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Ecology of a Cracker Childhood

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"Write about what you know," is an old axiom for would-be authors. Janisse Ray takes this to heart in "Ecology of a Cracker Childhood." Part autobiography and childhood memoir and part an ecology of plants and animals, this is a wonderful tale that successfully blends both. Janisse Ray is writing about what she knows best. The human dimension to her tale is a tale of growing up with her family in the natural world. The family home sits in the middle of a junkyard along old Route 1 in southeastern Georgia in a forest of longleaf pine. It is a coming of age story, where she is clearly destined for a horizon beyond the junkyard in the pines. She is solidly grounded in her childhood environment, low on the affluence scale, but one which has prepared her well for life. "Ecology of a Cracker Childhood" conveys a great sense of place and will give the reader a newfound respect for a forest of longleaf pine. I bought this book at the Visitor Center at the Okefenokee National Wildlife Refuge, not all that far from Baxley, Georgia. I am glad they stocked it in the store. Reading this put me on to "Pinhook," her next work which I also recommend.

Musings on our many environments from a kindred spirit

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"Ecology of a Cracker Childhood" is probably the most moving autobiography I've ever read. By turns heartbreaking, inspirational, and motivational, Ray's story is one of an outsider in every respect; the daughter of a junkyard owner in rural Georgia, she faces a number of obstacles including her father's precarious mental stability. Looking back with a mix of fondness and acceptance rather than anger, Ray looks at how her environment (built and natural, as well as home) shaped who she became. Ray intersperses the book with chapters on long-leaf pines, gopher tortoises, and other uniquely Southern flora and fauna that is endangered and rapidly disappearing. While it may be jarring to the reader, Ray is making a larger point; we are forcing the environment to adapt or die to suit our needs rather than adapting to the environment. Ray writes lovingly of how nature slowly reclaims the wrecked hulks of cars in her father's junkyard; nature slowly, steadily winning over man and man's folly. Along the way she recounts unusual tales of her difficult path to adulthood that are profoundly moving. In some respects the chapters are by turns explanations and a badge of honor rather than excuses. Her recounting of a rare visit to the North will likely register profoundly with any Southerner who has ventured there. Perhaps it is because Ray and I are the same age or perhaps because our backgrounds are eerily similar, but I feel a connection and a deeper understanding and appreciation for where she's coming from and who she is. Ray is unabashedly unapologetic and "Ecology" will alternately move you to fits of laughter and sometimes nearly to tears, but it will not leave you unmoved.

Nostalgic look at redneck culture (3.25 *s)

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This book combines a nostalgic autobiographical look at the author's childhood in the 1960s and 70s in Baxley, a small town located in the coastal plains of Georgia, with an examination of the deteriorating ecosystem of the region, in particular longleaf pine forests. The flow of the book is decidedly non-chronological as she interleaves various family vignettes with commentary on a range of environmental concerns, often focusing on the huge reduction in various animals of the region such as the red-cockaded woodpecker, the gopher tortoise, or the indigo snake and the relationship to the loss of longleaf pines. Ultimately, it is left to the reader to draw the connection between cracker culture and the ecosystem. The author traces her roots to Borderlanders, of English-Scottish origin, who settled the region in the early 19th century. They were known as "crackers" which has become synonymous with "redneck." She grew up on the side of US-1, the main North-South highway of the time, in a clapboard house situated in the midst of her father's junkyard. That was the playground and learning environment for the author and her siblings, seldom having much interaction with others. The author holds her father Franklin, named after Pres Roosevelt, in great esteem. As were many in rural areas, he was a tinkerer and seat-of-the-pants mechanic and a supplier of used parts to similar persons. He was also a religious fundamentalist, driving his family many miles to attend services of a small, predominately black sect. He enforced rigid standards of dress and behavior on the entire family. However, he also was inclined to aid the downtrodden and hurt, either man or animal. Though the family seemed rather poor, a contradiction is that on at least two occasions her father bought tracts of land. As perceptive as the author undoubtedly is, she turns a mostly accepting eye to a culture that was most assuredly ignorant. Her father and grandfather, Charlie, were men of violence, Charlie having a reputation of having beaten any number of men half to death. Frank was quick with the strap, seeing fit to administer whippings for the mere observance of a boy killing a turtle that had clamped down on his shoe. The author had to hide from her father the reading of books or the watching of television at her grandmother's. Both her father and grandfather were admitted to the hospital in Millegeville, GA for the insane for a relatively short period. One wonders if cracker culture itself contributes to unstable behavior. In addition, for a book concerning the culture of 1960's rural Georgia, there is a puzzling absence of any commentary on race relations, other than attending church. There is little in the author's recall of her childhood that suggests how she managed to end up at a small college in north Georgia on scholarship - was it because of her childhood environment or despite it? The environmental destruction of the coastal plains predated the author's birth by several generations. Like many from rural areas, the author was comfortable with plants and animals. But neither she, her father, or their neighbors were in any sense environmentalists. Undoubtedly, her past made her gravitation to the subject in college a not unnatural development. But her growth to environmental activist is absent in this book. It seems to be assumed that the reader will understand such a trajectory. The book is spotty, vague, and even at times seems like a fairy tale. The author's recall of climbing trees and laying on the ground communing with nature as a child is undoubtedly now viewed through poetic license. In a not untypical approach, she chooses to discuss the ecosystem by having lightning, clouds, and trees hold a discussion about their roles. It's difficult to pinpoint what the author is attempting to convey in her reminisces about her childhood with good-natured, yet violent and ignorant, people and her focus on ecology. Her discussions of clear-cutting old-growth forests and replacing them with tightly packed, quickly growing, and environment-killing tree farms is not well tied to "cracker" culture. Nor is she inclined to search for culprits. Does cracker culture exist today? Should the reader be alarmed or appreciative? Is cracker culture a hazard to our environment? The author seems to be leaving the answer to questions like these to the reader. Some might well expect more from the author.

Thoughts from a Transplanted Cracker

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All of Janisse's work, but most especially Cracker Childhood, is so very much a snapshot of South Georgia. She grabs you, her reader, by the hand and transports you to her South -- a South where Gone with the Wind is just another goofy movie starring a British actress, a South where Faulkner defied and defined a culture, a South where loggers are systematically erasing the long-leaf pines that once embraced elemental hard-scrabble lives. If you are game for an adventurous romp through dismal swamps, junk yards, and back woods then this is the read for you. Once you take it up you will be loathe to put it down. Thank you, Janisse, for a wonderful trip!

LITERATE LOOK AT A TIME-WARP CHILDHOOD	Customer Rating:
We noticed when we moved south to Georgia some twenty-five years ago that in many ways we'd dropped back in time. Janisse Ray was born in 1962; it may as well have been 1932. I thank her for sharing her knowledge of the flora and critters around her - many now gone forever. Whenever I see a long-leaf pine from now on, I will treasure the sight.