On the laid-back art of tubing: "The tube lends you its magical buoyancy and the current (if that’s the word for an ambiguous, two-miles-per-hour general trend) sweeps you away. It’s hard to overemphasize the passivity of tubing. It is sloth ingeniously disguised as adventure."
Tess Taylor’s debut book of poetry, The Forage House, is a lyric wonder rich with the complications of an Old South genealogy. At once related to rural Appalachians, New England missionaries, and the Jefferson family in Virginia, she digs up the complications of her family history and asks herself, “How do we access what we cannot know about the past?” but also “How do we know how to write about that?”
Texas Island isn’t an island, nor is it in Texas. It’s a vague peninsula around which wraps Moon Lake, an oxbow formed by an abandoned meander of the Mississippi River, twenty miles north of Clarksdale off Highway 61, near the hamlet of Lula.