Cactus Rose of the Wild Rose Press

Vist the new historical blog

2011-03-11T05:32:00.000-08:00

Thank you for visiting the Cactus Rose Blog. Our authors of historical romance invite you to join them at http://twrphistoricalroseline.blogspot.com/

This Cactus Rose blog is no longer in use.
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A PIONEER SCENT

2010-04-29T05:00:00.000-07:00

A PIONEER SCENT
By, Roberta C.M. DeCaprio

I have to admit it, I’m a girlie girl . . . always have been and always will be. I love porcelain dolls dressed in delicate lace, the color pink, canopy beds, nail polish, make-up and above all, perfume. Some of my recent favorites are Chanel’s, Number 5, Clinque’s, Aromatic Elixir and Estee Lauder’s, Super Estee. In high school I wore Coty’s, Emeraude, Dana’s, Ambush and Prince Matchabellie’s, Wind Song . . . not to mention Love's, Lemon and Baby Soft, Chantilly Lace and Oh de London. As a throw-back from my hippie days, I also dabbed on a hint of sandalwood oil and different fragrances of musk; as well as my old staple, Patchouli.

My perfume fetish is something I’m proud of, especially when someone takes the time to ask, “What’s that scent you’re wearing?” So, I did a little research on what the pioneer women wore to smell nice, other then a dab of vanilla extract behind the ears. Thanks to the Crunchy Chicken and several sites on Lemon Verbena, this is what I came up with.

Remember Little House on the Prairie and Laura’s fascination with her teacher, Miss Beadle, who wore lemon verbena perfume? If you were a fan of the show, Mr. Edwards gave Laura lemon verbena perfume in two episodes. So, what better thing to learn as a pioneer skill than how to make your own lemon verbena perfume?

What exactly is lemon verbena and where did it come from?

Lemon verbena (or Lemon beebrush, Aloysia triphylla) is a deciduous perennial shrub native to Argentina, Paraguay, Brazil, Uruguay, Chile, Bolivia, and Peru. This plant was brought to Europe by the Spanish in the 17th century where it was used widely in perfume in the 18th century.

It grows to a height of 3 to 7 metres and exudes a powerful lemony scent. It prefers full sun, a lot of water, and a light loam soil. It is sensitive to cold, losing leaves at temperatures below 0°C although the wood is hardy to -10°C. Lemon verbena, if covered with some straw, cut down and kept free from very moist conditions, will also withstand up to a -15°C frost and will make new leaves in spring. The light green leaves are lancet-shaped, and its tiny flowers bloom lavender or white in August or September.

Lemon verbena leaves are used to add a lemony flavor to fish and poultry dishes, vegetable marinades, salad dressings, jams, puddings, and beverages. It also is used to make herbal teas and can be used to make a sorbet.

Lemon verbena has medicinal purposes as well. Traditionally, it has been used to treat asthma, fever, colds, flatulence, stomach upset and diarrhea. Today, even though the herb lemon verbena can be used in savory dishes and for medical reasons, it is still a fragrance widely used in perfumes. Lemon verbena has a woodsy scent, which helps add spiciness to many fragrances. And, because of the woodsy smell, lemon verbena in cologne makes a great scent for men as well as women.

If you’re interested in making your own batch of lemon verbena perfume, all you need to start is 100-proof vodka. The vodka, as a carrier for your perfume, is almost completely odorless and evaporates quickly when used on the skin, leaving behind just the fragrance. Combine about 24 drops of lemon verbena essential oil with two teaspoons of distilled water and two teaspoons of vodka. Pour all ingredients into a dark glass bottle and let them steep for at least 48 hours. Shake the bottle occasionally to mix the scent.

In the book, Gone with the Wind, lemon verbena was one of Scarlett O'Hara's mother's favorite scents. During that era, people made lemon verbena lavender perfume using pure essential oils. Lemon verbena lavender perfume makes a great combination since the lavender provides a relaxing scent while lemon verbena is refreshing. Bergamot acts as a refreshing top note. Start with 1/4 cup vodka and add 1/2 teaspoon lemon verbena oil, 5 drops of lavender essential oil and 5 drops of bergamot essential oil. Store and mix as above.

Now, I ask you ladies, who needs Estee Lauder?

Fort Ross...and an Easter Recipe

2010-04-09T00:01:00.000-07:00

Fort Ross, California, a former Russian trading post, is now a state historical landmark, 13 miles northwest of the mouth of the Russian River and 80 miles north of San Francisco. The fort represents the southern-most penetration of 19th century Russians who wished to establish a base on the California coast for sea otter hunting (which was relentless) and for the development of agricultural supplies for Russian settlements in Alaska.

In June 1812, a crew of 95 Russians and 40 Aleuts began to build a redwood fort and stockade on an elevated coastal plateau, and the Czar soon issued an edict closing the Pacific Coast north of San Francisco to all but Russian ships. The Russian government's attempt to control the region was responsible for that part of the Monroe Doctrine of 1823 which declared the New Would was no longer open to aggression by force and European countries could not extend their holdings in it.

With the horrific extermination of the sea otters and fur seals by the Russians, Americans, and British, the Russians increased agriculture and manufacturing in their California colony, but had little success. By the end of 1839, the officials of the Russian American Company ordered the colonists to sell out and return to Alaska. And Captain John A Sutter of New Helvetia (Sacramento) paid $30,000 in produce and gold for the property. For the next several years, his men demolished some of the buildings and removed the arms, equipment and livestock the Russians had left behind.

After 1845, the fort area became the center of a large ranch, its buildings used in various ways. The G. W. Call family purchased the fort and ranch in 1874. After the 1906 Earthquake destroyed the the Chapel, the fort site was purchased by the California Historical Landmarks Committee of San Francisco and presented to the State of California. Restored in 1955-57, Fort Ross is now open to visitors.

In honor of my Russian heritage, I thought I’d share a recipe today for Paska, otherwise known as Easter Bread.

2 1/2 cups bread flour
1/4 cup light cream or half and half
1/4 cup milk
1/3 cup sugar
2 eggs
1/4 cup butter or margarine
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 1/2 teaspoon yeast
1/2 cup raisins and glazed cherries, mixed

Heat milk, half and half and butter till butter melts. Add to
remaining ingredients in the order your machine requires. Add the
raisins/cherries when your machine stops for adding "extras".

Use the dough setting. Punch down. Traditional way to bake is to place dough in a coffee can to make the traditional "top hat" shape to bake, but it also works as a round loaf when baked on a cookie sheet. Bake at 350F., about 25 minutes. Cover top with foil for last 10 minutes if it appears to be browning too quickly.
Will make two small loaves, or one large one.

Enjoy!

~Tanya Hanson
www.tanyahanson.com
www.petticoatsandpistols.com

The Historical Journey

2010-04-02T07:49:00.000-07:00

Today is the release date of my first published book, TAME THE WILD WIND. Like most authors, I used to dream about this day. I probably spent more time dreaming than writing. It seems like I've always been interested in history and romance and writing - they fit naturally together, just like the old commercial where the candy bar falls into the peanut butter jar! I'd like to discuss historical research but with a twist - immersion into the world you're creating. In some cases this may be impossible, but I think you'll get the idea....

I rode in an 1880s stagecoach when I was 19. It was held up by masked bandits. The seats were narrow boards and we were all squished inside. I felt every jolt and start and stop of the horses. Not a comfy ride, and that was only an attraction at Angel's Camp, a historic gold-mining town in northern California. At 19, I'd already completed 3 or 4 historical romances and kept a ready eye out for research moments like this. As I rode in the stagecoach, I examined the interior: the thinly padded leather seat behind my back; the small lanterns inside. The narrow bench in the middle where the unfortunate occupant would have nothing to support him. I couldn't imagine traveling more than a few miles in such a contraption, but this was a viable means of transportation in the not so distant past. Ditto riding in a steam train at Allaire State Park in New Jersey.

Renaissance festivals and military reenactments are also a good source for the feel of a certain era. I recently attended the Crystal River Civil War Reenactment in Florida. Since Jed Hazard, the hero in TTWW is a former Union soldier, watching a battle unfold was interesting and exciting. The officers waited on the sidelines from their safe perches on horseback, giving orders and watching the fray. Women in bonnets and soiled aprons ran behind lines of soldiers, bringing bandages and water. Young drummer boys with sooty faces stayed out of the worst of it, while rebel yells and gunshot abounded. The best was to come - walking among the camps and seeing how soldiers lived was an eye-0pener. They cleaned their weapons, cooked food, drank from canteens, fed horses and dogs, polished boots, patched torn uniforms, smoked corncob pipes, and talked around the fire on wooden chairs or felled logs. There was even a demonstration of a medical tent replete with a cigar-smoking surgeon calling for ether to knock out a potential amputee, nurses crying over the dead, and a chaplain loudly urging the heavens to accept this "poor lost lamb who will no longer feel pain."

These reenactments are also well supplied with vendors, but of the authentic variety. I bought my son a handmade wooden sword and shield (ok, not Civil War, but at least not made in a store!) and they had rock candy, kettle corn, handmade dresses and bonnets, and then the antique dealers were there with hair receivers, mourning brooches, kid leather ladies' gloves, and other samples of daily life in the era.

I grew up in England, and still recall Sudeley Castle's jousting tournaments and medieval fairs. It was like Medieval Times but without the commercialism. Falconry was displayed the way it had been done for hundreds of years, powerful horses were bedecked in armor and colors of their knights, and the knights themselves - whoo boy! Ladies in flowing gowns and headpieces, jugglers, fire eaters - the list goes on. We visited many stately homes and castles, and it was easy to imagine living in another time! Walking on old parquet or ancient stone floors, peering into gigantic gilt-framed mirrors, examining period costumes or bed hangings and tapestries - this was food for my eager little researcher's mind. When Henry VIII's Hampton Court went through a disastrous fire in the 1980s, my mom toured it months later. They were ushered through one of the rooms that had not been restored, and a lingering red tapestry fringe still hung on the wall. Apparently, during the fire, the firemen had sliced the tapestries from the walls where they were bolted on. The fringes and borders remained. Well, being the "research assistant" she is, Mom grabbed a string and kept it. I later embroidered this 10 inch long, 500-year old faded red thread into a little keepsake for her. That little thread could tell stories, I'm sure!

I hope you enjoy reading historical romance for many more years to come. Immerse yourself in a story the way the writer has. Live the history. Feel the romance and joy. Lose your heart in a book!

Men of the West

2010-04-01T21:05:00.000-07:00

While thinking of the men who ‘tamed’ the west, lawmen, outlaws, cattlemen and cowboys, gamblers, miners, farmers, preachers and doctors come to mind, as well as a few others, but for my latest release, Boot Hill Bride, the hero is one rarely recognized—a chef. Hog (Howard) Quinter, loves to cook and sets a goal to create the most elegant restaurant/hotel Dodge City ever hosts. When he’s caught in bed with the daughter of the man running for Governor of Kansas, his dream becomes a nightmare.

Everyone who’s ever taken a road trip knows the excitement of getting out of the car and having a good meal. That excitement was there in the 1800’s as well. Restaurants, cafés, eateries, roadhouses, hotels, boarding houses, or whatever we want to call them, were as important to towns as saloons and churches.

Just today we returned from another trip to Kansas to see family, and once again I didn’t find the time to get over to the eastern part of the state where there is a small town, Brookville (population 239), that I want to visit. For years the town boasted one of America’s oldest and longest running restaurants. (The family who has owned the restaurant for the last 100 years opened a replica of the original restaurant up near the interstate several years ago.)

The literature I’ve read says the railroad’s arrival in 1870 made Brookville a central hub for the Texas cattle drives coming up the Chisholm Trail and the town soared with growth, hosting every type of business needed to keep the cowboys and railroad men happy—including an opera house. Less than twenty years later, the trains moved their hubs to Junction City, KS, and the town shriveled, yet continued to survive until an army base was built nearby and brought thousands of soldiers. Then, after the war, when I-70 was built the less traveled highway traveling through Brookville soon became cracked and overgrown leaving the town all but forgotten once again.

Established as the Cowtown Café in 1870 the cafe served meals to buffalo hunters, cowboys, railroad men, soldiers, travelers, and a host of others including local residents. In 1894 the name was changed to the Brookville Hotel. Their chicken dinners are what made them legendary.

It was a few years ago that I picked up the literature about the Brookville Hotel while we were traveling along the interstate and after reading about the restaurant I knew I had to create a hero who loved to cook.

Boot Hill Bride, The Quinter Brides Book 3 was released in print this week and will be released in e-book on April 16th. Here’s the blurb and a short excerpt:

Howard (Hog) Quinter is hell bent on getting The Majestic, the finest hotel and restaurant west of the Mississippi, open by May 1st. The last thing he needs is interference from his family, but that’s exactly what he gets when Ma Quinter strikes one brisk morning. Sound asleep, Howard rolls over to discover a lovely young woman lying beside him, however, standing at the foot of the bed are his mother, the girl's father, and a blubbering preacher reading wedding nuptials.

Randilynn Fulton runs from a forced marriage to her aunt in Dodge City, only to discover Aunt Corrine is one of Danny J’s brothel girls. If she stays, Randi may become one as well, which would damage her father's chance at running for the Governor’s seat. But it gets worse when she finds herself in the middle of what she ran from—a shotgun wedding, and she’s the bride.

Excerpt:

Even sitting here, stinging from the cold of the night, his fingers tingled, wanting to touch her silky skin, caress the curve of her back and examine those perfect dimples—

“Holy shit!” Snake exclaimed under his breath.

Howard snapped his head up. Both of his brothers stared over his shoulders, their mouths agape, and their eyes as round as biscuits.

“What?” he asked, twisting his neck to follow the trail of their gazes. His jaw went lax, the bottom of his chin all but slapped against his chest. The sight he stared at knocked the air out of him harder than being thrown off a wild bucking bronc.

Inside the canvas, the flickering light of the lantern made his tent glow brighter than the moon. The white, heavy tarp had become pale yellow, and a dark silhouette moved about inside the gently billowing sides. It was a moment before his eyes locked on the shadow and registered what he saw, sending the impulse to his brain.

Randi was undressing, and the light projected each movement against the canvas screen more clearly than the finest painter could create. Her graceful, womanly profile moved with perfection as she drew her gown over her head. The contours of her breasts, flat stomach, the inward arch of her lower back, and her long, slender legs became clearly visible to onlookers.

“Shit!” Howard leaped to his feet. Almost as an afterthought, he grabbed the hat off his head and swiped it at both of his brothers, knocking theirs askew. “Turn around!” he demanded before storming off toward his tent.

Jogging across the grass, he shouted, “Randi! Randi! Dowse the light!”

The silhouette inside stalled.

“Dowse the light!” he repeated.

