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Product Description In this irresistible collection of wide-ranging and endearingly personal columns culled from his best-loved pieces in Southern Living and Garden & Gun, Pulitzer Prize–winning author Rick Bragg muses on everything from his love of Tupperware to the decline of country music; from the legacy of Harper Lee to the metamorphosis of the pickup truck; and from the best way to kill fire ants to why any self-respecting Southern man worth his salt should carry a good knife. An ode to the stories and the history of the South, crackling with tenderness, wit, and deep affection, Where I Come From celebrates “a litany of great talkers, blue-green waters, deep casseroles, kitchen-sink permanents, lying fishermen, haunted mansions, and dogs that never die, things that make this place more than a dotted line on a map or a long-ago failed rebellion, even if only in some cold-weather dream.” Evoking the beauty and the odd particularity of humble origins, Bragg's searching vision, generous humor, and richly nuanced voice bring a place, a people, and a world vividly to life. Review “A dose of humor or nostalgia or adventure or, quite often, descriptions of food that make you feel you can’t live another minute without a plate of fried chicken.” — The Tampa Bay Times “Bragg’s unfeigned writing, knowing truisms and funny advice holds strong throughout this stress-allaying book. . . . It’s a fascinating glimpse into the elaborate, emotional filing system that is a writer’s mind.” — The Atlanta Journal-Constitution “Without even trying, Bragg explains why it is humans came to believe in miracles.” — USA Today “Another heapin’ helpin’ of feel-good musings.” — Pittsburgh Post-Gazette “Vintage Bragg: comforting, thought-provoking and as heartfelt as it gets. . . . [His] voice is as rich as ever as he finds fresh ways of telling stories both hilarious and poignant. . . . Where I Come From is a series of vignettes—little jewels on family, faith, food and Fords.” — BookPage About the Author Rick Bragg is the author of twelve books, including the best-selling Ava’s Man and All Over but the Shoutin’. He writes a monthly column for Southern Living, teaches writing at the University of Alabama, and is also a regular contributor to Garden & Gun magazine. He lives in Alabama. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. The Outcast I should have given up, I suppose, after the goat. He was not a regular goat. He was more part goat, part rhinoceros, about the size of a small horse, but with devil horns. He looked out on the world through spooky yellow eyes, and smelled like . . . well, I do not have the words to say. My little brother, Mark, bought him at the sprawling trade day in Collinsville, Alabama, for seventy-five dollars; I would have given him a hundred not to. The first thing the creature did, after coming into our possession, was butt the side of a truck. You have to be one terror of a goat to assault a Ford. His name, my little brother said, was Ramrod. “Why would you buy such a thing?” I asked my brother. He told me he planned to purchase a bunch of nanny goats to “get with” Ramrod, after whatever courtship it was that goats required. Ramrod would beget little Ramrods, who would beget more, till the whole world was covered in ill-tempered mutant goats. I think, sometimes, we did not love that boy enough. Ramrod moved into his new home in a beautiful mountain pasture in northeastern Alabama, and, first thing, butted heads with my mother’s equally ill-tempered donkey, Buckaroo. Buck staggered a few steps, and his head wobbled drunkenly from side to side, but he did not fall unconscious. This, in Buck’s mind, constituted a victory, and he trotted off, snorting and blowing, like he was somebody. My point is, Ramrod was a goat not to be messed with. Later that year, I was fishing with my brothers in the stock pond in that same pasture. The water was mostly clear, and you could see the