a novel that sits on top of the best seller list for this long, assuming that if everyone else likes it, my ornery self won't. I was wrong, wrong, wrong!

Delia Owens is a renowned naturalist and her knowledge of the environment informs every page of this lush, lyrical novel. Set in the marshes of the North Carolina coast, this is an exploration of extreme loneliness and disconnection. Kya Clark is still a child when her sisters and brothers begin to disappear one by one into the world. When her mother finally walks away from the abuse and neglect, Kya has only her brother Jodie to protect her from their dad. Then, unbelievably, Jodie goes, and Kya's salvation rests in the birds, fish, bugs, and plants that surround her.

It's been a long time since a character tugged at my heart as Kya did. She is wise beyond her years, resilient, brave, and stronger than any child should need to be. When Jodie's friend Tate comes into her life, it takes a long time for her to trust his intentions. They feel each other out, not with text messages or phone conversations, but with tentative gift-giving, items like shells and feathers left anonymously on a tree trunk, treasures from the natural world that they both love.

But as Kya matures, learning from Tate to read and write, the so-called real world intrudes on her solitude. The townspeople fear and denigrate the girl in the marsh, failing her on so many levels, neglecting to recognize her brilliance even as Kya becomes a successful artist and writer, sharing her world with the public through her gloriously crafted reference works.

Delia Owens has given readers something that's so hard to find any more - an original story, a novel that you simply can't put down. Combining poetry, mystery, character analysis, and enduring love amid horrifying abuse, this beautiful book tops my list of favorites for the year even though it's early days. I was on the wait list in Lee County for three months and never received it. You may just have to buy your copy.