PIONEER DAY DISCIPLINE

2010-03-25T05:00:00.000-07:00

PIONEER DAY DISCIPLINE

By, Roberta C.M. DeCaprio

The other day my friend’s twelve year old son forgot his homework, and so after school his teacher had him sit in detention. Now, the detention room is one of the class rooms, painted in a clean, neutral color, airy and bright with lots of windows. You are forbidden to talk to the student next to you, but you are allowed to do your homework or read a book for the forty-five minutes you’re serving your sentence.
When my friend’s son came home with the note his teacher sent, my friend explained the importance of him being responsible and then told him if it happened again he wouldn’t be able to play games on his computer for a week.
In my day we were either grounded or had phone and television privileges removed.
Let’s look at the pioneer day discipline:

Flogging:

Misbehaved students were flogged in Pioneer times. It was a totally embarrassing episode whether done in school or at home.
In school, if a child misbehaved the teacher would drag the student struggling up to the front of the class, in full view of other snickering students. The chastised child would then be completely horsed over the teacher’s knee – with an elbow hard upon his neck to keep him securely on. Then, with a thick strap the teacher proceeded to punish the child’s backside with several hard whips. In some schools a whipping post was installed, whereby a child was tied to and whipped in front of his classmates.
“When I’m through, you’ll need a warming pan to sit in tonight,” the teacher would threaten. But it did not end with the comforts of a warming pan once the child got home. Usually more flogging followed and more humiliation.
At home, a parent would make the child go out and find a long, willowy switch from a tree, cut it down and wait in the woodshed. While there, the misbehaved child would have time to ponder his actions. Most times, I’m sure, it was more a worry as to what was to come next that filled his thoughts. After enough time had passed and the child was ripe with fear and regret, the parent would enter the wood shed, sit upon a stool, and take the switch into his own hand. The child would then be ordered over the parent’s knee, breeches or bloomers lowered to the ankles, and a very tender, bared behind reddened by repeated blows using the switch.

Elizabeth Montgomery, in her Reminiscence of 1851, recounts practices in the girls’ school of a Mrs. Elizabeth Way. For permitting her head to fall forward, a girl was forced to wear a necklace of sharp Jamestown weed-burrs, strung on tape. If tasks were slighted, a girl was forced to wear leather spectacles.

The old test of good discipline was, if you can hear a pin drop, then the order in the school is perfect. The implication was that the "wheels in the head" make no noise when in action. The teacher was advised never to smile until Christmas. The youngsters were generally marched into the classroom, marched to classes, and then marched out of the building. The old time teacher, by virtue of his position, was a dictator.

The teacher enforced order and quiet among students except for recitation periods. Pupils spoke only when called upon by the teacher or requested periods. Permission to speak was granted by raising their right arm.They were usually required to stand when speaking to the teacher or to the class. Titles of respect (Miss, Mister, Ma'am, and Sir) were always used in addressing the teacher. Students were required to speak correctly.

Punishment took numerous forms. Corporal punishment was not unheard of nor was other extreme penalties such as detention, suspension and even expulsion. Lesser punishments, more common at that time than now, included such things as a rap on the hands or knuckles with a steel edged ruler; standing in a corner with face to the wall; wearing a dunce cap, facing the room, and sitting upon a high stool beside the teacher's desk; standing for long periods with arms held straight out in front; standing with an arm outstretched, palm up, while holding a heavy book on that hand for a long period; or being banished to the girls' cloakroom (if the culprit were a boy).

“Modern Standards" Appearing in the Later 1800s:

In the period between the Civil War and the middle of the twentieth century, there was increased attention to the individual development of school children. The earlier conceptions of strict discipline and even brutal punishment gave way to more sympathetic views of the child as an individual. Authoritarian discipline and corporal punishment were softened, and greater attention was given to the development of habits of self-discipline.

According to V. H. Culp, author of How to Manage a Rural School, "The discipline of the rural school should be more like that of a well ordered family with the teacher as its head. The children should be able to get a drink or a book or even leave the room, without permission except in occasional cases where such privileges are abused. If the older children are encouraged to help the younger ones upon many occasions a feeling of cooperation will always be in evidence."

When a child could not conduct himself in routine affairs without disturbing the school, or wasted his own time, his liberties must be restricted until the rules were learned. Punishment should always be in proportion to the transgression. The certainty of punishment rather than the severity would deter evil doers. Corporal punishment and suspension should be used only as a last resort. It was taken for granted that the Golden Rule, courtesy, fairness, and good manners were the standard of conduct.

I don’t know what sort of Golden Rule is practiced today. I’ve seen children in markets, malls, and theaters acting out to horrible proportions. They overule the parent's authority, having no fear of the consequences. And the parents are between a rock and a hard place because administering a slap or sending a child to bed without supper today is considered child abuse.

I’m glad my children are adults and I don’t have to deal with such things. And when they call me concerned over problems they’re having with their own offspring, I remember something my grandmother once told to my mother. “Grandchildren are a parent’s revenge.”

First Oregon Female Physician

2010-03-16T00:01:00.000-07:00

This being Women in History Month I'd like to introduce you to one of the women in Oregon history who has been an influence on my historical stories.

Bethenia Owens-Adair- 1840-1926

In 1859 Bethienia divorced her husband LeGrande Hill—She was nineteen and had a three-year-old child. She married Hill at the age of fourteen. The stigma of the divorce followed her through her whole life.

She was a strong woman who refused to be a victim. She left the abusive marriage and raised her son as well as earned two medical degrees. One of the first women to practice medicine in Oregon she was also friends with Abigail Scott Duniway and became a subscription agent and regular contributor to Duniway's woman's right newspaper in Portland, OR.

This woman's story is what inspired my heroine in my June release, Doctor in Petticoats. She wasn't married before or divorced but she is strong of character and fights against society to be the best doctor she can be.

Here is the blurb:
Clay Halsey not only loses his sight in an accident but his self-confidence as well. His brothers enroll him in a blind school. Feeling worthless and unwanted, it takes the courage of a young man and the trust of a woman to help him see he has future.

Doctor Rachel Tarkiel has settled for a life healing others and ignored her emotional wounds. When Clay shows her friendship and affection, she wonders if there is a chance she can have a life like others, or are her scars too deep to heal?

Excerpt:
“I’m going to look in your other eye now.” She, again, placed a hand on his face and opened the eyelids, stilling her fluttering heart as she pressed close. His clean-shaven face had a couple small nicks on the edges of his angular cheeks. The spice of his shave soap lingered on his skin.
She resisted the urge to run her cheek against his. The heat of his face under her palm and his breath moving wisps of wayward hair caused her to close her eyes and pretend for a few seconds he could be her husband. A man who loved her and wouldn’t be threatened by her occupation or sickened by her hideous scar.
His breathing quickened. A hand settled on her waist, slid around to her back, and drew her forward. Her hand, holding the lens, dropped to his shoulder, and she opened her eyes. This behavior on both their parts was unconscionable, but her constricted throat wouldn’t allow her to utter the rebuke.
Clay sensed the moment the doctor slid from professional to aroused woman. The hand on his cheek caressed rather than held, her breathing quickened, and her scent invaded his senses like a warm summer rain.

Paty Jager
www.patyjager.net
www.patyjager.blogspot.com

America's Historic Breed: The Morgan

2010-03-12T11:18:00.000-08:00

When my editor e-mailed me during edits that “you need a breed” for the stolen horses in Christmas for Ransom, my novella in the upcoming Lawmen and Outlaws Christmas anthology, I discovered the Morgan.

This historic American breed started up about the same time as the United States itself, when legendary stallion Figure was born in 1789 in southern New England. He is the origin of our country’s first breed of light horse.

This bay horse had many talents, and he quickly gained fame. Not as big as colonial workhorses nor as tall and long-legged as race horses, he nonetheless consistently outperformed both. He became widely known for his ability to pull stumps and logs for settlers, and was also used as a saddle and driving horse. But he had fun, too, winning races and pulling contests, and was a favorite mount at militia parades. He even carried President James Monroe on a muster-day parade.

All Morgans today trace back to Figure, the “foundation sire.” Since Figure was at one time owned by a man named Justin Morgan, the horse later came to be identified by that name. Subsequently, the entire breed as well. “Justin Morgan” became famed for his prepotency –the passing on all of his distinctive looks, conformation, temperament and athleticism no matter if the mare breeding with him was a large draft horse or an elegant racing type. The “prince of steeds” died at the age of 32 from a kick in his flank by another horse.

His offspring and descendents didn’t disappoint. Blessed with ground-covering gaits, Morgans covered many miles day after day at a steady rate of speed. They were dependable and determined to get the job done, making them a favorite horse in all lines of work. Earning a reputation as “horses of all work,” they were the preferred teams for stagecoach lines, for fieldwork on farms, and for transportation to town by the 1820’s. In the 1840’s, the breed’s trotting ability made it a favorite for harness racing, and its strength found Morgans headed for the California goldfields.

Justin Morgan’s grandson, Black Hawk and great grandson Hale’s Green Mountain Morgan dominated the sires by mid-century. Black Hawk, beloved for his speed and elegant style, sired a world champion trotter, and in the 1850’s, these two stallions charmed visitors to Midwestern state fairs and heightened the demand for Morgans in the west.

They were taken to California as ranch and harness racers, and helped run the Pony Express. Several units of cavalry in the Civil War were comprised of Morgans, including the Vermont Cavalry. U.S. General Philip Sheridan’s charger Winchester (a.k.a. Rienzi), a noble horse immortalized after the war, was a descendant of Black Hawk.

The only survivor of Custer’s regiment at the Battle of Little Bighorn was his Morgan-mustang, Comanche.

Bred to be taller today, the Morgan’s deep body, lovely head, and straight-clean boned legs make it still a hit from cowhands in Montana to show-rings and dressage. The Morgan is at home mounted by tourists on America’s trails and by-ways as well as mounted police in the city. Its gentleness and soundness makes this horse beloved as a therapeutic riding horse for those with various disabilities.

When you’re in Shelburne Vermont, you can visit the Morgan Museum.

What horses "ride” through your favorite books? Ever ridden a Morgan?

~Tanya Hanson
www.tanyahanson.com
www.petticoatsandpistols.com

Kansas-The Breadbasket of the Nation

2010-03-04T18:05:00.000-08:00

If you drive along the highways in Kansas you’ll see signs proudly proclaiming Kansas as the number one wheat producer—which is accurate. Since the 1870’s stats have been kept on wheat production, and the only state closely rivaling Kansas over all the years has been North Dakota.

Wheat is one of the oldest known foods, and is believed to have been derived from wild grasses thousands of years ago. It wasn’t brought to the U.S. until the seventeenth century and not to Kansas until the mid 1800’s. Some early settlers grew wheat, but most grew corn. It wasn’t until a class known as winter wheat proved to thrive in the dry land that the crop really took off. Russian-German immigrants, used to dry land cultivation, started dedicating large portions of their recently acquired Kansas acreage to the plants.

Machinery to harvest the wheat quickly transformed from the hand scythe to horse drawn and steam powered thrashing machines. The railroads criss-crossing the state from the cattle days provided the farmers access to markets and mills. Grain storage also grew rapidly and most every town boasted a grain elevator and mill.

A longtime Kansas farmer was quoted as saying, “Wheat is the crop of first importance. It’s the backbone of our economy, and made Kansas famous around the world.”

Bread was a mainstay, and baked regularly. In some households daily.

From a very old family cookbook, here is a basic bread recipe. (My mother still uses this recipe. I cheat and buy the frozen loaves.)

• 1 tea cup milk
• 2 scoops butter
• 1/2 teacup warm water
• 2 spoons active dry yeast
• 2 big spoons sugar
• 1 palm of salt (teaspoon)
• 1 teacup of warm water
• 6-7 teacups flour
Heat milk and butter until butter melts. Set aside. Mix yeast with the ½ teacup of warm water and stir until well dissolved. Set aside. Put sugar, salt, and 1 teacup of warm water in a large bowl. Mix. Add milk and butter. Add yeast. Add flour one cup at a time until it’s too difficult to mix with spoon. Turn onto floured board and knead in the remaining flour until the dough is smooth, not sticky. (Add flour if needed.) Grease a large bowl with butter. Put the bread dough into the bowl and roll until well coated. Cover the bowl. Let rise. Punch down and knead into loafs. Place in buttered loaf pans. Butter the tops and let rise again. Bake for 45 min at 350.

I have no idea why they signify ‘teacup’, but there truly is nothing like the smell of homemade bread baking!

With my Quinter Brides series set in Kansas, I knew one of the brother’s would have to be a wheat farmer. Shotgun Bride has Kid, the cattle man. Badland Bride has Skeeter, the bone hunter. Boot Hill Bride has Hog, the restaurant owner, and (finally) the forth book, Guardian Bride, has Snake the wheat farmer. (Wildcat Bride has Bug, the oil man.)

I’ve had so much fun with this family. I’m really going to miss them when I type ‘the end’ on the last story. (Which is probably why I still have one chapter to finish on Wildcat Bride.)

Here’s an excerpt from Guardian Bride—The Quinter Brides Book Four.

The jingle of harnesses and the creak and clatter of wagon wheels interrupted the casual tweets of the prairie songbirds. Frowning, Snake moved beyond the end of the long rows of wheat. The small plume of dust had grown closer. He squinted. With the force of a lightning bolt, his heart plummeted into a dark, spooky place.

An old mule, wearing a hat that someone had cut long slits in the brim so the animal’s ears could stick out and full of purple and pink flowers, trotted along the trail. Dust rose into the air in the animal’s wake. Two women sat on the seat of an odd shaped, little wagon. He began to shake. They didn’t need to come closer for him to know who they were. The driver wore a hat to match the mules, minus the ear slots, and the woman beside her, totted a well-used shotgun.

Fear like he’d never known raced over his body, and he scanned the vast ground, erratically trying to figure out which way to run.

Just as he hefted a leg, which felt like it weighed three hundred pounds, a rough voice sliced the air. “Don’t move! I got you in my sights!”

“Aw, shit!” The two women—together—could only mean one thing. Turning back to the wagon, he shouted, “Put the gun away, Ma, you ain’t gonna shoot me.”

“You don’t know that!” she reiterated.

On second thought, a good round of buckshot wouldn’t be as bad as the alternative—marrying the woman who sat beside his mother, glowering at him like he’d just killed her mule, hat and all.

Summer Austin flinched as the gun in the woman’s hands clicked. Out of the corner of her eye she checked if the woman sitting beside her had cocked the trigger.

Stephanie Quinter had. Moreover, one gnarled finger was set to pull the lever back the rest of the way.

Summer swallowed, stirring up the bile that already churned in her stomach. Marrying Snake Quinter wasn’t necessarily what she wanted, but he was her ticket out of Dodge, and she had to take it. Another option wasn’t likely to come along and time had run out.

(The picture is of the stove my husband bought me about twenty years ago for my dining room. I still love it.)

The Invention of the Toothbrush

2010-03-02T08:42:00.000-08:00

I love research. While gathering information on another topic, I ran across this information about the toothbrush and decided it would make an interesting blog topic. I shudder to think what life would be like without a toothbrush but in one of my books a cowboy who forgot his used a frayed stick to clean his teeth so I guess I would make do. As a child I can remember cleaning my teeth with baking soda at my grandmothers as that's what she used. It's not one of my favorite memories but it did the trick.

Here's a little of what I learned.

Before toothbrushes people in Egypt and Babylonia used "chew sticks", a frayed twig usually made from an aromatic tree, to clean their teeth and freshen their breath.

The first tooth brush can be attributed to the Chinese in around 1498. It was described as having a cattle-bone handle embedded with Siberian pig hair bristles.

The picture below is a stickbrush formed from a tree branch. This photo is shown on the American Dental Association website.

The first mass produced toothbrush was invented around 1770 in Newgate Prison by convict William Addis. Bored, William spent his time thinking of ways to make a living when released. Care of teeth at the time consisted of rubbing the teeth with a rag or sponge, sometimes dipped in sulfer oil, or chalk or salt as an abrasive. He decided this wasn't affective. After some thought, he bored tiny holes in a small bone, remains from his previous meal. He obtained some bristles from the jailer, inserted the bristles into the holes, tied a knot, and applied glue to hold them securely in place. The first tooth brush was born.

