If you have read some of the books and would like
to make a comment here, send your comments to firstname.lastname@example.org.
are comments from some other readers.
the comments you will find stories as they are added.
by Frankie Boyer about an uncoming interview on her
Lifestyle Talk Show :
I will also interview
with Zona Crabtree author of The Gray Wolf .The author uses a cave as a base from which she delves into an
adventure story of Native Americans, white trappers, and kindred animal spirits. Gray Wolf carries the mystique of double
meaning including the main character and his spirit guide. People of all ages won’t be able to put the books down as
their imagination ignites with visions of the early frontier days.
Last week I went to Silver Dollar City, and came upon you and your books. How fortunate for me!
I read and thoroughly enjoyed Gray Wolf. I look forward to ordering and reading the other books in the series.
Both Walt and I loved your book, and are anxiously waiting for
the sequel. KP
Just wanted you to know I read your book and loved it! You
have a special talent. I'm enclosing a check for three more so I can give them to the grandkids! RH
Hello! I have just
recently finished reading the second book from your series. I just wanted to say that both of your books, Gray Wolf
and The Travelers, are WONDERFUL, and so are the illustrations in both of these books. I really enjoy
your books, and I'm looking forward to see if there is another book coming in the series. KR age 14
I started reading the first book, Gray Wolf, during the
book signing. Have managed to find time in my busy schedule to finish both books. You certainly spin a good yarn.
Your two books are real page turners. GS
I finished the book. I couldn't put it down. It's
so vibrantly detailed. I loved it! I can't wait to read the other two! KN
My husband and I enjoyed meeting you July 5th at Silverdollar City. The T. girls loved
your Gray Wolf book. It was awesome! I am so excitied to read MORE! What happens to Dove and Wolf?
Do they marry? Where do they live? You have an amazing ability to tell a story and still give your readers enough
room to use thier own imagination. I would like to buy the rest of the set for myself and another set for my step-father.
He loves to read William Johnstone and Daniel Steele. Your stories would bring him much enjoyment. ET
Gray Wolf is a great book for readers of all ages. It is very well written, and is surprisingly full of suspense. This is
a book that would be a great gift, especially for those interested in fictional Native American stories. KM
I've read all four of your books and they are all thoroughly inspiring - to
go out and write your own stories! I have had a few of those stay-up-late-reading-all-night nights because they had captured
my imagination in full! S.T.
Hello, My name is B..... C...... and I'm 11. I met
you in Silver Dallor City.
I just finished reading Gray Wolf.
It was a really good book. I loved all the names in it, especially White dove, her name is really pretty. My mom
was thinking about reading the book.
When you signed my book, you said"
Follow your dreams" and I am. I love to draw and cook. Sometimes I capture a bug and then try and draw it,
and I let it go when I'm done. I'm getting real good at it.
I really liked the book and I'm hopeing to get the next book in the series.
If you have read any of my books and would like to see your comment here, email me with the comment.
(This story appeared in Echoes of the Ozark III, an anthology
produced by Ozark Writers League.)
Young boys are always ready for an adventure.
Paul, age eight, and Newt, age eleven were no exception. Coming around the curve approaching home I saw the two of them standing
beside the road. They were looking across the pasture toward the creek, waving their arms and shouting. When they calmed down
enough to understand them, they started talking about a buffalo. Since they both liked to fish, and were pointing towards
the creek I assumed someone had caught a fish that the boys thought was a buffalo. They became indignant, and directed my
attention across the pasture towards the milk cows. There it was, just like the old west, a real, live buffalo bull.
All the excitement had started at my parents’ house. Mother and Dad lived up
a side road from us, or as we all called it, "out behind the barn". Dad glanced out his front window and saw something
grazing in his front yard. He thought it was a neighbor’s cow, but taking a closer look he realized it was a buffalo.
When he called our house the foster girl staying with us answered the phone.
"You ever seen a buffalo?" Dad asked her.
"No," Diane replied.
"Git up here. There’s one in our front yard!"
