Cedar Fence Rows
Cedar Fence Rows
A Collection of Short Stories
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From my very first childhood memory, I have loved the Eastern red cedar tree. They grow in abundance all over my home state of Kentucky.

To this day I experience joy when finding an old cedar fencerow. These beautiful dark green trees, growing very close to each other in a straight row marking property boundaries. There are few of them now as they have fallen to the ravages of time and change. The cedars grow to be very old, the trunks telling the story of age. They are a favorite shelter place for birds and tree frogs. They 'shout out' in vivid green against the backdrop of tender spring, hot dry summer, glorious colors of autumn, and the grays and browns of winter.

Those who know and love me continued to plead for a short story book. Writing poetry is my forte, my confident area of expertise, but everyone kept saying that all my poems tell a story. They also often reminded me that I am a grand storyteller. It is my hope that all who read these stories told from my  head and heart, will find a comfort and  joy within the pages of this book. And, like the cedar trees, these stories, a portion of my legacy, will stand the test of time, bring pleasure and endure within the hearts of my readers for years to come.

Please Allow Me

Please allow me to introduce myself. I am a southern born, Succulent Wild Woman. Growing up in the western most tip of Kentucky in a grand and glorious time, could account for some of my personality. My brother likes to say that our parents went headlong into life. He says they worked hard and they played hard. They were natural born risk takers. I suppose everyone takes for granted, when they are in the growing stages, their surrounding influences. That's because they know no other way.

Our parental grandmother was 5'8" tall and fat. She was so fat she had to have help getting up from her little gardening stool during those hot Kentucky summers when we went with her to pick Crowder peas. A firey Irish woman married to a firey German man, she simply made the best of things. Her hair was brilliant red and hung down past her behind. She plaited and wrapped it round her head. Pale complexion and pale blue eyes...I loved her , oh I loved her, but I never wanted to look like that! Even to this day when I find a haggard looking image in the mirror, I say to myself...'How I do hope I don't look like Grandmother!' I did often wish for the beautiful red hair of several of my counsins on Grandmother's side. Marion was tall and lithe. She died on my birthday...a compliment to me. She wouldn't have wanted us to mourn her. After her funeral luncheon, I danced a Tango with her brother-in-law, a tribute to a life worth celebrating. Her daughter says she can remember her father saying, 'Just look at your mother with that red hair and that body, she is so beautiful people stop and stare.'

But just as I wished to have a diamond birth date like Aunt Georgia Lee, wishing for red hair didn't work either. One time as a wild and free grown up in California, I got it out of a bottle. It wasn't the same.

Georgia Carole Douglas is a native of the lake lands area of Western Kentucky. She lives in the little house her late husband gave to her years ago. The home and surrounding beauty of lake and woods provide a tranquil place for writing. A sign on the back door reads, 'Poet's House' and writing poetry began for her long ago in fifth grade.

Her passions include reaching out to others in an attitude of love, writing, gardening, music, reading and ballroom dancing. She often performs readings from her two previously published books, 'Emotions of A Woman - Reflection and 'Moon Stages'. She also does preview readings from the short story collection that culminated into this book. She truly enjoys the time spent entertaining at retirement homes, rest homes and civic clubs. She currently serves on a legacy committee dedicated to the purpose of erecting a memorial site, a museum exhibit and website for the school she attended on the university campus in her hometown.


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