In America H. N. Wadsworth received the first patent for his toothbrush. Mass production didn't begin in America until 1885.

Boar bristles were used in toothbrushes until 1938 when nylon bristles were introduced by Dupont de Nemours. This toothbrush was called Doctor West's Miracle Toothbrush. The disciplined hygiene habits of WW II soldiers greatly influenced Americans about good oral hygiene.

In 1960 one of the first electric toothbrushes, Broxodent, was sold by the Squibb company.

The above information can be found on
http://www.loc.gov/rr./scitech/mysteries/tooth.html
http://www.computersmiths.com/chineseinvention/toothbrush.htm

Thanks for reading.

Linda
http://www.lindalaroque.com/

AMERICAN WRITERS OF PIONEER TIMES

2010-02-25T05:01:00.000-08:00

AMERICAN WRITERS OF PIONEER TIMES
By Roberta C.M. DeCaprio

As a writer, I am a firm believer in reading other author’s books to help fine tune my own writing skills. When I read a novel I not only enjoy the author’s work and respect the time and talent it took to weave the story, but I also examine sentence structure, plot and sub-plot, the character’s point of view and the dialogue. I read all genres (authored by both men and women) and take what I learn in these areas to make my own writing skills improve. It’s an ongoing task, as none of us can know everything there is to know about any skill. When we think we do, we cease to learn and then to grow in our field.

Some of my own favorite authors are Diana Gabaldon, Karen Marie Moning, Nicholas Sparks, Dean Koontz, P.C. Cast, Stephanie Meyer, Julie Garwood, and Samantha James to name a few. Being surrounded by my own library, I wondered who and what the pioneer folks read by candlelight once the chores were done and the children bedded down for the night. Here are a few of the American authors and the novels I discovered:

Nathaniel Hawthorne (1804 – 1864), The Scarlet Letter and The House of Seven Gables.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807 – 1882), The Song of Hiawatha, The Courtship of Miles Standish and Paul Revere’s Ride.

Edgar Allen Poe (1809 – 1849), The Tell-Tale Heart and The Pit and the Pendulum.

Harriet Beecher Stowe (1811 – 1896), Uncle Tom’s Cabin.

Herman Melville (1819 – 1891), Moby Dick.

Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892), Calvary Crossing a Ford.

Louisa May Alcott (1832 – 1888), Little Women

Samuel Clemmons/Mark Twain (1835 – 1910), The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, and The Prince and the Pauper.

Washington Irving (1783 – 1859) Rip Van Winkle and The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.

James Fenimore Cooper (1789 – 1851) The Last of the Mohigans and The Deerslayer.

L. Frank Baum (1856 – 1919) The Wizard of Oz.

They are amazing authors, but what is truly amazing is their stories are still read and enjoyed today. Their talent and creativity have spanned decades and many of them have had their story turned into a movie. I wonder what they'd have to say about that? Hmmm . . . not bad! Perhaps I should re-read and study these authors better myself, hopefully some of their success might rub off on me.

Table Tales

2010-02-23T20:23:00.000-08:00

My mother is the Queen of garage sales, thrift shops and flea markets. If there's something obscure that I'm looking for, all I have to do is have Mom add it to her "list" and I know sooner or later, it will show up in the famous "goodie boxes" she sends us from the east coast.

Sometimes the goodies might be of questionable value, but we have received antique crocks, old tools and jewelry in those boxes. Just like in the movie Forrest Gump, "you know what you're gonna get".

My mother enjoys the hunt more than anything and being of the generation that experienced the great depression, she likes to get a bargain too.

One of the things she found for me has turned out to be a invaluable resource for historical research. It's a reprint of the 1897 Sears Roebuck Catalogue.

The introduction proudly boasts that should all the records of the late eighteenth century be lost, this book could serve as a historical description for everyday life in that time period. I find myself referring to it often when I'm writing.

Last week when I was looking for some examples of a sideboard for my work-in-progress, I realized something amazing. In the furniture listings, there were several tables that made me laugh. Not because they're goofy or overly elegant in that Victorian style that was so over the top. These were plain, ordinary and very serviceable tables for the kitchen or dining room.

What made me laugh was the realization that I have these tables in my house.

I actually have two baking tables, one in the entry way of my house and one in the upstairs of our barn. We're waiting for our "someday" house to find a place for that one.

My dining room set has been refinished once and we're considering having it done again. The finish is getting a bit sticky, and the chairs have been re glued several times. The table costs $3.40 when it was purchased new.

The really great thing is that my mother bought it at an auction in the sixties for $1.00 and that included six chairs. I know some people who visit us and see all our old stuff wonder why we don't buy some shiny new things. But for me , it's the stories that were told around these tables that make using them everyday so special. I imagine a family in the 1800's on the first day this dining room table was brought home, how proudly the mother put her dinner on it and how rich that family must have felt to have such a treasure.

The baking table might have had a top with a flour sifter, spice jars and other special features. I wonder how many holiday pies and loaves of warm homemade bread sat on the surface? How many family members walked through the door at the end of the day to smell a treat just from the oven?

When I write, I often thumb through that catalog, enjoying all the everyday things people dreamt of owning. It truly was a "wish book" and now it serves to make my imaginary worlds more real to the folks who read my books.

In my book, Promise Me, I have my couple often sitting at a table to eat or talk. The first time Sam and Amanda meet, it's in the Parmeter House kitchen late at night.

She felt as if she had somehow intruded, that the light banter had dissolved into something else. She didn't know what to say, and remained silent while the shadows in the corners of the kitchen grew deeper. What was it about confidences exchanged at midnight? Perhaps it was sometimes easier to confess to a stranger than to talk with a friend.

"I recently lost my husband. He was the only family I had left. . ." Her voice trailed off, and she closed her eyes to keep the tears from forming as she took another sip of the drink.

When she opened her eyes he was staring at her. "How do you feel about that, Amanda -- about being so alone?"

His easy use of her first name was too personal, but she wasn't offended. It seemed natural, as if this conversation had taken place many times before. Perhaps it was the anonymity of talking to someone she didn't know, but for some reason she felt comfortable enough to tell him the truth.

"It's frightening. I'm terrified the sadness will simply overwhelm me someday, and that I'll be consumed by it. And if I disappear, who's going to miss me? I don't think anyone will mourn my passing or even remember me." She swallowed a sob, as a tear trickled down her cheek. What was she doing? This man didn't care how empty and bereft she felt. First, she had flirted outrageously with him, and now she was going to humiliate herself by dissolving into tears in his presence.

She dropped her head, waiting for him to stand up and leave. She didn't share her deepest feelings with people she knew, much less complete strangers. What had he done to make her feel so vulnerable? Listened? Was she that desperate for someone to talk to?

He moved his pie around on the china plate before dropping his fork. When he made no move to rise and walk out of the room, she swallowed and tried to make her voice sound teasing again.

"What are your intentions regarding that pie?" She wiped away a tear and lifted her face to give him a coy look.

He pushed the plate toward her. "Can I interest you in some?"

She nodded, leaning forward to pick up his fork. It was an intimate thing to do, to use his utensil. It simply wasn't proper. It would be like pressing her lips to his in a kiss. That thought made her even bolder. She scooped up a forkful of cherries and grinned.

Do you have an heirloom or antique in your home that comes with a special story?

Deborah Schneider is the 2009 RWA Librarian of the Year

Promise Me is available from The Wild Rose Press

Visit her website at www.debschneider.com to view her book trailer with photos she and her husband took in Montana and Wyoming.

Nez Perce Womanhood

2010-02-16T00:01:00.000-08:00

As promised a little more insight into being a Nez Perce woman in the 17 and 1800's. The children of Nez Perce families were taught by their grandparents. The grandfathers taught the boys how to make weapons, hunt, fish, track, and fight. Grandmothers taught the girls how to take care of their families, do the chores, and help their men. The elders passed down the stories of the trickster coyote and how "The People" came to be. By reading books of their legends you see how the legends taught the children basic truths about life and how to conduct themselves to be good Nez Perce.

Grandmothers also taught the girls about the coming of age and were by their sides during marriages and the births. When a girl began her menstrual cycle she would stay in the menstrual lodge for the duration of her bleeding. They believed the women carried strong powers during this time and were susceptible to getting pregnant.

This isolation served a purpose. They held private discussions about personal problems and conditions of health, exchanged views on herbal medicine, and composed songs. The cooked their own meals in the lodge and did not touch anything outside nor could they attend any ceremonies during this time.

They used buffalo hides with the fur still on for menstruation pads or buckskin and milkweed. The pads were put in a hole in the middle of the dwelling and buried.

After puberty girls were no longer allowed to play with boys and stayed in a lodge with their grandmothers and aunts and taught the ways of women.

Paty Jager
www.patyjager.net
www.patyjager.blogspot.com
Photo source: First People
Source: Nez Perce Women in Transition, 1877-1990 by Caroline James; NeeMePoo by Allen P. Slickpoo, SR. and Deward E. Walker, Jr.

Mary Ann Todd, aka Mrs. Abraham Lincoln

2010-02-12T00:25:00.000-08:00

While the Civil War raged, Southerners scorned her as a traitor to her birth. Citizens loyal to the Union suspected her of treason. She was holding her husband’s hand when he was shot by an assassin, and declared insane later in her life.

Who was she? Mary Todd Lincoln. Last February 12, I coincidentally had this date for a Cactus Rose blog and of course honored her husband. This year, I decided to learn a little more about her.

Mary Ann Todd was born on December 13, 1818, one of seven children born into a prominent family in Lexington, Kentucky. Her mother passed away when she was seven, and she later described her childhood as “desolate.” An excellent student, she spoke French fluently.

In 1839, Mary moved to Springfield, Illinois, to live at the home of her older sister, and here, the tiny young woman became a popular socialite. She dated both Stephen A. Douglas and Abraham Lincoln, but it was Lincoln who won her heart. At their wedding in 1843, he gave her a ring engraved with the words "Love is Eternal."

Over the next eleven years, four sons were born to the couple who had settled in Springfield. Mary was known as a very loving, devoted mother, but sadly, only Robert (1843-1926) lived to adulthood.

When her husband was elected to the U.S. House of Representatives in 1846, Mary and the children lived with him in Washington for part of his single term. Back home in 1849, Abraham practiced law for five years before his interests returned to politics. After his well-known series of debates with Stephen A. Douglas, he was elected over three other Presidential candidates in November 1860 and inaugurated the next March as the 16th president.

Mary’s position as First Lady fulfilled her high social ambitions, but her White House years were a mixture of triumph and misery. Among her joys were refurbishing the White House and spending much time on visits with injured soldiers in hospitals. In addition to bringing them food and flowers, she read to them, wrote them letters, and raised $1,000 for the Christmas dinner at a military hospital.

Mary provided support for the Contraband Relief Association which helped blacks who came to the North during the Civil War. She was ardently opposed to slavery, and she strongly supported her husband's pro-Union policies.

However, Mary incurred ire for extravagant shopping orgies that were deemed unpatriotic extravagances. Her reputation was soundly thrashed because she had relatives who sided with the South in the war. In fact, several kinfolk died fighting for the Confederacy. Resulting, her own loyalty to the Union was often suspect.

After her husband’s tragic death five days after General Lee surrendered to Ulysses Grant in April, 1865, Mary never recovered. A month later, she left Washington to live in Chicago, trying a couple of years later to raise money by selling her old clothes through dealers in New York.

This unsuccessful business deal embarrassed her son Robert, who was fast on his way to becoming a highly-regarded attorney. She moved to Europe for three years, visiting health spas to ease increasingly bothersome arthritis. Upon the death of son Tad, her irrational fears and behaviors alarmed her surviving son, and Robert instigated an insanity hearing.

A jury of twelve men declared Mary insane after witnesses testified to erratic behavior and habits. The judge admitted "the disease was of unknown duration; the cause is unknown." Mary spent about four months in a private sanitarium in Batavia, Illinois.

In September 1875, she went to Springfield once again to live with her sister's family. The next year a second jury found her sane. Later she traveled to France, visiting spas as her health began to decline. It is suspected she suffered from undiagnosed diabetes, spinal arthritis and migraine headaches.

By the time she returned to her sister’s home in 1880, she was going blind. She passed away on July 16, 1882, at age 63. Since physicians wrote "paralysis" on the death certificate, the cause was probably a stroke.

Mary was buried next to her husband in the Lincoln Tomb Cemetery in Springfield. On her wedding ring, quite thin from wear, the words "Love is Eternal" were still visible.

~Tanya Hanson
www.tanyahanson.com
www.petticoatsandpistols.com

Modern Trip or Lifelong Journey

2010-02-04T11:56:00.000-08:00

Twice in December, I came home from work to have my husband explain we would leave for Kansas the next morning (family emergencies). It’s about 2000 miles round trip. Our ‘luggage’ consisted of clothes. Period. Sure, we had the extra pair of shoes, boots or coat, our bathroom necessities, and one or two other things, such as cell phones, my laptop and my husband’s pillow. (He goes no where without it.) But we didn't need to worry about food. Anytime we were hungry we could pull into a restaurant and eat. Nor did we worry about ‘fuel’ for our car, because that too was simply and exit away. When we arrived at our destination, we checked into the hotel room we had reserved in advance…

Let’s turn back the clock to a woman whose husband came home one day and informed his family--come spring they would head west. If the husband was an ‘established business man’, the wife may have had a life of leisure up to this point. Meaning, she may have had help with the household chores, which might have provided her with time to tend to a rose garden or have tea with her lady friends. If the husband was a laborer or farmer, the wife most likely not only worked the fields with him, she managed her household single-handedly as well.

It would have been her job to pack the necessities for the long trip, while her husband secured their passage. Conestoga wagons were actually far and few when it came to wagon trains. The original Conestoga’s were freight hauling wagons. It took six to eight horses or up to a dozen oxen to pull one wagon. The floors of a Conestoga wagon were curved upward to keep the cargo from tipping or slipping, and these wagons could haul up to 12,000 pounds.

Some Conestoga wagons were used to for the California Gold Rush, but by the time the migration wagon trains were happening, most wagons were Prairie Schooners. The name came about because some thought the white canvas tops crossing the prairies looked like sail boats crossing the ocean. Schooners were average farm wagon with arched, wooden bows holding the canvas stretched from side to side. Conestoga wagons had suspension, Schooners did not. The ride was usually so rough, people chose to walk. Schooners were pulled by mules or oxen. (Horses weren’t sturdy enough to make the trip.) If oxen pulled the wagon, a drover or teamster walked on the left side of the oxen, shouting commands or cracking a whip. If mules were used, they were harnessed and driven by someone sitting on the wagon seat.

The woman would have had to decide what to take west. She may have created a list of things to sell or giveaway before the trip, and to begin with she may have insisted on frivolous things, such as furniture. As space began to dwindle, she’d realize the importance of the basics—food. Dried meat, beans, coffee, flour, salt, a cow to be milked, and the necessities needed to prepare the foods, feed the animals, and aid their travels. (Tools.)

The trails west were littered with furniture…the family rocking chair, or generations old desk, things that at one time had been treasured, became dead weight that needed to be discarded. Crosses decorated the trails as well. Friends, family members, children, wives , husbands and animals. At one time it was said there were so many dead and decaying oxen carcasses one simply had to follow the smell all the way west. For years, the bleached white bones did serve as trail markers.

The trail was long and full of hardships, (way to many to briefly mention), but men, women and families prevailed, and arrived at their destination intact.

