Along Greathouse Road, the first collection of Anne's McCrady's work, was the 2003 winner of the Edwin M. Eakin Memorial Manuscript Award given by the Poetry Society of Texas. It was published by Eakin Press. In these poems, Anne offers portraits of the East Texas people and places she loves most. Like snapshots of little stories, the poems are at once lyrical and suggestive of narrative. Full of vivid imagery, the poems invite the reader to see each scene -- Anne's reading of the poems underscore the importance of "place." Anne's audiobook of Along Greathouse Road, a 2 CD set that includes Anne reading the poems set in musical backdrops, is a favorite with fans of Anne's work.
"Walk down Greathouse Road, and you'll see with an observant eye everything you never noticed before. Here is a book with a definite East Texas identity--clear thinking, no waste of words. You'll meet Eas'Texis people who live well and are unaffected by "the whitebread world." With a straight, the author tells "How We Got Religion,m" also how a very distant grandma filched early Texas stories, told them as her family's own, became "Historian." There are wonderful stories of childhood and the poet's relationship with her family. There's the death of her father on a rainy day, ending with the "cold, wet truth," and moving her mother out, where they "close the door/behind you like a good book." And oh, the wonderful tale of a man, a shovel and the very dirt of his farm is so masterfully done, it will turn in your heart. A naturalist, McCrady knows every tree, bud, leaf and flower, as well as the creatures who live among her dear, faithfully drawn people. Violette Newton, former Poet Laureate of Texas
"...word got out back east/that the piney woods were God's country."
from the poem, "How We Got Religion"
"...you drop the fly like a whisper/on the mirror of sky..."
from the poem, "Trophy"
"They gather like summer storm clouds/for a family lunch after the graveside service..."
from the poem, "Granddaughters"
"I imagine myself always here,/ as much a part of her life as chickweed/or hummingbirds or the heat."
from the poem, "Leaving Isabel"
"There is no laughter here,/no clicks of fresh eggs for salad/boiling in your old Revereware pot...
from the poem, "Frying Diced Onions"
"Hugging the metal curve/of the old Chevy truck door,/his skinny chin propped on his forearm..."
from the poem, "Greathouse Road"
"Walking in the woods/summer like a warm wet/breath behind me close/and following..."
from the poem "My Oak"