book review: “The Black Echo” …

… by Michael Connelly, another paperback written by the author of a series featuring the Los Angles police detective Harry Bosch. Possibly the third one read in recent days, as the character has developed in the seamy alleys, viaducts, stony hills of Hollywood and densely packed neighborhoods of southern California. Drug addicts, teen gangs, huge homeless communities, immigrants by the thousands crossing the southern border, tourists without number, run-aways from across the nation and planet being watched by predators ready to strike.

Bosch is a renegade, disillusioned but highly capable Detective, having worked his way up the chain of command, after a youth of raising himself on the streets. Unconventional, forever disagreeable with supervisors, obstinate, often underhanded with methodology for problem solving. A stint in the military during the Vietnam conflict with a close=knit group who would go below the earth’s surface into the miles of hand-dug tunnels in search of Cong. personnel, munitions, supplies are part of Bosch’s history.

On duty as a LAPD detective, Bosch is called to an isolated area off Mulholland Dr., location of a large reservoir serving the city water supply. A body has been found in a water viaduct, first thought to be a junkie that had OD’s, Bosch soon realized the corpse was a fellow ‘tunnel rat’ from his military service, as the team got similar tattoos in Vietnam. Looking for evidence, clues, the man’s history, Bosch finds his former mate might have been involved in a bank heist where the vault was accessed from those miles of below surface tunnels that riddle the city wide infrastructure. This bank robbery, unsolved, under the jurisdiction of the FBI, leads him to conclude there is another possible and similar effort underway: to relieve a former official in the Vietnam war, now living in LA.

Connelly’s writing is almost like an actual script, or screen play: tightly woven, succinct, not a man who minces words. Details describing street scenes, traffic, other characters, city in general prove his knowledge and personal relationships with law enforcement and lay out of the densely populated area. A fast-paced good read, filled with background details to bring the plot to life.

visiting a little…

… elementary school on Hixson Pike up on the north side of Chattanooga. Part of the Hamilton County School System, Rivermont is a small compact neighborhood school, built years ago when the idea of building schools designed to meet the needs of small portions of the city/county was popular. Rather than the model of today: giant constructions with each grade segregated into separate wings, like spokes on a wheel with communal rooms like library, gym and cafeteria in the center. With a small play ground, green grassy fields for sports and a serious problem with traffic in the mornings and at letting-out time each afternoon. Although situated on a four-lane street, the amount of vehicles that travel the area creates a definite ‘jam’ during those high-traffic hours.

The art on the walls done by the second grade students was photo worthy. One of the delights of going into schools all over town is the opportunity to observe how creative the teachers are when required to meet the ‘standards’. Incorporating those goals the state BOE sets that some education expert with little actual experience in elementary classrooms decided are essential. Writing a book about curriculum to sell to school systems for guiding the teachers who don’t need one more thing added to their list of ‘required’ goals for assessment of successful learning.

Hopefully the art instructor had conversation with the second grade students about what the words mean. Discussing how they can show that kindness, compassion, and care to fellow students, teachers, family, the world in general.

Although this photo was taken back in the spring, near the end of the term, no less applicable for a lesson in compassion, brotherly love, consideration for fellow students, teachers, staff, family, the world in general.

book review: ” Secrets of Midwives” …

…. by Sally Hepworth. At last count, nearly a dozen published, all stand alone, rather than a connected series as a many authors will write to continue characters and story-line from one to the next book. This one was a little hard to follow: in the way that some writers will use the chapter separations to change the character and use a different voice as the pages turn. A number of different women, including three generations who choose to become those people who assist women in labor and delivery, guiding them as females have for centuries through the birthing process. Here: in home births as the family chooses, or in a more formal medical setting as the need arises.

One of these three women, trained to provide support prior to labor and delivery, as well as birth, is pregnant, choosing to not reveal that fact, or the name of the other parent to her mother or grandmother. A hard pill to swallow, for the older women, as they family has hidden secrets for many years, stories carefully kept in the dark and un-shared from their history. As the pregnancy evolves, the three women gradually reckon with the past, with other characters coming into the story line, providing details as the months go by. A supportive man connected with the medical facility comes on the scene, offering paternity.