Yet, their work was far from over. Many of the trains arrived west in late summer or fall, which meant winter arrived before many of the homes did. Dugouts and/or hand dug basement were often utilized that first winter. Come spring, there was also land to clear and gardens to plant. Farmers and miners were the most common occupations of wagon train travelers. If the husband was a farmer, it was most likely the wife was out clearing the fields along with him. If he was a miner, she probably would have cleared the ground for her garden herself.

My trips took a few days each time, the pioneer’s, several months, but that’s really the only comparison I can make. After all, mine were simple, modern day ‘trips’, theirs were lifelong journeys.

Mendenhall Plantation

2010-02-03T06:23:00.000-08:00

Mendenhall

~ Not the usual plantation

I recently visited a local historical site. It’s one of those places you always intend to go to, but never seem to get the opportunity to stop. But I made time. Mendenhall Plantation isn’t a plantation in the traditional sense of the word. It’s the home of a Quaker family, and Quakers didn’t own slaves. This is no Tara, this is quite the opposite. It’s a view of pre-Civil War Southerners who didn’t own slaves. The Mendenhalls were from Pennsylvania and came to North Carolina prior to the Revolutionary war.
There were several amazing features of the house—

The house itself is a two-story structure build on a dugout basement. Interestingly enough there is a trap door from the first floor to the basement.
There were no elaborate decorations no grand curved stairways. These stairways were steep and utilitarian, taking up the smallest footprint possible.
A quilt rack was suspended from hooks on the first floor ceiling and could be raised for storage and lowered for use.
The barn was a bank barn, two stories yet built on a hill so no stairs were needed. Again there were trap doors here as well to move the hay from the loft on the second floor to the animals on the first.
A wagon was one of the most amazing items. It had a false bottom for hiding slaves. Two boys would ride through town with a seeming load of hay but in a hidden compartment were men and women. Giving aid to runaway slaves was a criminal offence, yet these peace-loving, principled people risked their lives and to help others.
The trap door on the first floor leads to the basement and not just a hole in the ground an area where people could hide, it was a little apartment where people could reside. Most likely the first occupant had lived in the basement while he built his home and later served a other purpose—a place for slaves to reside until they could find passage to a safer area.

I really gained a greater appreciation for The Society of Friends and their contributions to America’s founding and history.
Here is a link to the website: http://www.mendenhallplantation.org/Main%20House.htm

THE APACHE CRADLEBOARD

2010-01-28T04:00:00.000-08:00

THE APACHE CRADLEBOARD
By Roberta C.M. DeCaprio

I hear on the news all the time recalls for such baby items as cribs, car seats, highchairs and infant seats. We’re so cautious and careful with our babies these days, and rightfully so. Babies are precious and a mother can’t be too careful. But all of today’s care and concern led me to wonder about the pioneer day baby and how the mother’s of that time cared for their young. While writing my first historical, THE GOLDEN LADY, I had the opportunity to do research on the Apache people and their custom’s. I was particularly interested in the cradleboard, the baby carrier an Apache mother used.
This is what further research led me to discover:

Made of wood, hide, lichens, decorated with beads, tightly swaddled infants were carried around for up to a year in cradleboards. The cradleboard provided a secure and safe environment for the small baby. The baby was kept in the cradleboard at all times. This helped to keep the child's backbone and legs straight, further strengthen the neck muscles, and provide an opportunity for the infant to be visually and emotionally stimulated by his environment and family. The child was able to be carried on his mother's back using a strap attached to the back of the cradleboard. This way, the mother could be free to work with her hands. Using the strap, they sometimes hung or propped the basket up, so that the mother could also be within the child's view and communicate with the child. When tired, the infant could be rocked to sleep. Then the child could be laid down without disturbing its body or sleep.

Since willows could only be collected in the winter months, it was necessary for the basket maker to plan ahead. Once spring arrived, the willows would have too much water in them and could easily break. River willow was used for the boat cradleboard, which was prepared after the child was born. It was an open-twined weave forming an elliptical head guard for the infant. A rabbit-skin lining was placed inside to cushion the baby's head and body and buckskin laces were used to tie the baby in. Wild dogwood or rosewood willows were used to make the frames for the hoop cradleboard. Once gathered, the larger willows were scraped for the cradleboard frame and backing. The smaller willows would be used for the shade. The other willows would be split, simultaneously, in three parts to be used for weft thread. The same process was used for making other baskets. Using a warming method, the hoop frame was formed by tying the top and bottom frames together. After forming the frame, it was tied down to a flat-surface for a couple of weeks, to prevent it from twisting or bending out of shape. Willows were cut to fit the frame, a horizontal willow backing was used. The willows were fastened together by one or two vertical willows, using buckskin strips. Once the frame was ready, the ends of the willow backing was fit against the frame and attached the willows to the frame by wrapping the willow-backing with buckskin strips. The frame would then be covered with buckskin.The frame was placed on the buckskin. The buckskin was fitted around the frame by pulling it snugly towards the center. The center, top and bottom seam was marked. Then the buckskin was cut and sewn with their specialized bone needles and sinew-thread. The outside strings and loops were then added to the front flaps, using a bone awl to make holes and rabbit-skin batting was placed inside for a cushion.

A willow shade was added to the basket. The willow shade was made using river willows. It was woven in an open-twined weave fashion, using a decreasing procedure while weaving. First, the pattern at the top was made, using a naturally-dyed willow weft. The pattern depended on the gender of the baby. A diamond was used for a girl's shade and diagonal lines were used for a boy's shade. This shade not only provided a shade from the sun, but provided protection for the child's face and head if the cradle was knocked over and with a cover, it kept the wind out. The shade was attached to the outside of the basket. It was threaded through two holes and tied onto the backside.

The cradleboard was decorated by adding fringes to the sides and back. A strap was attached to the back of the cradleboard for carrying. A separate buckskin piece was attached to the bottom, so that it could be removed if soiled.

Today, the cradleboard is still being used. Many families have other tribal members or relatives make the cradle for them since many families have not kept up the tradition of making the cradle. Modern changes have been made in the construction of the cradleboard. Many are covered with a canvas-like material, allowing for a cooler, washable and more available cover for the cradle. Yarn is now used on the shade for the patterns and cloth around the edging, adding more color.

Making a Dress the Nez Perce Way

2010-01-19T07:34:00.000-08:00

My current WIP is set among the Nez Perce Indians and I've been reading a lot about them.

For a woman to make a dress she had to first tan two deer hides. That meant soaking the hides in water, then scraping the meat and fat from one side and the hair from the other with sharp stones. They were stretched then she worked the brain of the deer into the hide making it a soft leather.

When the hides were ready to make into a dress, she used a bone awl to punch holes and sinew or buckskin string to sew the skins together. The awl was used to make a hole and the end of the buckskin was moistened with saliva then rolled on their thigh to shape and tighten it. When the end dried it was then pushed through the holes made by the awl. The shoulder seams were constructed by sewing the back legs of the hide together. The sleeves were only elbow length. The tail at the neckline of the dress was folded down to form a faux yoke. The sides were sewn together and at the bottom of the dress, four half circular pieces were sewn between the neck and leg extensions of the hide to even out the hem and give more fullness for walking and riding.

The hair side of the hide was placed against the body for softness and warmth.

Fringes were added at the bottom, sleeves, and sided seams for ornamentation. The yoke and sleeves were solidly beaded. Some ceremonial dresses with all the beading could weigh up to 40 pounds. Every day dresses had minimal beading.

I didn't get a clear idea of how long this would all take, but I'm sure it would be a week or longer to make one garment. I'm pretty happy that I can purchase my fabric and use my sewing machine when I get the urge to make a garment.

Source: Nez Perce Women in Transition, 1877-1990 by Caroline James

Paty Jager
www.patyjager.blogspot.com
www.patyjager.net

Writers vs Pioneer Women

2010-01-12T08:25:00.000-08:00

I can’t begin to remember how many years my New Year’s Resolution has been to diet and exercise. Every year, I start out gung ho. I create my weekly diet menu, I get on my exercise bicycle, and then. . .kerpoof! Life gets in the way. You know what I’m talking about. Most of us have been there—done that, and will do it again next year.

If we writers were to compare our lives to that of pioneer women, we might conclude we shared many similarities. The one difference many writers might see is weight and exercise. Pioneer women didn’t need to exercise. Hard work and a daily grind kept them lean and muscled. It’s not to say that pioneer women were buffed with sculpted bodies, but think about their lives—lonely; living miles from the nearest town, and often a day or more ride from a neighbor. The pioneer woman lacked from companionship of other women.

The pioneer woman washed clothes, baked bread, and often birthed children without the aid of a doctor, fought snakes, pest and Indians. Her biggest battle was loneliness.

Writers live lonely lives, too. Unlike the pioneer woman (who had no other choice), we writers choose to be writers, because we love what we do. We enjoy the challenge of creating a great plot, creating characters our readers will love, and we even enjoy the stomach-clenching tension of meeting deadlines. Unlike the pioneer woman, writers spend long hours—sitting. Our middles expand from lack of exercise. And while the food pioneer women ate might not have been the most nutritious with fried fatback, bread made with lard, can we writers claim to eat healthy—grabbing a slice of cold pizza, grilled cheese sandwiches or whatever else we can manage while at the computer?

So while spending hours pounding away at the keyboard may be great for our writing careers, it can be tough on our bodies. Here are a few simple stretches to get on the path to a more limber, more alert and more productive writing year. You don’t have to leave your office (or writing place) to perform these, and most can be done while sitting in your typing chair.

Standing stretch: with hands on your hips, gently turn your torso at the waist and look over your shoulder. When you feel the stretch, hold for 10 seconds. Repeat on the other side.

For wrists: Place hands palm to palm in front of you. Keeping elbows even, push one hand gently to the side until you feel a mild stretch. Hold for five seconds. Repeat on the other side.

Neck: Sit or stand with arms hanging loosely at your sides. Then tilt your head first to one side and hold for five seconds, keeping your shoulders relaxed downward. Repeat on the other side and hold for five seconds.

Back: Sitting in your typing chair, slowly lean forward over your lap, keeping your head down and your neck relaxed. Hold for 20 seconds. Use your hands to help push yourself back to a sitting position.

Arms: (Sitting) Interlace your fingers and straighten arms above your head with palms facing upward. Breathe deeply and think of elongating your arms as you feel a stretch through your arms and the upper sides of your rib cage. Hold for 10 seconds.

Shoulders: (Standing) With right hand, gently pull your left arm down and across behind your back. Then lean your head sideways toward the right shoulder. Hold for 10 seconds and repeat stretch on opposite side.

While it may seem like an interruption at first, regular stretching will, with practice, become as much a part of your writing routine as that morning cup of coffee.

While the pioneer woman fought Indians, snakes and braved in climate weather, now, you the writer, can doe the same—except it’ll be with your imagination and a happier, healthy body.

www.lorettacrogersbooks.com

Flying Horses

2010-01-07T23:52:00.000-08:00

Leland Stanford (1824-1893), who wore such hats as California governor, railroad baron, university founder and race horse owner, sought to settle one of the hottest debates of the 1870’s: Is there a moment in a horse’s gait when all four hooves are off the ground at once?

Legend says he bet $25,000 that it was true. Common opinion at the time nixed the idea. After all, if God wanted horses to “fly”, He would have given the creature wings. But determined to settle the question, Stanford hired celebrity photographer Eadweard Muybridge (1830-1904) to prove it.

One of San Francisco’s most celebrated landscape photographers, Muybridge took more than 2,000 photographs with 20x24 inch negatives. His 1867 photographs of Yosemite Valley brought the valley…and himself…almost mythic status.

Accepting Stanford’s challenge in 1877, Muybridge captured Stanford’s horse, Occident, silhouetted against white sheets with all four feet off the ground. He used 12 to 24 cameras and a self-designed shutter that gave an exposure of 2/1,000 of a second. Although these original pictures didn’t survive, Muybridge continued to work with Stanford to develop techniques in the “science of animal motion.”

In 1878, he succeeded in photographing a sequence of frames produced on wet plate with 12 cameras that proved the “flying horse.” The slow wet plate collodion process produced images that were mostly silhouettes, but they showed something never before seen by the human eye.

Scientific American and other prominent publications featured articles on Muybridge’s accomplishment. However, Stanford invited his close friend, horseman and medical physician Dr. J.D.D. Stillman to produce a book analyzing the horse-in-motion. Stillman used Muybridge’s photography without crediting the photographer. Interestingly, when Muybridge sued Stanford and Stillman for copyright infringement, he lost his suit.

Eadweard Muybridge migrated to the University of Pennsylvania after that. His invention of the zoopraxiscope earned him the title of the father of the motion picture. To illustrate his lectures, he developed the scope; its lantern projected images in rapid succession onto a screen. The images came from his photographs, printed on a glass disc. From the rotating disc came the illusion of moving pictures.

Muybridge’s zoopraxiscope display, an important predecessor of the modern cinema, was a sensation at the World's Columbian Exposition of 1893 in Chicago. His works are still in demand by art students.

--Tanya Hanson
Marrying Minda, available now
Marrying Mattie, tba 2010
Lawmen and Outlaws Christmas Anthology 2010
www.tanyahanson.com
www.petticoatsandpistols.com

The Invention of Toilet Paper

2010-01-05T12:43:00.000-08:00

Have you ever wondered what people used before the invention of toilet paper? I have. The ones in the picture above are pretty well-known, especially the catalogue, usually the Sears and Roebuck fondly tagged "Rears and Sorebutt." My grandparent's farm had an outhouse and as a child I couldn't believe they used pages from the catalogue for toilet paper. According to The Virtual Toilet Paper Museum - Toilet Paper in the News, the Farmer's Almanac had a hole in the corner so it could be hung on a hook. Per this article, other items used were stones, pieces of clay, sponges on a stick kept in a clay pot full of salt water, and the left hand which is still supposedly considered unclean in the Arabian region.

The first actual toilet paper dates back to the late 14th Century in China. Emperors ordered it in 2 foot by 3 foot sheets. The first packaged toilet paperin the United States was produced in New York by Joseph C. Gayetty. Pre-moistened sheets were medicated with aloe and named Gayetty's Medicated Paper. Rolled and perforated toilet paper arrived around 1880. One source, the Scott Paper Company wouldn't put their name on the product as it was a sensitive subject in Victorian times. They customized it for their customers. The Waldorf Hotel was a big name in toilet paper. In 1942, a mill in England produced the first two-ply paper and the first toilet paper shortage occured in 1973. I didn't have time to research the reason for the shortage, so if anyone knows why there was one, please share it with us.

One of the things my heroine in My Heart Will Find Yours missed most from the future was indoor plumbing and toilet paper. Well, actually, she missed a lot of things but not enough to go back to the future and leave Marshal Royce Dyson.

You can read chapter one of My Heart Will Find Yours and of my other novels on my website.

I have a monthly drawing on my blog Linda LaRoque's Musings and give away an ebook -- the winner's choice. All you have to do is leave a comment.

Happy Reading and Writing!

Linda
Linda LaRoque ~Western Romance with a Twist in Time~ A Law of Her Own, Desires of the Heart, My Heart Will Find Yours, Flames on the Sky, Forever Faithful, Investment of the Heart, When the Ocotillo Bloom

The Victorians

2010-01-03T11:52:00.000-08:00

I recently had the delightful opportunity to visit London with my critique partner and friend. Since we both write historical romance, we chose a hotel in Kensington with the idea that it was close to so many things we love - Portabello Road Flea Market, the West End Theatre District and... The Victoria and Albert Museum.