Diane ran out of the house and headed toward the barn. The fastest way was to take the shortcut around behind the barn. Just
as she turned the corner at full speed, the buffalo came around the corner from the other side. Almost colliding head-on with
the furry creature, she screamed and headed back for the house. Also spooked, the buffalo headed down the drive, across the
road, and through the fence into the pasture. Barbed wire fences don’t mean anything to a buffalo. Seeing the jersey
milk cows he must have decided they were the closest things to his kind he was going to find. As the buffalo loped across
the pasture to join the ladies the neighbor’s teenage son and daughter came panting down the road. Their father had
bought the buffalo with the intention of crossing it with his cattle. It was fastened in the barn, but soon kicked the stall
apart and left. The teenagers had been chasing the buffalo all over the neighborhood all morning. By now, they were worn out
and had their own idea of what to do with the animal if only they could catch it. They thought a neighborhood barbecue was
Since the buffalo had settled down with the milk cows it seemed a
simple thing to get them all in the corrals. The cows were accustomed to coming when called. Since they were stirred up from
having an unknown animal amongst them it didn’t take long for them to funnel into the corral with the buffalo in the
middle of the herd. After a little maneuvering the buffalo was separated into a loading pen. The bull stood with his head
down and looked like he had lost all his fight. One of the neighbors went to get a trailer, and came back with a rickety,
one horse trailer. Three of us eased into the pen to try to load him. Suddenly he raised his head, whorled to face us, and
pawed the ground. The room in that pen shrank, and everyone grabbed for the fence. The bull now had his second wind, and was
angry and ready for battle. That trailer didn’t look like it would hold him even if we managed to get him in it, which
was doubtful. Barbeque was looking better all the time. The teens called their dad and told him if he wanted the buffalo loaded
he would have to come do it.
While we waited for the dad to get there
the buffalo got restless. Getting a running start, he tried to jump the first pipe gate and landed on top of it. The gate
sagged, giving us a curved, designer gate for years. The next gate was a little lower. The buffalo cleared it, and he was
on his way to freedom. The neighbors all left to continue the chase, but there were chores to do and cows to milk. We didn’t
hear anything else about the buffalo for several days. Eventually, someone several miles away managed to catch him in something
that would hold him, and his freedom ended. We never heard what was finally done with the buffalo, but there never was a barbeque.
Zona Crabtree, 2007
Tale of a Tail
(This is also a true story, and appeared in OZARK READER magazine.)
A soft blanket of snow covered the hard sheet of ice spread across southwest Missouri that morning.
It took a full pickup load of hay each day to feed the beef cows that were calving in the pasture. Two year old Joe Paul stood
in the seat between his dad and I and watched as the cows and calves came running to meet us. While the herd circled the pickup
one small black spot remained by itself on the white expanse. It wasn’t moving, and we feared the worst. Joe stopped
the pickup beside the calf, and I got out to check. The little thing was cold to the touch and was stiff as I slid my hands
underneath to pick it up. Farm people don’t give up on their animals easily, so I laid it on the floor under the heater
vent of the pickup.
By the time we got home the calf was stirring slightly. Farm kitchens often serve as temporary nurseries.
The calf came to rest on an old rug in a corner beside the dryer. There didn’t appear to be enough life in it to bother
about blocking it in with chairs. Joe Paul was fascinated by the calf and stood there watching it as I went about my work.
At least it kept him occupied for a time while the other children were at school.
Later that day while working in the
other part of the house I heard a commotion in the kitchen. Rushing in, I encountered a pint sized rodeo of one two year old
and a very lively black calf. The footing on the kitchen floor was not meant for hooves, and a lot of slipping and sliding
was going on. After having a bottle the calf was transferred to the hay barn. It was doubtful the mother cow would take the
calf back even if we could locate her, and the weather was too cold to chance trying to pair them anyway. From the time the
other two children arrived from school, Blackie became a pet. The children took on the job of feeding him, playing with him
as if he were a puppy. Blackie thrived on the attention.
Spring came and Blackie was still in the hay barn even though
he was weaned and eating grain. Much of the "first love" had worn off, but the children still went out to play with
him. One day Gayle and Newt had gone out to feed the calf. A few minutes later a horrified scream pierced the air all the
way into the kitchen. Gayle was still screaming when she slammed the back door open. Taking a deep breath, she gasped out,
"Newt pulled the baby calf’s tail off!"
"What? Calm down. How could he pull the tail off?"
I asked as I held the trembling girl.
"We were playing, and Newt caught hold of Blackie’s tail and pulled
"Where is Newt now?"
"He’s still in the barn, I guess."
off the stove and went with her to find out what had really happened. When we got to the calf pen Newt was on his hands and
knees frantically trying to bury the majority of a black calf tail in the dirt. From his sister’s hysterical reaction
he was sure he was in a great deal of trouble. It was hard not to laugh, but the two children were so upset I tried to keep
a straight face. The calf was calmly licking the last of its feed out of the trough. When it turned around it was missing
most of its tail, but there was no blood. When the calf had nearly frozen to death the tail must have frozen past healing.
It would have soon fallen off by itself, but one tug from a small boy speeded up the process. Blackie continued to be a pet
until he was big enough to put out to pasture. And so ends the tale of a tail.