A complicated birth takes place, but all ends well. As it turns out, the pregnancy and birth was attended by the grandmother: possibly the best possible scenario. She did the actual delivery, what is referred to in the narrative as a ‘footling’. Meaning the first part of the infant to emerge is his foot. A most unusual presentation, but apparently something this woman with decades of experience in birthing was familiar with and prepared to handle. Withoout the benefit of hospital care, having a home birth even with the knowledge of breech, and risk to both mother and infant

grandmother’s mother …

Harriet Ada Livingston

… judging from the clothing and appearance, photo probably taken in the late 1900’s. She lived in a small town in central east Georgia, likely never traveled more than a dozen miles or so from she was born, grew up, met a man married and had a family. Worked at home as awife and mother, planted a garden, harvested crops to save vegetables and feed a family over winter months. Met the needs of her growing family, kept a tidy house, enjoyed life in her community: church-going and active in a congregation of conservation Southern Baptists who kept youngsters inline with a solid thump on the head on Sunday mornings, or a grimace and finger pointing from the choir loft.

She would have been the glue that held the family together. Supportive of her parents,siblings, nieces, nephews of her own siblings, cousins, more distant relatives in times of need. In the way families and close-knit communities of neighbors. Appearing without prior knowledge of family in crisis: baked goods still warm from the cast iron wood stove, ham from the smoke house ready to be sliced, bowls of home grown vegetables, still glowing with summer sunshine.

Responsible from a young age: going to collect the eggs in the early morning,expected to help with preparing family breakfast for those going out to work in the fields, cleaning up after meals, tidying home, doing laundry making all the family clothing from yard goods bought at the general store. Every article on their bodies hand stitched to wear until the no longer wearable. From undergarments, to hand-knit stockings on their feet, as well as skirts, trousers, shirts, coats all stitched by the fingers of the family. Young girls started with learning how to make tidy even stitches, on small scraps of fabric,under the supervision older experienced siblings. observed by those sisters, aunties,cousins, ‘little mothersin training, criticizing stitches and skills, to create larger pieces into ‘samplers’ As their abilities improved, adolescents collecting material to go into a ‘hope’ chest, linens to start housekeeping,with those young girls goals of eventual marriage with a future home of their own.

book review: “Echo Park”…

,,, by Michael Connelly. Another of his tightly written tales featuring the LAPD detective Harry Bosch. In one of these character driven narratives, Bosch (and the author) make no bones about how Bosch benefitted from selling one of the cases he resolved to the movie industry, resulting in a generous pay-out for him to buy a home up in the Hollywood hills, and retire.

Lured back on to the force, to become part of group of detectives assigned to cases that have lingered for years without resolution.Often there are details found in the accumulated boxes of evidence collected at the scene, or information from the ME during autopsy that had never been evaluated: DNA, things there was simply no technology that would provide addition clues to resolve the mystery. Bosch felt a strong connection with the family of this young woman’s family, unsolved murder haunts him over a decade after she vanished. Bosch is told there is serial killer/incarcerated suspect who can take them to where her body is buried, but believes this to be a publicity stunt for a politician.

Although well guarded, the the confessed serial killer escapes when taken to a remote, densely wooded area. Shots fired, officers killed there on the rugged hillside. The scenario reads like a script for a television series: which it is. Well written, with a unexpected ending.

the person who …

… claims to never cook: agreed to make a pot of chili to donate for an fundraising event. It is remotely possible at some far distant point in my life of pot-stirring, family feeding, church supper cooking I would have needed and used a recipe to make a pot of chili, but unlikely. This is an exception: the required donation is for ‘white chili’. Although I have eaten it, never have I ever actually put it together to stir, cook, serve. In recent years, on the rare occasion when I have served chili, it included chicken, rather than beef: other wise pretty much the same basic ingredients anyone would assemble for this cold weather favorite. Including tomato sauce, tomatoes, onions, spices, beans to make the fan-favorite served over tortilla chips or in a bowl with cornbread.

Still debating as to how to thicken the soup-like consistency, as it seems the recipe will produce a product that is more ‘soup’ like than the expected full-bodied meal expected of chili. Possibly adding some cornstarch will be the solution, as the chicken stock does not tend to thicken when cooking like tomato products would after simmering all day. Or maybe a can of the white beans that have been pureed to help thicken and make the consistency more stew like rather than soup?