I confuse many people when I talk about writing stories set in the Victorian time period, because they usually say, "you write Westerns". That's true, but the years between 1837 and 1901 are officially the reign of Queen Victoria of England and what we now refer to as, the Victorian era.

As we wandered through the amazing collection of artifacts from the apartments of the Queen and her Consort, examples of work from the Great Exhibition of 1851 and clothing from that era, I started to consider what makes this time period so appealing to those of us who choose to write stories set then?

For me, there are so many things, including the new up and coming middle class developed from the Industrial Revolution, (no need to write about royalty and wealthy aristocrats), the fashions which were elegant, somewhat fussy and quite beautiful, and the social manners and mores.

Everyone has heard about the staid and straight-laced Victorians, who covered piano legs with long fringe shawls and called their underclothes "unmentionables". I have fun discovering the patterns of social interaction and then of course distrupting them in the course of my story in order to create conflict.

In one of my searches through the library catalog, I came across a jewel of a book, Never Give a Lady a Restive Horse: A 19th Century Handbook of Etiquette which are selections from the pages of Professor Thomas E. Hill's famous volumes on etiquette. (I didn't know he was famous but the forward pages tell me he was, so I accept it.)

This book includes chapters on the Laws of Etiquette, The Science of Beautiful Dress, The Language and Sentiment of Flowers and even samples of Tombstone Inscriptions, (in the event that you can't think what to put on a dearly departed ones stone.)

One of my favorite articles is about the Etiquette of Conversation, How, When and Where to Speak. My coworkers and I decided that we would probably be the very undesirable "coarse and boisterous" visitors rather than the "cultured and refined" guests. After all, one of the guidelines is not to talk about private, personal or family matters. In this day and age, we all do that, some people even post their inner- most thoughts on webpages, blogs and Facebook. What would the very private Victorians think of our digital world where privacy has gone to the dogs? I suspect they'd be horrified.

I'm afraid I broke several very important rules of appropriate behavior when my hero, Sam, first meets my heroine, Amanda, in my upcoming release, Promise Me.

You can judge for yourself.

"My mother had a cure for insomnia. Perhaps you'd allow me to fix you a hot toddy. I guarantee it will make you sleep soundly as a baby."

The sultry tone of his voice mesmerized her.

All the deportment lessons she'd suffered since childhood came back to her in a flash. She should keep going back to her room, but his dark and hypnotic voice promised secret delights, and she didn't want to leave. She wanted to sit down and continue to banter with this mysterious man. If he thought her a brazen hussy, so much the better. For a few moments tonight, she'd be that other woman, the one who didn't care what others thought of her.

Swallowing her apprehension, she tossed her braid over one shoulder and crossed the small kitchen to take a chair at the table. She settled her candle next to the oil lamp and gave him an inviting smile.

"A hot toddy sounds perfectly wonderful. Are you sure it won't be too much trouble?"

The man leaned forward. The corners of his lovely mouth lifted slightly. "It would be my pleasure to assist an angel to bed."

She warmed from her cheeks down to her bosom. She had never in her life done anything as brash as this. What would Father Mikelson say? She didn't want to think about the penance she'd do when she confessed. Flirting wasn't the same as adultery, was it? Could she still be an adulteress if her husband was dead? Good Lord, why was she even thinking about such a thing?

When he turned his back to her, she knew what fueled her illicit thoughts. As he poured a concoction into a cup, Amanda forgot to breathe as she stared at the thick, dark hair curling at the edge of his collar, his lean torso and long legs.

"It's you," she whispered.

Are there any Victorian rules of etiquette you'd enjoy playing with in real life? Or do you dream of donning a gorgeous silk gown with pantalettes, hoop skirts, and a corset?

Deborah Schneider - 2009 RWA Librarian of the Year

http://www.debschneider.com/

Promise Me - January 22, 2010

PIONEER LAWMEN

2009-12-31T05:00:00.000-08:00

PIONEER LAWMEN
By
Roberta C.M. DeCaprio

When I was a little girl I’d watch many westerns, from Hop-a-long Cassidy, to Daniel Boone . . . Davy Crockett and Annie Oakley to Roy Rogers and Dale Evans. In fact television viewing in the 1950’s, though only three network channels existed, was jammed packed on Saturday mornings with children’s shows. My all time favorite was The Lone Ranger (1949 to 1957), starring Clayton Moore in the title role and Jay Silverheels as his trusted Indian friend, Tonto.

In 1957 Clayton Moore came to my part of town and my father, knowing my admiration for the man and the show he acted in, took me to see the on-stage performance. However, at the end of the show, when all the children ran to get his autograph, I was unable to participate. Having been born in 1950 with a walking disability, I was unable to make the many stairs between Moore and I, in order to reach him. And with such a maddening crowd, my father was hesitant to carry me.

Disappointed, I rode in the front seat of the old Buick in tears. Then a large, black limo passed by our car and my father recognized the passenger sitting in the back seat. It was none other then Clayton Moore, on his way to the airport. My father beeped the horn, motioned for the driver to pull over, and to both of our surprise, the limo driver did just that. My father then ran to the driver’s side of the limo and explained the disappointment of his handicapped daughter. Clayton Moore then asked for my father to bring me to him.

Sitting next to Moore, my heart pounded with glorious excitement. Through the eye-holes of the black mask he wore, two very blue orbs peered down at me. And he told me to clean my plate, brush my teeth three times a day and obey my parents. Then he handed me a silver bullet with THE LONE RANGER inscribed on the bottom. I have that bullet still today, and the fond memory of such an thrilling time.

In 1987 Clayton Moore returned to my area to promote a local bank, the slogan being: THE LOAN ARRANGER. I, by the Grace of God, somehow was able to get in touch with Moore’s wife, Connie. After explaining my initial meeting with Moore, 30 years prior, Connie said she knew he’d want to see me again. This time our meeting was filmed by Channel 10 (WTEN/ABC) news and anchor-woman Marci Elliott. I showed Moore the silver bullet and he remembered the whole incident.

Down through the years The Lone Ranger and Tonto have remained with me, in fact my first historical, released by TWRP September 11th, 2009, entitled THE GOLDEN LADY, was created because of my love for Native Americans, which Tonto inspired. So this month I thought I’d dedicate my blog to the pioneer lawman, the Texas Ranger (which Moore portrayed in his series).

From my research using Wikipedia and DEA auctions/Police & Government sites this is what I found:

Texas Rangers, mounted fighting force, was organized (1835) during the Texas Revolution. During the republic they became established as the guardians of the Texas frontier, particularly against Native Americans. The Texas Rangers at first consisted of three companies of 25 men each. Said to “ride like Mexicans, shoot like Tennesseans, and fight like the very devil,” the rangers were unique as a police force in that they never drilled, were not required to salute officers, and wore neither uniforms nor any standard gear except the six-shooter. In their first decade of operation, the rangers effectively quelled lawlessness in Texas on frequent occasions, and in the Mexican War (1846–48) they served as scouts and guerrilla fighters, gaining a wide reputation for valor and effectiveness.

In the late 1850s the rangers fought vicious battles with the Comanche, and in the Civil War, Terry's Texas Rangers gained renown. In the Reconstruction era the Texas Rangers were engaged to control outlaws, feuding groups, and Mexican marauders and were responsible for keeping law and order along the Rio Grande. In 1874 the Texas Rangers were organized for the first time on a permanent basis in two battalions; one was assigned to arbitrate range wars on the frontier, and the other was sent to control cattle rustling on the Texas-Mexico border. The heyday of the great cattle business, with its feuds and shootings, its outlaws and rustlers, was also the heyday of the Texas Rangers.

In the 20th century the police responsibilities of the rangers, around whom much lore had built up, decreased, and by 1935 their numbers had diminished considerably. By act (1935) of the Texas legislature, the rangers were merged with the state highway patrol under the jurisdiction of the state department of public safety. The rangers now form an elite investigative squad within the Texas highway patrol. The first women rangers were admitted to the force in 1993.
Now based in Austin, the capital of Texas, the Texas Ranger Division, commonly called the Texas Rangers, is a law enforcement agency with statewide jurisdiction. Over the years, the Texas Rangers have investigated crimes ranging from murder to political corruption, acted as riot police and as detectives, protected the Governor of Texas, tracked down fugitives, and functioned as a paramilitary force at the service of both the Republic (1836–45) and the state of Texas.

The Texas Rangers are believed to have been unofficially created by Stephen F. Austin in 1823 and formally constituted in 1835. The unit was dissolved by the federal authorities during the post-Civil War Reconstruction era, but was quickly reformed upon the reinstitution of home government. Since 1935, the organization has been a division of the Texas Department of Public Safety; it fulfills the role of Texas's State Bureau of Investigation. As of 2009, there are 144 commissioned members of the Ranger force.

The unit has been called the oldest state-level law enforcement agency in the United States. The Rangers have taken part in many of the most important events of Texas history and were involved in some of the best-known criminal cases in the history of the Old West, such as those of gunfighter John Wesley Hardin (reputed to be the meanest man alive, an accolade he supposedly earned by killing a man for snoring. In May 1874, Hardin killed Charles Webb, the deputy sheriff of Brown County, for which the outlaw was relentlessly pursued. Officer Webb had been a former Texas Ranger). Also brought to justice was bank robber Sam Bass, and outlaws Bonnie and Clyde. Scores of books have been written about the Rangers, from well researched works of nonfiction to pulp fiction, making them significant participants in the mythology of the Wild West. During their long history, a distinct Ranger tradition has evolved; their cultural significance to Texians and later Texans is such that they are legally protected against disbandment.

Modern-day Rangers (as well as their predecessors) do not have a prescribed uniform, per se, although the State of Texas does provide guidelines as to appropriate Ranger attire, including a requirement that Rangers wear clothing that is western in nature. Historically, according to pictorial evidence, Rangers wore whatever clothes they could afford or muster, which were usually worn out from heavy use. While Rangers still pay for their clothing today, they receive an initial stipend to offset some of the costs of boots, gunbelts and hats.

To carry out their horseback missions, Rangers adapted tack and personal gear to fit their needs. Until the beginning of the 20th century, the greatest influence was from the vaqueros (Mexican cowboys). Saddles, spurs, ropes and vests used by the Rangers were all fashioned after those of the vaqueros. Most Rangers also preferred to wear broader-brimmed sombreros as opposed to cowboy hats, and they favored square-cut, knee-high boots with a high heel and pointed toes, in a more Spanish style. Both groups carried their guns the same way, with the holsters positioned high around their hips instead of low on the thigh. This placement made it easier to draw and shoot while riding a horse.

The wearing of badges became more common in the late 1800s. Historians have put forth several reasons for the lack of the regular use of a badge; among them, some Rangers felt that a shiny badge was a tempting target. Other historians have speculated that there was no real need to show a badge to a hostile Indian or outlaw. Additionally, from a historical viewpoint, a Ranger's pay was so scanty that the money required for such fancy accoutrements was rarely available. Nevertheless, some Rangers did wear badges, and the first of these appeared around 1875. They were locally made and varied considerably from one to another, but they invariably represented a star cut out of a Mexican silver coin (usually a five-peso coin). The design is reminiscent of Texas's Lone Star flag.

Although present-day Rangers wear the familiar "star in a wheel" badge, it was adopted officially only recently. The current design of the Rangers' badge was incorporated in 1962, when Ranger Hardy L. Purvis and his mother donated enough Mexican five-peso coins to the DPS to provide badges for all 62 Rangers who were working at that time as commissioned officers.

Christmas, Western Style

2009-12-24T12:33:00.000-08:00

Everywhere we look during this season, signs of commercialized Christmas are everywhere. The kids are begging for upgraded electronic gadgets, stores are overflowing with lit-up, cheerful Santas and penguins for the lawn, and the radio plays nothing but Bing and Elvis. If you attend church or have a spiritual life, at least the "true meaning" of the holiday is brought home to you. Folks out West certainly had a different view of Christmas than we do today. I can only imagine what a cowboy Christmas would be like: probably the same stew or beans, but maybe with a special treat later if the ranch owner was kind. Churches were scarce in the early days, so people would meet in homes or even outside. Depending on the environment and weather, snow or blizzards might interfere, so many families went without church of any kind.

One of my favorite Christmas stories of all times is the Christmas scene from Laura Ingalls Wilder's Little House On The Prairie. I read that chapter to my daughter last Christmas, which was the last time she believed in Santa. I encouraged her to close her eyes and imagine she lived in a little house in the middle of nowhere, whose nearest neighbor was an hour's drive away. Imagine the cold rain, the rising, freezing river, and the desolate, open prairie. Imagine eating only what your father could hunt, and having no entertainment of any kind but each other's company and Pa's fiddle. We talked about Laura and Mary waiting for Santa, going to bed so hopeful, even though they could hear Ma and Pa's worried voices discussing how bad the situation for any presents looks. Ma says, "there's always the white sugar." My eyes always tear up when I get to this part. I put myself in Ma's sturdy workboots and think about how hard their life was in those days that a little bit of sugar, so rare and precious, would have to suffice for a Christmas gift for two good little girls.

When Mr. Edwards sweeps into the house, covered in ice and snow, announcing he met Santa Claus, you know that Christmas has been saved. Laura and Mary are overjoyed and excited. My daughter shared their excitement, too - she knew that Santa was real, just as those two, long-ago girls did. When Laura and Mary discover their gifts (a tin cup, a penny, candy, and a little cake), we both felt their joy. Of course, those simple gifts are almost comical to us now - just try and give even something homemade or secondhand to a child today and see what happens. But, a hundred and more years ago, such gifts were hard to come by.

Christmas trees, even though a major part of the holiday in Victorian America, were scarce or impossible to find in some regions of the west. But if they were available and a family was lucky enough to have one, they were decorated with handmade ornaments such as cookies, dolls made of straw or yarn, or other things. Music would have been important, and caroling was popular. I imagine a group of cowboys sitting around a fire on a cold Christmas Eve, singing to their cows and maybe dreaming of Christmas traditions back home.

Christmas for many in the west was a difficult time. For those on the prairies, they were often barraged with terrible blizzards and savage December winds. For mountain men, forced away from their mining activities long before Christmas, in fear of the blinding winter storms and freezing cold, the holidays were often meager. But, to these strong pioneers, Christmas would not be forgotten, be it ever so humble. More religious folk would observe the holiday as they did every Sunday, with little work except the essential chores, and Bible reading or other quiet activities. Children have been hanging stockings for Santa for a long time, and the western child would have been no different, whether it was hanging on an adobe or peat fire.

As I pondered the celebration of Christmas in days past or in our own time, one thing always seems predominant, and it is the most obvious and precious - spending time with family and loved ones. Forget the glittering lights and piles of presents from Amazon and Ebay. Forget the china that is only rolled out once a year. Family, friends, and good health are still the most important things for anyone.

Merry Christmas to all of the Wild Rose Press authors, editors, artists, and others, as well as our readers, fans, reviewers, and loving families. May the New Year bring happiness and peace to all.

with acknowledgements to www.legendsofamerica.com for the picture and information.

A NIGHT FOR MIRACLES

2009-12-16T07:02:00.000-08:00

Christmas has always been a miraculous time for me. It still is.

When I was younger, it was because of the presents, and the anticipation that came with the season. My parents were not wealthy, but we had the necessities and a few of the luxuries. My mom was a great manager. She could make the smallest thing seem of the greatest value. She could transform our house into a marvelous Christmas haven with her decorations, wonderful cooking and a few well-wrapped packages. When I became an adult, the torch was passed, but the anticipation merely shifted. The excitement I felt was not for myself, but for my children–the joy I could bring to them.

