From the Author
From the Inside Flap
I was born at the right time, a time when some homes here in the south had outhouses and where hog killings still took place. It was a time when some relied solely on a fireplace to keep them partially warm in winter (only the part turned toward the fire), and relied on nothing but hand-held fans, or old fans that could cut off a finger if you got too close, to keep them a little cooler in the hot, humid summers.
I walked barefoot in the fields of cotton, burning the soles of my feet. I helped slop the hogs and watched my grandmother milk the cow and often give a waiting cat a stream of white tastiness. The one-room school my mother had attended still stood, and in my mind, I saw her walk the red-clay hills to get there. The same red-clay hills that sometimes ruined clothes when children took a notion to slide down them.
So these stories solidified in me because I saw and experienced some of the same things my mother did. And I knew I wanted to share these stories with others.
The Thunder books are the culmination of my mother's stories told in a different way with characters I created. None are based on people I know.
That being said, too much of my mother is in these stories to have never been told.
And too much of me.