That will be me leaving out the red pepper flakes: my mouth does not like ‘spicy-hot’ at all. BYOB of hot sauce…

The addition of the package of dry Ranch Dressing mix will certainly be tasty, add some interesting flavor. Not a fan of spicy foods, there will not be any red pepper flakes in the version I will assemble to deliver to the event next week. Undecided about adding the two small cans of chopped green chilies: Although they are available in ‘degrees’ of heat, there was not a ‘mild’ option on the shelf at Walmart. Which will require another shopping trip to look for the version that has less heat. You can see it all goes in a crock pot and will cook for hours. The chicken will have to be removed and shredded, then all the ingredients heated before serving.

Prep instructions: put everything except the last four lines in the pot to simmer for the chicken to be thoroughly cooked. Remove chicken to shred. Add the veg, let heat through. Add toppings when you fill a bowl. It was just too meaty for me to want to taste, but had reports it was good, and the pot was nearly empty after the lunch was served.

book review: “The Antidote” …

…by Karen Russell. Borrowed from the local library, published in 2025, the fifth by this author.This is the first I read: a long, complicated story line that required quite some time to finish, at over four hundred pages. “Swamplandia” is based on her youth, growing up in southern Florida, although she now resides in Oregon.

The scene set in Nebraska: based on to historical,actual events that happened between a horrific dust storm in1935 and a flood when twenty four inches of rain fell in 24 hours. Russell incorporates hours of research and interviews in the plot,weaving a complicated tale of young women as they mature, develop friendships, adulthood, share experiences.From youth when as they formed a local basketball team, sponsored by a local merchant, traveling to small neighboring towns to compete, these young women form life-long bonds that provide them with the wisdom and ability to become outspoken members of their community.

The title refers to a person who is also known locally as a prairie witch, a person who is receptive to the thoughts ,dreams , inner life of another. Some one who has turmoil in their lives and a desire to unburden their soul. That confidence shared is not necsssairily negative . It could be a simple as young courting couple, hoping to meet ata dance, or young marrieds hoping to start a family.The desire for the confession to be held without sharing. Stored within the receipeint in a ‘vault’ for safekeeping, no longer retained by the person who has passed the burden along to the prairie witch.

The back story to the historical novel is how the European immigrants/settlers were lured by the US to come to the plains of the mid-west with the promise of free land. The indigenous tribes following the seasons, wildlife, had been following trade routes for centuries, living in villages along water ways. Believing the natives to be dangerous, as whites from Europe encroach, move westward into central north America, the military forces the tribes into reservations: confining the once-free-roaming into inadequate make-shift homes. Unable to hunt, forage, grow crops to feed families, or travel across vast spaces as they historically had over centuries, numbers decline, health problems occur.

Thousands and thousands of acres of grasslands across the plains states were slowly plowed using the methods the immigrants were accustomed to. Plowing to plant crops, destroying the centuries of root systems holding the prairie grasses in place that provided the habitat for wildlife: bison, pronghorn, elk, deer, moose, the entire food chain. A few years of poor rainfall, crop failure, bank fore closes on loans, the dust-bowl scenario of the 1930’s.

up in the far …

… most northwesterly corner of the state of Georgia is Dade county. On the northern border, it meets the Tennessee state line, and on the western edge, there is the northeastern corner of Alabama. On a little trip into Dade county, looking for the big folding road map from the GA DOT that has the whole state printed in detail. In the past, readily available at Welcome centers/rest stops built on major highways leading into the state to provide visitors with information about point of interest. Welcome center: closed, so no option for using facilities, acquiring flyers, advertising, coupons for a variety of things to see and do across the state where guests are welcomed to come and leave their tourist dollars.

My very limited experience with Dade county in the past few years has been exclusively visiting the public library. This facility combined with three others in nearby counties provides resources, programs, computers, information as well as reading material to patrons in this corner of GA. With a library card that provides access to most libraries in the state, and occasional announcements of interesting classes/events, I have been to Trenton, the county seat twice to the Dade County Library. That’s all I knew about Dade until today.

Up into the green part you see Chattanooga, and Trenton really close to I-20 before the highway curves down into AL, then back up into TN.
County courthouse, not much to look at, sitting in the middle of a roundabout in the center of town.