Once I had written A Night for Miracles, I began to think about my heroine, Angela Bentley, and how I might have reacted had I been in her place. I would like to think that I would have done what she did–transformed her small cabin into a memorable Christmas castle that none of the children would ever forget, simply through a good meal, a warm fire, and a gift. But it was all of these things that made Angela’s “gift” — the gift of her heart — special. She put herself out on a limb, having been emotionally wounded before.

I thought about the old legend–that Christmas Eve is a “night for miracles” to happen. Angela was not a rich person by any means, but she gave what she had, freely. She took in the stranger and the three children from the cold, gave them warm beds and fed them. But then she went even further. She gave her heart to them, although it was a huge risk. She comes through with physical gifts, but the true giving was in her spirit. And that leads to a miracle.

A Night For Miracles is one of those short stories that I didn’t want to end. I love a happy ending, and this is one of the happiest of all, for everyone in the story.

Blurb for A NIGHT FOR MIRACLES by CHERYL PIERSON
Legend says that miracles happen on Christmas Eve. Can a chance encounter between a gunfighter and a lonely widow herald a new beginning for them both? On this special night, they take a gamble that anything is possible–if they only believe! Available now with THE WILD ROSE PRESS!

EXCERPT FROM A NIGHT FOR MIRACLES:
Angela placed the whiskey-damp cloth against the jagged wound. The man flinched, but held himself hard against the pain. Finally, he opened his eyes. She looked into his sun-bronzed face, his deep blue gaze burning with a startling, compelling intensity as he watched her. He moistened his lips, reminding Angela that she should give him a drink. She laid the cloth in a bowl and turned to pour the water into the cup she’d brought.

He spoke first. “What…what’s your name?” His voice was raspy with pain, but held an underlying tone of gentleness. As if he were apologizing for putting her to this trouble, she thought. The sound of it comforted her. She didn’t know why, and she didn’t want to think about it. He’d be leaving soon.

“Angela.” She lifted his head and gently pressed the metal cup to his lips. “Angela Bentley.”

He took two deep swallows of the water. “Angel,” he said, as she drew the cup away and set it on the nightstand. “It fits.”

She looked down, unsure of the compliment and suddenly nervous. She walked to the low oak chest to retrieve the bandaging and dishpan. “And you are…”
“Nick Dalton, ma’am.” His eyes slid shut as she whirled to face him. A cynical smile touched his lips. “I see…you’ve heard of me.”

A killer. A gunfighter. A ruthless mercenary. What was he doing with these children? She’d heard of him, all right, bits and pieces, whispers at the back fence. Gossip, mainly. And the stories consisted of such variation there was no telling what was true and what wasn’t.

She’d heard. She just hadn’t expected him to be so handsome. Hadn’t expected to see kindness in his eyes. Hadn’t expected to have him show up on her doorstep carrying a piece of lead in him, and with three children in tow. She forced herself to respond through stiff lips. “Heard of you? Who hasn’t?”

He met her challenging stare. “I mean you no harm.”

She remained silent, and he closed his eyes once more. His hands rested on the edge of the sheet, and Angela noticed the traces of blood on his left thumb and index finger. He’d tried to stem the blood flow from his right side as he rode. “I’m only human, it seems, after all,” he muttered huskily. “Not a legend tonight. Just a man.”

He was too badly injured to be a threat, and somehow, looking into his face, shefound herself trusting him despite his fearsome reputation. She kept her expression blank and approached the bed with the dishpan and the bandaging tucked beneath her arm. She fought off the wave of compassion that threatened to engulf her. It was too dangerous. When she spoke, her tone was curt. “A soldier of fortune, from what I hear.”

He gave a faint smile. “Things aren’t always what they seem, Miss Bentley."

A Night For Miracles is available here at The Wild Rose Press.
I also have another Christmas short story, a FREE READ, available here, Until the Last Star Burns Out http://www.thewildrosepress.com/until-the-last-star-burns-out-p-1065.html

To find out more about my other books and short stories, visit my website at http://www.cherylpierson.com

Kissing under the Mistletoe

2009-12-15T00:01:00.000-08:00

Mistletoe is one of the traditions of the Christmas Season. But did you know—

Mistletoe is an evergreen. The traditions of displaying evergreens at Christmas came about as a way to bring color and the green hope of spring into the home.
This plant however is a parasitic shrub. It grows on trees, living off the host plant. They are not full parasites, since the plants are capable of photosynthesis. But these mistletoe plants are parasitic in the sense that they send a special kind of root system down into their hosts, the trees upon which they grow, in order to extract nutrients from the trees.
Mistletoe has long been regarded as an aphrodisiac and fertility herb. It may also possess abortifacient qualities, which would help explain its association with uninhibited sexuality.
The unusual botanical history of mistletoe goes a long way towards explaining the awe in which it was held in the Norse myths. For in spite of not being rooted in the soil, mistletoe remained green throughout the winter, while the trees upon which it grew and upon which it fed did not (the European mistletoe often grows on apple trees; more rarely on oaks). The fascination this must have exerted over pre-scientific peoples is understandable.

Mistletoe was first hung in farmhouses and kitchens so young men could kiss the maidens while standing under it. Only they were to pluck a white berry each time they kissed and when the berries were gone so were the kisses. The berries are poisonous.

The Druids believed it was sacred and held medicinal and supernatural qualities. That is the mistletoe of oak trees. Other types of trees also have their own parasite or mistletoe but it is the Oak that was the most favored.

The Druid priesthood held a ceremony around Christmas time or five days after the New Moon following the winter solstice. They cut the mistletoe from a holy oak with a golden sickle, catching the branches before they hit the ground. The branches were divided into sprigs and given to the people to hang above their doorways for protection against thunder, lightning, and other evils.

The folklore, and the magical powers of this plant, spread through the centuries It was thought placing a sprig in a baby's cradle would protect the child from faeries. Giving a sprig to the first cow calving after New Year would protect the entire herd.

Celts believed that because mistletoe received sustenance from the host tree it also held the soul of the tree.

Ancient Scandinavia and the Norse mythology is where the tale of kissing und the mistletoe started. It was considered a plant of peace in Scandinavian history. If enemies found themselves under mistletoe in the forest they laid down their weapons and called a truce until the next day.

Most say kissing under the mistletoe is an English custom there is a story that dates back to Norse mythology. It is about an overprotective mother.

The Norse god Balder was the best loved of all the gods. His mother was Frigga, goddess of love and beauty. She loved her son so much that she wanted to make sure no harm would come to him. So she went through the world, securing promises from everything that sprang from the four elements--fire, water, air, and earth--that they would not harm her beloved Balder.
Leave it to Loki, a sly, evil spirit, to find the loophole. The loophole was mistletoe. He made an arrow from its wood. To make the prank even nastier, he took the arrow to Hoder, Balder's brother, who was blind. Guiding Holder's hand, Loki directed the arrow at Balder's heart, and he fell dead.
Frigga's tears became the mistletoe's white berries. In the version of the story with a happy ending, Balder is restored to life, and Frigga is so grateful that she reverses the reputation of the offending plant--making it a symbol of love and promising to bestow a kiss upon anyone who passes under it.

Is hanging mistletoe a tradition in your family

sources:http://landscaping.about.com/cs/winterlandscaping1/a/mistletoe.htm
http://landscaping.about.com/cs/winterlandscaping1/a/mistletoe_2.htm

www.patyjager.blogspot.com
www.patyjager.net

Tanya Hanson: An Alcott Christmas Poem

2009-12-11T06:55:00.000-08:00

All of us authors have experienced The Moment we knew we wanted to write a book. For me, it happened when I read Little Women for the first time the Christmas I was eight years old. Unlike Jo, though, I waited until my kids were in college to take writing seriously, and of course wish I had started sooner.

You may already know that Louisa May Alcott wrote Little Women upon the suggestion of a publisher, and based the characters on her own sisters. Indeed, "Meg's" wedding dress is on display at Orchard House, the family home in Concord, Massachusetts. There in Concord, the teenage Louisa May hung out with the Transcendental greats, Emerson and Thoreau.

Louisa May Alcott (1832-1888) was born in Pennsylvania and worked as a nurse during the War between the States. Her stories of strong values and American folkways have delighted readers for generations.

Not long ago, I had the almost mystical pleasure of visiting Orchard House and pondering at Louisa May's grave in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery down the road. At Orchard House, I bought a new favorite book, A Louisa May Alcott Christmas and couldn't resist sharing this delightful poem with you today.

Merry Christmas to you and yours, and may 2010 bring you every good thing.

Cold and wintry is the sky,
Bitter winds go whistling by,
Orchard boughs are bare and dry,
Yet here stands a faithful tree.
Household fairies kind and dear,
With loving magic none need fear,
Bade it rise and blossom here,
Little friends, for you and me.

Come and gather as they fall,
Shining gifts for great and small;
Santa Claus remembers all
When he comes with goodies piled.
Corn and candy, apples red,
Sugar horses, gingerbread,
Babies who are never fed,
Are handing here for every child.

Shake the boughs and down they come,
Better fruit than peach or plum,
'T is our little harvest home;
For though frosts the flowers kill,
Though birds depart and squirrels sleep,
Though snows may gather cold and deep,
Little folks their sunshine keep,
And mother-love makes summer still.

Gathered in a smiling ring,
Lightly dance and gayly sing,
Still at heart remembering
The sweet story all should know,
Of the little Child whose birth
Has made this day throughout the earth
A festival for childish mirth,
Since the first Christmas long ago.

Florida's 'Cracker Cowhunter and Cattle

2009-12-08T08:50:00.000-08:00

Last month I wrote about the Florida’s ‘Cracker’ horse. I thought it appropriate to follow-up with Cracker Cowboys. Yes, there ARE cowboys in Florida. Real live rootin’ tootin’ roping and riding cowboys. These men and women have existed for over 250 years. In fact, Florida vies with Texas as the number one cattle producing state in the USA.

Hundreds of years ago, long before tourists or even cities, there was another Florida. When Ponce de Leon discovered it in 1513, Florida was mostly wide, green spaces. Approximately 1521, when de Leon returned, he brought horses and a few Andalusian cattle, the ancestors of the Texas Longhorns. It was the Spanish explorers who turned Florida into America’s oldest cattle-raising state.

By the 1600s, pioneer families later trickled down to Florida from areas such as Georgia and the Carolinas, taming the land and hunting out the wild Spanish cattle from among the palmetto hammocks and swamplands. Trading the cattle to Cuba for gold, those enterprising families were the early purveyors of America’s cattle industry.

The Florida ‘cowhunter’ or ‘cracker cowboy’ remains distinct from the Spanish vaquero and the Western cowboy. Florida cowboys do no use lassos to herd or capture cattle. Their primary tools are bullwhips and dogs. The use of the whip is how the nickname ‘Cracker’ was derived. I’ve often heard it said that in the early days the women would know to get the food set out on the tables as soon as they heard the cracking of the whips. “Here come the ‘crackers’,” they’d say.

The early cattle-raising days were rough for Spanish settlers. The St. Augustine missionaries who raised beef also fought Indian raids and mosquitoes. Despite the cattle fever ticks, storms, swamps and snakes, before 1700 there were already dozens of ranches along the Florida Panhandle and the St. Johns River.

By the 1800s, the Seminole nation possessed extensive herds of cattle. Most Florida settlers raised beef for food. As Native American and white settlers moved south, so did the cattle. They moved through Alachua County into the Kissimmee valley and on to Lake Okeechobee.

When railroads reached into Florida, trains were used to ship cattle, and Florida’s beef industry grew. New towns sprang up around the ranches, and more people arrived. There was work for blacksmiths, shopkeepers, and cowboys in these settlements. During the Civil War, Florida became a chief supplier of cattle to the Confederacy, both for meat and leather.

Florida’s old-time cowboys had a unique way of herding cattle. They used 10-12-foot-long whips made of braided leather. Snapping these whips in the air made a loud ‘crack.’ That sound brought stray cattle back into line fast and earned cowboys the nickname of ‘crackers.’ These men rode rugged, rather small horses known as ‘cracker’ ponies.

Even today, Cracker cowboys still count on herd dogs to move cattle along the trail. These tough dogs help get a cow out of the marsh (where ATVs can’t go) or work a hundred steers into a tidy group. For those rough riders of Florida’s first ranchers, a good dog, a horse, and a whip were all the tools a true ‘cracker’ cowhunter needed.

Today the term ‘Cracker’ or Florida Cracker is used informally by some Floridians to indicate their family has lived in Florida for many generations; and/or that they were born and raised in the state of Florida. It is considered a source of pride to be descended from ‘frontier people who did not just live but flourished in a time before air conditioning, mosquito repellent, and screens on windows. I, myself, am a fourth-generation Florida ‘Cracker.”

www.lorettacrogersbooks.com

THE COWBOY HAT

2009-11-26T05:00:00.000-08:00

THE COWBOY HAT
By
Roberta C.M. DeCaprio

I think hats define the wearer and the era of the times. Growing up in a Catholic/Italian household, I remember wearing to church on Sunday the “chapel veil” during the 1960’s. The round, lacy hair adornments replaced the wide-brimmed picture hats of the 1950’s and the pill-box hats, which Jackie Kennedy made famous. So, with my thoughts on “hats” this month, I thought I’d do some research on the cowboy hat. At THE BEST COWBOY GEAR site (http://www.lastbestwest.com/), this is what I learned:

A traditional cowboy prized his hat above all things - with good reason. It was often worth a month or two's wages - and that made it very expensive. The cowboy likely spent hours personalizing the hat with creases to the crown and molding the brim - that made it his. An old west cowboy would go to hell and back to retrieve a misplaced cowboy hat and it was seldom further than an arm's length away.

There were several styles throughout history, as well as the individuals or circumstances that defined them. Here are a few:

THE ROUGH RIDER (Crown: center trench/Brim hand rolled, Open hatband: 1" Satin with 1898 bow) was worn by Teddy Roosevelt, who called these short 4 months in 1898 the most exciting of his life; culminating in leading his "Rough Riders" up San Juan Hill in that storied charge. If you look at any picture of the US Expeditionary Force, you'll see almost as many brim and crown treatments of the same basic hat as there are soldiers. Teddy’s hat was based on the originals worn by the US Cavalry, which included the traditional military style side bow on the hat band.

THE 1898 CAMPAIGN HAT, the enlisted man’s issue (Crown: 4 pinch peak Brim: Flat - Open Hatband: 1/2" Satin with bow). The Spanish–American War was a conflict between Spain and the United States of America from April to August 1898. It heralded the emergence of America as a world power and climaxed with Teddy Roosevelt's charge up San Juan Hill in Cuba.

THE TEN GALLON HAT is a legendary slang from the old west - this is a common term for a very large cowboy hat, the idea being you could carry ten gallons of water in it for your horse. Well, the 10 gallon hat doesn't exist - simple as that. This was a misinterpretation by Texas Cowboys of the Spanish word, "galón." that Mexican Vaqueros used to describe the narrow, braided trimming they used to decorate the crowns of their hats. In reality the largest cowboy hat crown would barely hold one gallon of water, and any hat that would hold 10 gallons, would be so large and unwieldy that it'd be un-wearable.

THE WASEY (Crown: Three Dent Modified SagebrushBrim: Open Hatband: 1" Satin with Bow) had a modified Sagebrush shaped crown and was one of the most common of the first few decades of the 20th century. Crown shape was first seen in the 1890s. Cowboys wore this hat while hunting.

