White Clover by F.E. Cantrell


The Ozarks were once an isolated landscape and a mysterious place to grow up. There was a time when the magic was heavy before tourism cut the root out of the land and the land from the country.

There is something different about this place, perhaps because the region was isolated for much longer than most locations in the United States. Some parts still boast less than a few hundred populations, where trees outnumber all—where more roots work the soil than the workers that walk it.

The time was magical. Not because it was childhood and not because it was near water; both indeed have their magical properties, but this was different. It was the land. The magic of the land. Untouched and pure from its original golden state. Unprocessed and raw, it spoke its secrets. It teaches all of us how to survive. In these stories, I realize they are not about my childhood but what the land taught me, what it has to teach all of us.


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