The courthouse is a pretty small building, and does not have a whole lot of visual appeal,although the landscaping around the building is well maintained, lots of perennials in bloom. This brick building replaces one that was torn down in the 1920’s that probably had more character, but with ancient plumbing and wiring – who knows what other problems. Old creaky wooden floors, and an upstairs I did not venture into – where they might still have courtrooms in use. The downstairs spaces have been largely repurposed, so it seems likely the county has built and maintains a newer modern, more spacious property in use for day to day business. This is where the Chamber of Commerce and Visitors center with info about activities, eateries, businesses, things to do and see in Dade is located. And those GA DOT paper maps I was looking for.

Had to go back to the car and get my phone to get a photo of this plaque provided by Georgia Historical Commission.

Who knew there was a county in northwest Georgia that was so annoyed and annoying, obstinate the citizens chose to leave the Union before the state seceded? And so ornery and uncooperative they took their sweet time rejoining the rest of the Georgia. FYI: there is a county in TN where the citizens were just as bull-headed, at one time known as the ‘state of Franklin’.

This is the paper road map I drove to Trenton to find. The GA welcome center on I-75 is closed. IDK. The paper map unfolds to opens up to be at least a yard square, with one half of the state printed on each side.

book review: “When Women Were Birds”…

… by prolific author Terry Tempest Williams. Published in 2015, the small paperback tome is somewhere between a memoir and journal, hard to classify. Written after the death of her beloved mother, as she attempts to reconcile her emotions and cope with loss and grief. On her deathbed, Williams mother told her about dozens of journals, with the instructions she could not open the books until after she deceased.

Only to find the tidy, bound, rows of blank books, specifically for using as away to preserve memories, thoughts penned over time: all blank. Unusual in the sense that Williams history and family placed high value on the efforts to maintain a recorded history of their lives as families grew, matured, traveled, adapted to life circumstances. With three older siblings, parents on the go, extended family of grandparents, aunts and uncles, large gatherings over years, the author found it surprising those dozens of carefully chosed volumes contained no details of school, vacations, life-and-death, weddings, births- all events that normally claim the attention of extended family members.

A voracious reader as a child, Williams was given non-fiction books as a child. She developed a love for nature, the environment, all things to do with the sciences: from the Field Guides that cover wildlife in North America, to the tiny microscopic creatures under fingernails. A noted speaker a writer on environmental concerns, climate change,in her youth she worked in preserved areas all over the western states: summer intern in National Parks, volunteering to teach visitors about birds, wildlife, the natural world. Backpacking into remote areas, with groups interested in those wild and undeveloped places far from amenities

The author is a product of generations of members of the Church of Latter Day Saints in Utah. Men in her family have been in places of authority for many years. Women have accepted their domination for decades, raising families within the bounds of Mormon requirements and obedient to male authority. In her writing, Williams reports that many of her female relations have been exposed to the testing grounds of chemicals that have caused loved ones to show signs of the many cancers from military proving grounds in desolate unpopular areas of the southwestern US.

book review: “Wild Dark Shore”…

… by Charlotte McConahey. Requested from the local library, at the recommendation of someone who enjoys fiction. Although there is a great deal of research, fact finding, history in the background, much of the plot is strung together as a tale of multiple mishaps, due to climate change. It is a forbidding place; at the bottom of the planet. Cold and dark fpr months at the time. As the earth tilts on it’s axis, seemingly endless winter, with battering storms, lack of daylight and days of icy blasts of bone-chilling misery.

There is an island at the southern end of South America, close to to the icy continent of the Antarctica. Long narrow, with high points of either end, and a low water-logged central area. Designated as a World Heritage Site, it was decimated by ships crews over time as they hunted and eliminated the wildlife: seals, walrus, penguins as the men from wooden, sailing ships would come ashore to massacre the animals that had no fear of humans.

Currently the isolated island is primarily a research station, with inhabitants from different countries assigned to projects, including maintaing a seed vault containing viable seed collected world wide, to be used in the event they are needed. Along with those scientists, a family who have volunteered to live on that narrow space, maintain the lighthouse and help with research. The weather is horrendous, as the oceans rise, climate change causes the ice on that southern continent to melt, plus clashing storms as the waters of the Atlantic and Pacific collide at the end of Patagonia. Ships periodically come with food, equipment to resupply the people living in the converted cargo containers, bringing more personnel or evacuating the ones who are ill, ready to return to other lives.

The narrative is told from multiple points of view, not always easy to follow the thread from one character/speaker to the next. Interesting premise, as the water level rises, researchers vanish, tension among survivors increases.