…You’ll Find a Home in Bones Beneath the Prairie
Some stories arrive like a storm over the prairie — sudden, fierce, impossible to ignore. They leave us breathless, clinging to the truth they’ve revealed. The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls was one of those for me. I remember closing its cover and carrying its echoes with me for days — the ache of a child who both loved and survived her family. Later came Educated by Tara Westover, and with it, the sharp recognition of what it costs to break free from silence, from loyalty, from the very blood that shaped you.
I did not set out to write the next Glass Castle or the next Educated. I set out to tell the story that was seared into me, the one I had carried in silence for too long. And yet, readers of Bones Beneath the Prairie tell me again and again that it makes them feel the way those books once made them feel.
One early reader said, “Reading this is like standing on the prairie and feeling the wind blow through your hair.”Another confessed she dreaded closing it at night because she felt as if she were losing the company of a friend. That is the greatest compliment a memoirist can receive — not that the story is dramatic or shocking, but that it feels alive, companionable, necessary.
My story carries its own soil — red dirt beneath my feet, oil rigs groaning on the horizon, cattle dust in the air, the music of the Fort Griffin Fandangle drifting through June nights. It is a Texas story, yes, but also a universal one: a young woman who married too young, who endured too much, who finally decided silence was no longer survivable. Like Walls, I was raised in a world where chaos and quiet colluded. Like Westover, I stepped away from the life I was given and paid dearly for it. But what Bones Beneath the Prairie adds to their chorus is the long arc of return — to Albany, to memory, to love, to faith. Not only the survival, but the choosing of grace on the other side.
If The Glass Castle showed us resilience, and Educated showed us the high cost of freedom, then Bones Beneath the Prairie shows us what it means to come home again — scarred, yes, but standing, still singing, still alive to joy.
So I offer this book to you, not as a teacher, not as a preacher, but as a companion on the road. If Walls or Westover once kept you up too late turning pages, I believe this story will keep you company in the same way.
You may find Bones Beneath the Prairie here. And if you have not yet read the sisters-in-spirit to this story, you may discover them here:
Some books don’t simply tell a tale — they sit with you in the dark, remind you of your own strength, and whisper that truth, once spoken, will always carry its own light. That is what I hope Bones will be for you.
For those who love holding a story in their hands, I’ve set aside a small number of signed Collector’s Editions, available now for preorder.
With affection,
Roseann