Where the Crawdads Sing

by Delia Owens

1970

1970

1970

1970

The question of whether she lived or died did not surface on her mind, but sank beneath the greater fear of years alone without her marsh. No gulls, no sea in a starless place.

When the door opened she felt the breath of the sea on her face.

1970

1970

Tate remembered his dad’s definition of a man: one who can cry freely, feel poetry and opera in his heart, and do whatever it takes to defend a woman.

But before he sat behind the wheel, he saw a pale brown feather resting on the seat cushion. He knew right away it was the soft breast feather of a female night heron, a long-legged secretive creature who lives deep in the marsh, alone. Yet here it was too near the sea.

he moved into the shack with her the next day. Packing and unpacking within a single tide. As sand creatures do.

The heron posing one-legged in the mist.

The theories and gossip over how Chase Andrews died never stopped.

Over the years the case, too, eased into legend. And though Kya was never completely healed from the scorn and suspicion surrounding her, a soft contentment, a near-happiness settled into her. • • • KYA LAY ON THE SOFT DUFF near the lagoon one afternoon, waiting for Tate to return from a collecting trip. She breathed deep, knowing he would always come back, that for the first time in her life she would not be abandoned. She heard the deep purr of his cruiser, chugging up the channel; could feel the quiet rumble through the ground. She sat

Jumpin’ died last night in his sleep.”

“Lawd, he loved ya like his own dawder,” Mabel said. “I know,” Kya said, “and he was my pa.”

Almost every shop had a special table displaying the books by Catherine Danielle Clark ~ Local Author ~ Award-Winning Biologist.

Kya published seven more award-winning books.

Most of what she knew, she’d learned from the wild. Nature had nurtured, tutored, and protected her when no one else would.

AT SIXTY-FOUR Kya’s long black hair had turned as white as the sand.

She had lived long enough to see the bald eagles make a comeback; for Kya that was long enough.

Folding her in his arms, he rocked back and forth, weeping. He wrapped her in a blanket and towed her back to her lagoon in the old boat through the maze of creeks and estuaries, passing the herons and deer for the last time.

CATHERINE DANIELLE CLARK “KYA” THE MARSH GIRL 1945–2009

The bits and bones of a life.

The stones of her stream.

Amanda Hamilton was Kya. Kya was the poet.

The Firefly Luring him was as easy As flashing valentines. But like a lady firefly They hid a secret call to die. A final touch, Unfinished; The last step, a trap. Down, down he falls, His eyes still holding mine Until they see another world. I saw them change. First a question, Then an answer, Finally an end. And love itself passing To whatever it was before it began. A.H. Still

Kyas poem aboutkillingChase.

Kya had been of this land and of this water; now they would take her back. Keep her secrets deep.

he stopped under the deep canopy and watched hundreds of fireflies beckoning far into the dark reaches of the marsh. Way out yonder, where the crawdads sing.

Cry of the Kalahari,

The Eye of the Elephant,

Secrets of the ...