In South Carolina, a croker sack is any big cloth sack. When opened, it sometimes reveals more than expected, as do these deceptively simple narratives about fishing trips, flora and fauna, and memories of the past. Observing a snapping turtle, recounting the old age and death of a hunting dog, or talking with neighbors who shot a moose and hung it in their garage, Franklin Burroughs reflects on how human and natural histories interconnect. His writing is clear and still as a pond, and his distinctive and evocative voice resonates through the details.

In South Carolina, a croker sack is any big cloth sack. When opened, it sometimes reveals more than expected, as do these deceptively simple narratives about fishing trips, flora and fauna, and memories of the past. Observing a snapping turtle, recounting the old age and death of a hunting dog, or talking with neighbors who shot a moose and hung it in their garage, Franklin Burroughs reflects on how human and natural histories interconnect. His writing is clear and still as a pond, and his distinctive and evocative voice resonates through the details.