Once Molly, Duck-Duck’s mom, realizes Fishkill is a child in need she doesn’t hesitate to open up her home.

The two make a good team and the friendship between them was authentic and beautiful. Duck-Duck was once home schooled, and although she has a mature knowledge on how to use her mouth to her benefit, she lacks the street-smarts that Fishkill brings to the table. I enjoyed the way Duck-Duck grew and changed throughout the story and how understanding Fishkill was. I rooted for Fishkill from the start, wanting her and Duck-Duck to enjoy the fun created between the two. The plot alone of this book blew me away. Through Fishkill’s poetic and observant narrative we learn how a family can be created, how the family that you’re born into doesn’t need to define the choices you make in life, and witness the fortitude needed to continue forward after tragic loss strips down all defenses. Carmel Fishkill makes friends with Duck-Duck Farina and her life is forever changed. First, I should say that this story is deep-the main protagonist is a twelve (turned thirteen) year old girl living in rural poverty struggling to make sense of her situation. I will try my best to write a review deserving of Being Fishkill by Ruth Lehrer, but I know it’s unlikely I’ll do it justice. She can be found at ruthlehrer.What a heartbreakingly beautiful book. Her young adult novel, Being Fishkill, is available from Candlewick Press. Her poetry chapbook, Tiger Laughs When You Push, is published by Headmistress Press. Her writing has been published in many journals such as Lilith and Jubilat. Ruth Lehrer is a writer and sign language interpreter living in western Massachusetts. “Don’t lay your eggs too early,” she whispered as we stepped out onto the thin grey-line cracks. “With a blood stone,” she added, “and a wing feather,” that last part making it all impossible again.

“Keep your knives sharp,” she said, as we jumped a greyish sinkhole although I didn’t know how to grind dullness out. “Don’t slip,” she said next, which I took to mean she doubted the wings too.

“Use them,” but I knew she was just being kind. “I can’t leave you here,” she said, “the mud is deep and your tires are bald.” I didn’t know tread but I went along, placing my boots behind her steps, like a silent chorus line, slowly advancing in the muddy snow.