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BEARING WITNESS ROBERT ERLE BARHAM hen I was a boy, the bayou Bonne Idee flooded. WI remember because my father and I walked on water. We had driven to the edge of our farm and discovered that the flood had enveloped our fishing dock, and when my father crossed the wooden deck just below the bayou’s surface, I followed beside him. We moved slowly, fearing the boards might 105 have fallen away, but with every step, the pier met our feet and buoyed us across the silty opacity. Looking back toward the bank, we stood atop the bayou with the cold spring water swirling around us. The incongruity was thrilling. One square mile. When I think of my hometown, it seems much larger than its physical size. As with this memory of the Bonne Idee (the “good thought” that its name recalls), all of it is familiar, and I can map the landmarks and contours of the land—south from our farm into town, down Oak Street, over the rise of the railroad tracks, past the churches, Newtown Service Station, the Baptist cemetery and out of town across miles of farmland. Now I live hundreds of miles away from where
Appalachian Review – University of North Carolina Press
Published: May 30, 2020
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