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Cross Creek [Paperback]

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  • Category: Books (Biography & Autobiography)
  • Author:  Rawlings, Marjorie Kinnan
  • Author:  Rawlings, Marjorie Kinnan
  • ISBN-10:  0684818795
  • ISBN-10:  0684818795
  • ISBN-13:  9780684818795
  • ISBN-13:  9780684818795
  • Publisher:  Scribner
  • Publisher:  Scribner
  • Pages:  384
  • Pages:  384
  • Binding:  Paperback
  • Binding:  Paperback
  • Pub Date:  01-Oct-1996
  • Pub Date:  01-Oct-1996
  • SKU:  0684818795-11-MING
  • SKU:  0684818795-11-MING
  • Item ID: 100059818
  • List Price: $19.00
  • Seller: ShopSpell
  • Ships in: 2 business days
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  • Delivery by: Nov 28 to Nov 30
  • Notes: Brand New Book. Order Now.

Cross Creekis the warm and delightful memoir about the life of Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings—author ofThe Yearling—in the Florida backcountry.

Originally published in 1942,Cross Creekhas become a classic in modern American literature. For the millions of readers raised onThe Yearling,here is the story of Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings's experiences in the remote Florida hamlet of Cross Creek, where she lived for thirteen years. From the daily labors of managing a seventy-two-acre orange grove to bouts with runaway pigs and a succession of unruly farmhands, Rawlings describes her life at the Creek with humor and spirit. Her tireless determination to overcome the challenges of her adopted home in the Florida backcountry, her deep-rooted love of the earth, and her genius for character and description result in a most delightful and heartwarming memoir.Chapter 1

For this is an enchanted land

The road goes west out of the village, past open pine woods and gallberry flats. An eagle's nest is a ragged cluster of sticks in a tall tree, and one of the eagles is usually black and silver against the sky. The other perches near the nest, hunched and proud, like a griffon. There is no magic here except the eagles. Yet the four miles to the Creek are stirring, like the bleak, portentous beginning of a good tale. The road curves sharply, the vegetation thickens, and around the bend masses into dense hammock. The hammock breaks, is pushed back on either side of the road, and set down in its brooding heart is the orange grove.

Any grove or any wood is a fine thing to see. But the magic here, strangely, is not apparent from the road. It is necessary to leave the impersonal highway, to step inside the rusty gate and close it behind. By this, an act of faith is committed, through which one accepts blindly the communion cup of beauty. One is now inside the grove, out of one world and in the mysterious heart of anothel£&

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