THE HICKOCK (Crown: Texas Straight; Brim: Pencil Roll Bound Hatband: 2" Satin with Bow) is another version of the Boss of the Plains – and the best guess on what James Butler Hickock or Wild Bill circa 1875 wore.

OLD TEXAS (Crown: Texas Straight Brim: Kettle Curl OpenHatband: 1"multi-colored burlap). Some variation of this design was seen on almost all the actors, in the remake of John Wayne's "Alamo", starring Billy Bob Thornton, and others. This traditional Texas look for a Cowboy Hat was the precursor of the Boss of the Plains, and was well known in the Texas of the 1830s and onward.

DIRTY TROOPER (Crown: Creased and Pinched. Back has a "Mule Kick" indentation. Brim: Hand worked Open Hatband: Satin Ribbon) This cavalry hat is the classic look sported by the US Cavalry in the later quarter of the 19th Century. Originally the hat was a sand color, but the color faded from constant exposure to the sun (better your hat, then your skin and eyes).

NORTHWEST PEAK (Crown: 4 pinch peak Brim: Hand shaped Open Hatband: Braided Leather) This 4 pinch peak was first shown in the Northwest in the 1880s. Today most working State Troopers wear a version of this crown, and of course the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.

Up until the turn of the 20th Century most cowboy hats were sold in Mail Order Catalogues. In those days if the local haberdasher didn't have the hat you wanted - he likely had a catalogue to order one from. The first cowboy hats were all made from 100% beaver fur-felt, natural and undyed, and worth their weight in gold to working cowboys and most all other Westerners.

The Montgomery Ward Catalogue of 1872 was the first to offer a "Western Sombrero" for sale to the public. Most hats were shipped with un-creased crowns, and little shape to the brim. Manufacturers knew the cowboys wanted to personalize the hat themselves - so they shipped unfinished. Remember Hoss from Bonanza and his big dang hat? That was the most authentic old west hat any of the Bonanza cast wore.

THE HELP YOU GET ALONG THE WAY

2009-11-18T07:25:00.000-08:00

I’m blogging today about becoming a finalist in the EPIC Awards. Now wait, don’t go yet. This is not “all about me”—I promise.

Most people that I’ve met in the last half of my adulthood would never describe me as “shy,” but as a youngster, I was—horribly. That’s one reason I turned to writing. It was a great way for me to get my feelings out without actually having to say them. I could have someone else say it all for me.

I imagine that’s how many of my fellow writers started, too. I sometimes wonder what might have happened had we all known each other when we were younger. Would we have developed into the writers we are today, or would we have found our “niche” with one another and NOT turned so much to writing?

If you can relate to the “shy” part, then maybe you felt this way, too: I was never competitive. Not like so many sports contenders might be. The things I enjoyed, writing and music, were open to everyone, I felt. I am not a “joiner” and I am not one to enter a lot of contests. I entered Fire Eyes in the EPIC Awards, and something odd happened when I did.

From the moment I entered, my attitude about myself changed. BEFORE I entered, I thought, “I probably don’t have a chance.” But my mom always used to say, “If you don’t enter, you certainly are NOT going to win!” I remembered those words, and sent in my entry that very day. Once it was sent, I began to feel some confidence growing. As I analyzed WHY, here’s what I came up with.

Fire Eyes was a joint project. I wrote it, but I couldn’t have if I hadn’t had the cooperation and support of my family—my kids and my husband. While I was writing it, my oldest sister, Annette, was constantly asking about “how it’s coming” and she was the one I could bounce ideas off of. Once written, my business partner read it for glaring mistakes, and my best friend of 45 years read it for moral support. The Wild Rose Press accepted it, and my editor, Helen Andrew, was so phenomenal in helping me mold it and shape it into the story that was released last May. My cover artist, Nicola Martinez, did a superb job on the beautiful cover. With all these people behind me and my story, my confidence rose. Whatever would be, would be—and entering the competition was a win/win situation. Even if I didn’t make it to the finals, I would still have taken the chance and had the experience.

When I received the news Sunday evening that my book was, indeed, a finalist, I thought immediately of all the people who had helped me get to this point; people in my life who had faith in me, and in my ability, and in the story itself. I thought of that saying, “It takes a village to raise a child.” It’s true, even in the broader sense of our lives as writers. The experiences we had growing up, people who encouraged us even then, our spouses, our children, mentors and teachers we’ve had along the way, and peers that have helped and encouraged us. Editors, artists, publishers and organizations such as EPIC that give us a chance to compete and strive to be better and better.

Does anyone have a “special person” that helped them along the way? What about a “collection” of special people? With Thanksgiving drawing near, I’d like to say that my “collection” of special people in my life is the thing that I am most thankful for above all else. Without them, my dreams could have never happened. I could never have done it alone.

Gotta Love Reference Libarians

2009-11-17T15:37:00.000-08:00

The last two days I've been googling and sending e-mails to librarians as my story takes different twists and turns. When I need to learn about things like how long did it take for a stage to get from Wallua, WA to Boise Idaho? What did the Old's Ferry look like? Where did the stage stop along the way? I need those answers so I can keep writing and meet my deadline.

I've been lucky in finding research librarians at several places who get back to me in short order. I don't mind waiting for information or a book when I'm in the beginning of a story and the research will develop the plot and story. But when I'm writing and the characters go a different route than I'd originally planned, then I have to find the 1800's travel agency ASAP.

My latest release, Miner in Petticoats, I had researched all I needed to know about stamp mils and the area where I set the story, but then as my heroine grew in the story and more of her background came out, I had to dig into more research.

My next book, Doctor in Petticoats, coming in 2010, again after I was about two thirds of the way through the book I had to research Pullman cars for a trip they were taking. My favorite research librarian hooked me up with a railroad historian and the rest was easy. I've also made another resource through that.

How about you? Have you become buddies with reference librarians or specialists while writing books? If you're a reader, can you tell when something has been researched or does it even matter to you?

Proud to be a Cactus Rose...

2009-11-13T00:27:00.000-08:00

I couldn't resist sharing some good news today. First of all, my recent book signing at the Barnes and Noble in Encino, California, was a great success. Fifteen of us shared the stage so to speak, and I was very much honored to be a part of the event. Our chair Niki Chanel worked tirelessly to obtain books and make sure they arrived on time.

As if that wasn't enough joy, I received the book cover for the second in my "Paradise Brides" series, Marrying Mattie, to be released in 2010. I had requested the incredible designer Nicola Martinez and was completely overjoyed at the outcome.

Here's the blurb:

Caldwell Hackett knows everything about horseflesh and nothing about women, yet he's managed to snare beautiful Mattie Carter's heart. With their wedding coming up, he's nervous about his inexperience in the bridal bed, but his lovely fiancee manages to ease his worries in just the right way.

Mattie Carter is hopelessly in love with the handsome horse doctor and knows this marriage will be wonderful, unlike her first one that was fraught with her wealthy husband's infidelity. Eager to begin her new life with Call, Mattie is heartbroken when her former husband halts their vows, claiming to the whole church she's still his wife.

Can Mattie regain Call's trust? Can Call, whose livelihood is threatened when an epidemic hits the horses in Paradise, figure out the truth with Mattie's help? Or will these star-crossed lovers be destined to live apart?

I can't praise high enough the excellent editing, the caring attention, and the professional demeanor of everybody at The Wild Rose Press. Thank you, thank you.

Florida's Offical State Horse-The Cracker Horse

2009-11-10T08:22:00.000-08:00

(Yes, this is me taking a picture of the horses, and enjoying the entire two day event)

A few weeks ago, I received an invitation to attend the Florida Cattlemen’s Cracker Cow and Horse Gathering. Being a fourth generation native Floridian, a former avid horsewoman and a cow-hunter, I am excited and pleased that Florida has adopted the ‘Cracker’ horse as their official state horse of Florida.

The Florida Cracker Horse Association was organized in 1989, and tasked with searching the remnant herds of Cracker Horses. A registry was established and foundation animals were registered based on their history and external type: 31 Cracker Horses were registered and blood typed for the foundation stock. A stringent application of rules has resulted in a very consistent breed. Today, the Florida Cracker Horse is promoted as a valuable and vital part of Florida’s heritage and is still considered quite rare. Today over 800 horses have been registered.

The ancestors of today’s Cracker Horses were introduced into what is now Florida as early as 1521 when the Spaniard, Ponce de Leon, on his second trip to Florida, brought horses, cattle and other livestock. By mid-1600 cattle ranching and horse breeding was well established.

First the Indians and later the pioneers began using the Spanish horses. These animals were hardy, had adapted well to the Florida climate and environment and excelled as work cow ponies. Although best know for their talents at working cattle, Cracker horses were frequently pressed into service as buggy horses, workstock, and in many instances, were the only horse power for many family farms well into the twentieth century. They are indeed a vital part of Florida’s agricultural heritage and are very deserving of a place in Florida’s future.

The genetic heritage of the Cracker Horse is derived from the Iberian horse of early sixteenth century Spain and includes blood of the North African Barb, Spanish Sorraia, Jennet and the Andalusian. Its genetic base is generally the same as that of the Spanish Mustang, Paso Fino, Peruvian Paso, Criollo and other breeds developed from horses originally introduced by the Spanish into the Caribbean Islands, Cuba and North, Central and South America. The free roaming Cracker Horse evolved over a long period of time through natural selection. It was molded and tempered by nature and a challenging environment into the horse that ultimately was to play a large part in the emergence of Florida as a ranching and general agriculture.

Cracker Horses are from 13.2 to 15 hands (or 54-60 inches) in height and weight from seven hundred fifty to over nine hundred pounds. They are known for their unusual strength and endurance, herding instinct, quickness and fast walking gait. A good percentage of them have a running walk and some have another lateral single-foot gait which, in true Cracker dialect, is often referred to as a “Coon Rack.” Cracker Horse colors are any color common to the horse, however, solid colors, roans and grays are predominant.

Over the years Cracker Horse have been know by a variety of names: Chicksaw Pony, Seminole Pony, Prairie Pony, Florida Horse, Florida Cow Pony, Grass Gut and others.

I came away from the event with a renewed sense of my ancestral roots; and while sitting around the campfire listening to real cowmen and women tell their tales, I collected a fodder of ideas for new stories. Yee-Haw!

http://www.lorettacrogersbooks.com/

Dodge City Cowboy Band

2009-11-05T08:55:00.001-08:00

Shortly before the Santa Fe Railroad arrived, Dodge City, Kansas was incorporated. The booming business was buffalo bones and hides. The town provided a social gathering place for the soldiers from nearby Fort Dodge. In 1875 the cattle days were born and for the next ten years Dodge City was known as the “Cowboy Capital” as well as the “Queen of Cowtowns”. Well known lawmen and gunfighters took their turn in Dodge- Wyatt Earp; Bat, Ed, and Jim Masterson; Doc Holliday; William Tilghman; Clay Allison; Ben and Billy Thompson; Lake Short; to name a few. Matter of fact, it was often hard to tell the good guys from the bad.

One of the only real bullfights ever performed in the United States was in Dodge City in 1884. Mexican Bullfighters were invited and a dozen longhorn bulls corralled in town for the event. Advertising across the nation brought people in from all around the state as well as a few neighboring ones. The event was proclaimed a success, but the sport never became legal so the event was not repeated.

Another highly attractive event for Dodge City was the Cowboy Band. Their musical abilities was high quality, however it was their manner of dress that attracted fans by the hundreds. The members wore flannel shirts, gray cowboy hats, leather chaps, spurs and pearl-handled revolvers, and the band leader used a revolver to keep time instead of a baton. The Cowboy Band also played in Denver, Chicago, Minneapolis, and in Washington, D.C., at the inaugural celebration of President Benjamin Harrison. Though known as the “Dodge City Cowboy Band”, not one of the ‘cowboys’ was from Dodge.

The Cowboy Band appears in Boot Hill Bride-The Quinter Brides Book 3 which will be released in July 2010.

Blurb: Howard (Hog) Quinter is hell bent on getting The Majestic, the finest hotel and restaurant west of the Mississippi, open by May 1st. The last thing he needs is interference from his family, but that's exactly what he gets when Ma Quinter strikes one brisk morning. Sound asleep, Howard rolls over to discover a lovely young woman lying beside him, however, standing at the foot of the bed are his mother, the girl's father, and a blubbering preacher reading wedding nuptials.

Randilynn Fulton runs from a forced marriage to her aunt in Dodge City, only to discover Aunt Corrine is one of Danny J's brothel girls. If she stays, Randi may become one as well, which would damage her father's chance at running for the Governor's seat. But it gets worse when she finds herself in the middle of what she ran from-a shotgun wedding, and she's the bride.

The second book of the Quinter Brides series, Badland Bride will be released this weekend from The Wild Rose Press.

Ma Quinter is at it again—using the double barrels of her shotgun to force some unsuspecting female to marry one of her boys. This time it's Skeeter and the young, pregnant girl he hauled home.

Escaping from her abuser, Lila Scott, crawls through a tunnel, and ends up in 1882. Even though her rescuer is the most wonderful man she's ever met, she must hold true to her mission of returning to the future where she can have her baby with modern medical care.

With the help of some rotgut whiskey and a few peyote buttons, Steven Quinter, aka Skeeter, participated in Buffalo Killer's ghost dance. When he wakes up there’s an adorable redhead staring down at him. Not knowing what else to do, he takes the girl home to his mother, but when Ma Quinter realizes the young girl is pregnant, another shotgun wedding takes place.

The first book in the series, Shotgun Bride was released in 2008. Like most girls, Jessie Johnson will never forget the first time she met her mother-in-law. After all who can forget a shotgun pointed at them? Bartered for a dead horse at gun point, she either agrees to marry one of the Quinter boys or her brother will hang for horse theft. Jessie knows nothing about being a wife- other than the wedding will likely put her new husband in grave danger. After being knocked unconscious by his brothers, Kid Quinter finds himself surrounded by his uncouth family, the sheriff, a preacher, and an adorable young woman. Tied to a chair, he's given no choice but to marry Jessie Johnson. And that’s just the beginning of his troubles- it appears his pretty little wife has quite a past, including a notorious gunslinger looking for retribution.

I'm still working on the younger two brothers and their stories.

What's in a Name?

2009-11-04T12:12:00.000-08:00

I remember when I first started reading romance, the characters’ names fascinated me. They were always different, exotic--and a bit unusual, yet memorable. Let’s see, Palmer, Templar, Trelawney, Tristan (lots of t’s), Chase (not so unusual now), Daffyd, Cholla, just to mention a few. Perhaps these authors had a superstition not to name characters after anyone they knew. Perhaps they wished to convey something of the character, for instance, Cholla was a prickly hero named for a cactus.

This topic came to mind after reading a blog on the Black Rose site, Vampire Legends. http://twrpblackrose.blogspot.com/2009/10/vampire-legends.html This blog mentioned the tale of Lilith, not a name you hear often. In fact, I have only heard this name used one other time. She was the wife of Dr. Frazier Crane. Was she named for this evil succubus? Probably.

The Puritans often named children for admirable traits, Patience, Mercy, Faith, and so on. I’ve always thought it was interesting how J.K. Rowling named her characters. Sirius Black, shape shifts into a dog, and Sirius is the Dog Star. Remus Lupin is named for one of the twins of Rome. The twins were said to have been raised by wolves and Lupin is a lot like Lupine. He’s a werewolf, by the way. Much like Melville’s use of the name Ahab in Moby Dick we can actually tell a bit about our characters from just their names. Melville’s captain was named for the evil King Ahab, husband of Jezebel. Atticus Finch, from to Kill a Mockingbird, is named for a bird himself, so there's a hint of sadness at the very beginning of the book.

