“Walton’s Creek, Land of our Fathers” by Rickie Zayne Ashby

Walton’s Creek, Land of Our Fathers (Acclaim Press 2024), Rickie Zayne Ashby’s debut novel, is a book you should judge by its cover. Not only is the artwork evocative of the story inside, but also the cover itself under the dust jacket, is a thing of beauty. This book is available in hardcover only, so you tablet readers will miss out altogether. I must mention that the pages inside are of a quality that feels good when you turn them and the nice size type face in soft black ink is a perfect contrast to the bright white paper, making the book very easy and enjoyable to read. (This is an odd way to start a book review, I realize. But how many of you, like me, who read paper books, have gone into a bookstore or library and picked up a book, opened it somewhere and read a sentence and then put it down because it simply wasn’t going to visually be easy to read?)

Unlike his first book, My Journey from Walton’s Creek, Kentucky, which was a collection of essays about his life, this book is a fictionalized story of two families and the people with whom they associate, in rural Western Kentucky between the years of 1913 – 1955.

The ambiance of this story begins the moment you open the first page. The story is narrated by Mickey Atlee, who may bear a strong resemblance to the author, and begins in 2008 when Mickey has come back to Walton’s Creek Cemetery on Memorial Day, to decorate the graves and remember his family who are buried there. As Mickey drives around his old community and starts his journey back home, he is flooded with memories.

I have never met Mr. Ashby, had never heard of him at all until I read this book, but his story is stunning in its simplicity. I felt as if he and I were on a long back road trip in his truck and he was just telling me about what his growing up life was like. I imagined that I would go into the convenience store with him and order a sandwich and bag of chips and we would sit and eat companionably while he rambled through recollections and recipes and such. I would get to know who was who and what their voices sounded like, and then I would recognize the similarities in some of my own family. I think of my grandparents who lived through the Great Depression and those same times, and the privations they suffered. I recognize that certain things were done in certain ways because that was the best they could do with what they had; they never forgot, and never got completely comfortable again.

In his author’s note, Mr. Ashby informs the reader, “The dialogue in this simple story of the Atlees and Caughills is as close to authentic as I knew how to write it. By using genuine dialect, I hope to present the reader with fully faceted characters molded by the richness and complexity that common speech provides.”

The dialect sprinkled throughout the story, does indeed lend a deeper richness and insight into the characters:

   “Come on in if ye can get in. Anna, what did you all bring over here? I tol’ Al not to let

ye do that. Got stuff a runnin’ out my ears now.”

“Polly, ye orta know better than to tell this woman a thing like that. Ain’t goin’ empty

handed. Went to a restaurant one time and she brung her own tomatoes.”

“I did no sech thing. I jest had one in my purse in case they didn’t have none fer our

hamburgers.”

“I rest my case. Well, I’m gonna let the womanfolks run this part of the shindig. Al and

me gonna jaw a spell.”

As was common during those times, especially there and in other similar parts of the country, making do was the way of life. Those people worked hard in the coal mines, on the farm, raising tobacco, doing whatever they could to feed their families and keep a roof over their heads. Things we don’t even think about now, like indoor plumbing and refrigeration, were distant dreams.

   “I’m not a store bought lawyer like you. No sir, I can’t claim to be a Philadelphia lawyer.

I was on my own when I was ten years old. I slept in a man’s barn and did chores for one

meal a day. I grew up the hard way and read law to become a lawyer.”

“Jim, Jim, Jim, I grew up poor, too. If you weren’t so durn ornery, you might have more

law business. I bet you have a gun and a bottle of whiskey in your pocket right now.”

“Now Bill, I haven’t left home in forty years without a gun and a bottle of good whiskey.

I’m going to be buried with the bottle but not the gun. A man told me one time you can’t

shoot your way into heaven, but I bet old St. Peter can be had with a good bottle of Kentucky

Tavern.”

Entering into the world of Mr. Ashby’s memories is like accepting an invitation to dance the waltz. He engenders a great deal of empathy for his characters, not only with dialect and dialogue, but also with their humanity. Albeit, they are mostly families who have their differences from time to time, but they look after each other and understand and embrace the concept of community. The special talents that many of them have, are born of necessity, education, or interest.

Of his grandfather, Mickey tells us, “Marv was merely a horse doctor, a self-educated man with little knowledge or training. He ordered vet books from a mail order company and applied the contents of the books, living and farming in Western Kentucky to become an animal doctor.”

Marv was rarely paid for his services in anything other than what the recipient had in their store rooms.

One night, Marv spent the night at Charlie and Sally’s house because when he had finished doctoring their milk cow in the evening, a storm was about to set in. Marv remembered that he had promised to teach the family’s little boys to read and in his renewed determination to do so, he gave the boys something to study on before he left in the morning.

    “Marv took a piece of paper from his saddle bags and methodically sharpened a pencil

with his pocketknife.

‘Do you know the Lord’s Prayer? Well, I will read it to you someday, but right now I want

you to watch closely. I have drawn a circle around this dime on this piece of white paper.

I’m going to start writing inside that circle starting at the outer edge and I’m going to write in

a spiral fashion, and the last letter of the last word will be right smackie dab in the middle.’”

For those of a certain age, we will see our family history replayed to some extent in the memories. But if you’re of the age where none of this is recognizable to you, consider it history, not fiction; our history, your family history, because this story is universal to almost any family who lived in this country during those times.

Rickie Zayne Ashby

Rickie Zayne Ashby is retired and lives near Bowling Green, Kentucky, where much of his time is spent gardening and reading.