Have you ever noticed there are certain names that are off limits, or at least regulated, to the bad guys? Granted, I have read a few where the character’s horse or dog or animal of some kind is named Lucifer. But to name a hero an unheroic name...the horror. And there are some names, while not taboo, that have been removed by notoriety. My grandfather’s name for example—Rudolph. Rudolph Valentino was the heart throb of many, but that blasted song about the red nosed reindeer swiped every bit of sex appeal from the name. It’s a strong name, a good name...It means wolf. I was so happy to see a derivation of this used in the upcoming Cactus release, Halfway to Forever written by Lee Scofield. The hero's name is Rudolfo.

Looking back I've named some characters for traits, my soldier was Joshua and shared his name with the Biblical warrior, another character, Jericho, had personal walls that needed to be broken. My heroine Eden, was temptation to the hero and ultimately his paradise.

So...what’s your favorite or most memorable character name?

The Hoosier Cabinet

2009-11-03T17:11:00.000-08:00

The majority of Victorian houses didn’t have built in cabinets in their kitchens. For homemakers, lack of storage to organize cooking supplies and staples was a major problem. For years free-standing cupboards made food preparation and storage somewhat easier. In 1898, the Hoosier Manufacturing Company of New Castle, Indiana, produced the first Hoosier cabinet. It put everything at the woman’s fingertips and remained popular into the 1920s when builders began to incorporate cabinets into their kitchen designs. Many homes used the cabinet much later into the twentieth-century, some until 1940s and 1950s. Today they are collector’s items. My aunt has one that still has the paper label. It looks almost identical to the one pictured to the left.

As you can see in the picture, the Hoosier has a large base section set on casters. It has one door and several drawers and a slide out countertop for baking, with several thin drawers below to hold utensils. The upper section is shallower and has several smaller compartments with doors. One door has a roll top. Another holds a flour bin with a sifter attached and another bin to hold sugar. Shelves hold racks and other hardware to store spices, tea, coffee, and other staples. Special jars were made to fit suspended in a metal hanging rack. In the picture you can see the labels with measuring conversions, sample recipes, and household hints. Lucky was the woman who had a Hoosier in her kitchen.

In my novel, My Heart Will Find Yours, the kitchen my heroine Texanna found herself learning to cook in had a cabinet similar to the Hoosier, an earlier model not nearly as modern. Many antique cabinets are called Hoosiers but few are the real McCoy.

Blurb:

Fated lovers suffer the agony of loss only to be reunited to fulfill a greater plan.

TEXANNA KEITH doesn’t believe an antique locket is the key to time travel, but plays along, and to her horror, is zapped back to 1880 Waco, Texas. Her mission is to prevent Royce Dyson’s death in a shootout. Wounded, she loses what she longs for most — a life with Royce.

Marshall ROYCE DYSON’S wife disappeared in 1876. Now she’s reappeared, claiming she’s a time traveler from 2007. As he seeks the truth, he’s determined to keep Texanna with him, but it’s not destined to be.

Excerpt:

She pumped water into the pan and washed her hands. Why didn’t Royce and Garrett wash up in here? Maybe it was a habit because if they worked outdoors, they’d be clean before coming in the house. She located bowls and plates and placed them along with spoons on the table. Now, where were the napkins? She found them in a drawer of the Hoosier. The supply was quickly dwindling. As the so-called lady of the house, she’d be washing and ironing a lot to keep them stocked. Yeah, like washing and ironing was her favorite thing to do.

She took another peek out the window. Here they came. Royce had folded his jacket over his arm. Texanna leaned forward to watch them approach. Royce’s shoulders looked so broad in that white dress shirt. She jumped away from the window. Oh, no. Surely he didn’t expect her to wash, starch, and iron those white shirts. If she remembered correctly, spray starch hadn’t been invented until the 1950’s. Drat! She didn’t have a clue how to make starch.

The food was already on the table when Royce and Garrett entered the kitchen. Royce carried in a pitcher of milk from the larder and placed it on the table. Stew was in their bowls, but they’d slice and serve the cornbread at the table.

Royce picked up all the napkins. “Don’t you want to save yourself some washing and ironing? Unless it’s Sunday or a special occasion, we share a dish towel.” He reached back and snagged the towel off the sink.

He’s a thoughtful man. And here she thought all nineteenth-century men were brutes who wanted to be waited on hand and foot. “Thank you.”

Royce nodded and reached for her hand, then bowed his head. Garrett’s hand felt so small in hers, Royce’s so big. Royce’s thumb stroked hers as he gave thanks. Texanna felt a chill. Seeing this man and child here at the table in prayer, reminded her of the simple pleasures in life, things taken for granted today. Well, in her time period.

Someone milked a cow this morning to provide this milk—milk she wasn’t going to drink. She liked milk, but not the raw kind fresh from the cow. But the fresh butter was a different story. Who’d churned it for Royce and Garrett?

“Texanna?” Royce had asked her a question. She looked up to see she still held their hands.

“I’m sorry. I was a million miles away. What did you say?”

“Pass the cornbread.” He cut it into squares and tried to lift a piece from the pan. It fell apart.

Texanna groaned. It wasn’t just overdone—it was a mess. “I’m sorry. I must have forgotten one of the ingredients.” Darn, why hadn’t she taken home ec in school and learned to cook?

“It’s fine. We can crumble it in our stew.” Royce scraped some out of the pan into Garrett’s bowl, then hers and lastly his. “Stir it up and it’ll be perfect.”

She took a bite. It didn’t taste bad at all.

Royce asked. “What do you think you forgot?”

Texanna looked at the Hoosier. “The egg.” How could she be so stupid? She’d been in a hurry to paint. “I’ll do better tonight. I promise.”

“It’s okay.” Royce patted her hand. “There’s enough left for supper tonight.”

Thank you, God. The thought of heating the kitchen again made her cringe. It was already so hot she’d begun to sweat. She didn’t know which she missed most—air conditioning or indoor plumbing.

“Be sure and keep water in the tank so I can wash when I get home. I’m filling in for Jason tonight and won’t be in until around midnight.” She groaned. There went any hope of the kitchen cooling off. “You don’t have to get the fire hotter, just add more water after you and Garrett have bathed.”

My Heart Will Find Yours is book one of The Turquoise Legacy. Book Two, Flames On The Sky, is now out. I hope you’ll take a look at both books.

Happy Reading and Writing,

Linda

Linda LaRoque ~Western Romance with a Twist in Time~ A Law of Her Own, Desires of the Heart, My Heart Will Find Yours, Flames on the Sky10-9, Forever Faithful, Investment of the Heart, When the Ocotillo Bloom

www.lindalaroque.com/ www.lindalaroqueauthor.blogspot.com/

When Truth and Fiction Collide

2009-11-01T14:38:00.001-08:00

When I was researching how life on a ragtag ranch in the 1860s would be for my characters, I had no idea that the worst recession in the last few decades was about to strike. I went about my merry way (work from home mom with pocket money!) while pondering the hard life my character, Cassie, was about to embrace. How would it feel to live without running water, no store within four miles, no way to get a loan, and no other option for survival but to rely on the charitable assistance of a stranger? A handsome stranger, of course (this is a romance, after all!), but still, a stranger.

As writers, we get lost in the worlds we create and rarely do the two collide. Now, three years later, my own family, many friends and colleagues, and the whole country are locked in an endless battle with impossible-to-pay debts, plunging home values, and local mom-and-pop businesses closing up. Repossessions, lost assets, and depleted savings accounts are commonplace. Each episode of nightly news features another high percentage of job losses, sinking stock market rates, and foreclosures. There's no end in sight.

Like our western forebears before us, strong women all, I and others will pull through somehow. True, we don't have crops to worry about, raiding native war parties, or cattle rustlers on the horizon to show us wherein lies our strength. We can borrow from the ingenuity and gumption of our heroines and apply it to our own lives. Instead of buying a new dress that will only be worn for one special occasion, we can be like our fictional Old West sisters and make do with a dress that lay hidden in a trunk. Instead of wishing for fancy vittles, we open another box of pasta and make sauce from scratch. No expensive vacations are needed - on the prairie, a fictional miss would be happy to spend an evening watching for shooting stars, her head nestled on the shoulder of a strong cowboy (or sheriff, or rancher, or, even, a scarred outlaw with a misunderstood heart of gold!).

My novel and my own life got me thinking along the lines of, "if SHE can do it, so can I!" In my story, Cassie patched up her own house, planted her own garden, and learned to ride a horse. As hard as her life is in the first few chapters, she never whines or complains - even when it's beans and...well, beans - for the first few weeks. She even has to tote her own water from the river (which leads to a brush with a scandalously intimate encounter!) but doesn't kvetch. She's grateful when our hero offers her a place to stay, clothes on her back, and food in her stomach. Even though she's known a better life, she's making it on her own. Despite all the fictional odds I've thrown at her, she comes through stronger and better than I probably would in that situation.

Many people have said the recession has brought out the best in us. Potluck lunches at work instead of ordering out. Discussions of recycling at home (I have taken to washing out empty jelly jars and saving scrap paper for the kids). Offering a place to stay to a friend who's losing her home. And through all of this, the one thing I keep hearing myself say is, "it could be worse." When jobs and money disappear, we can only look at the irreplaceable in our lives. Good health and happy children. Aging, but still independent, parents. An enduring marriage in an uncertain world.

Cassie saves her husband's life (and her ranch!) with her inner strength and sheer determination of will. She never lets the environment or the bad guy get the best of her. True, three years ago I never dreamed I would be facing my own battles with an all too harsh reality. But Cassie did - and if a fictional heroine can do it, so can I. After all, I wrote the book on it.

Steampunk and Weird Wild West

2009-10-29T20:26:00.000-07:00

I have to confess a secret.

I love Steampunk

I haven’t discarded my intense attraction to writing Western romance, but my writing is morphing into a strange combination of Victorian age, alternate history with fantasy elements set in the post-Civil War era of the American West.

Try to say that to an agent or editor and watch their facial expressions. A few people do “get it” but more of them will say, “What’s Steampunk”?

So, here’s the official Wikipedia definition: Steampunk a sub-genre of fantasy and speculative fiction denotes works set in an era or world where steam power is still widely used—usually the 19th century but with prominent elements of either science fiction or fantasy, such as fictional technological inventions like those found in the works of H. G. Wells and Jules Verne, or real technological developments like the computer occurring at an earlier date. Other examples of steampunk contain alternate history-style presentations of "the path not taken" of such technology as dirigibles, analog computers, or digital mechanical computers (such as Charles Babbage's Analytical engine); these frequently are presented in an idealized light, or with a presumption of functionality.

Various modern utilitarian objects have been modded by individual artisans into a pseudo-Victorian mechanical "steampunk" style, and a number of visual and musical artists have been described as steampunk. But often, when I’ve heard people search for a quick shorthand for defining the genre, they say, “Wild, Wild West” is Steampunk. Both the movie and the televison series clearly illustrate the elements found in a Steampunk. And both are set in the American West.

When I first discovered Steampunk, I was attracted to the reference to the Victorian era. Most of the books I’ve written have a setting between 1848 and 1888. I love the clothing, lifestyle, proper rules and etiquette of that age. When I’ve set my books, although they are in Montana, they are also clearly in the mid-19th century. So when I heard about a sub-genre of literature and an artistic movement that included fashion, music and other elements that focused on the era, I was fascinated.

That lead me to the Steamcon, the first gathering of folks in the Northwest who idolize Steampunk. It was a three-day event that offered workshops, vendors and music – but most of all, costumed participants, to celebrate all things Steampunk. It was a delightful introduction to an amazing genre.

How do Westerns fit into this technological age of steam? Easily, I think. Consider that the Victorian era coincided with the exploration and settlement of the West. There are so many possiblities for creating stories that are set in the wild, unexplored wilderness beyond the Mississippi. With Steampunk, a writer has the freedom to rewrite history, to include magic, technology and a fantastical world all in the same work. The possiblities are endless and they excite me.

So, while my book coming out in January 2010 is clearly set in the reality of a Montana mining town in 1873, my work-in-progress expands the horizons of possiblities to take a setting of historical reality and mix it with all the “what ifs” of fantasy and speculative fiction in a Steampunk world.

I have no idea what I’m going to end up with, but it sure is fun to write!

What do you think about Steampunk? Have you heard about this genre?

Deborah Schneider, 2009 RWA Librarian of the Year
Promise Me – January 2010
http://www.debschneider.com/
View the book trailer at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zDHxItopIyQ

THE "REAL LIFE" DR. QUINN, MEDICINE WOMAN

2009-10-29T04:00:00.000-07:00

THE “REAL LIFE” DR.QUINN, MEDICINE WOMAN
By,
Roberta C.M. DeCaprio

I loved actress Jane Seymour in her portrayal of Michaela Quinn in the television series, “Doctor Quinn, Medicine Woman.” Each week she rose above new and different challenges. She boldly faced the odds of a prejudiced time, to bring medical help to a small frontier town. Thinking back on that show inspired me to do a bit of research about a real woman pioneer doctor, and my search led me to the Gale Cengage Learning site (Women’s History) where I found Elizabeth Blackwell, woman physician (1821 – 1910).

She was the first fully accredited female doctor and an ardent reformer of medical and social mores. Her sisters-in-law Lucy Stone and Antoinette Brown were pioneers in the advancement of women's rights, and her friends and associates included such 19th-century luminaries as William Lloyd Garrison, Florence Nightingale, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Harriet Beecher Stowe, George Eliot, Dorothea Dix, religious reformer Charles Kingsley, and Julia Ward Howe, author of "The Battle Hymn of the Republic." Although considered ridiculous, even dangerous, for pursuing a medical degree in the 1840s, Elizabeth Blackwell forced open the gates of that profession. She later founded the first medical school for women, which resulted in both greater acceptances of female physicians and stricter standards for medical schools as a whole. By the time of her death in 1910, the number of female doctors in the United States had risen to over 7,000. Let me tell you more about a “real life” Dr. Quinn:

Born in Bristol, England, on February 3, 1821 Elizabeth Blackwell was the daughter of Samuel and Hannah (Lane) Blackwell. She was the third of nine surviving children in a close-knit, highly religious and moral family. Her father Samuel Blackwell was a prominent sugar refiner in the British port city of Bristol who saw to it that his five daughters received from their private tutors an education comparable to that of their brothers. This was no small achievement in a society that considered the proper education of girls to be one which left them, in the words of Noah Webster, merely "correct in their manners, respectable in their families, and agreeable in society." The highly esteemed Webster went on to note that "education is always wrong which raises a woman above the duties of her station"; Samuel Blackwell, an abolitionist and a vociferous dissenter from the Church of England, believed that the future duties of all his children included the reform of society.

As a child and an adolescent, Elizabeth Blackwell seems to have had little patience with actual sickness, once going so far as to lock herself in a closet to prevent her family from discovering that she had a fever. When a tutor used the freshly severed eye of a bull as an illustration for his physiology lesson, Elizabeth ran to the bathroom and was violently ill.

The Blackwells immigrated to America in August 1832 after a series of business losses convinced Samuel Blackwell that he would be better able to support his large family in the New World. Less than enthusiastic about the move, the large family nonetheless arrived in New York City after a grueling voyage of seven and a half weeks. There they became deeply involved in the American abolitionist movement, attending meetings and, for several weeks, hiding an escaped slave in their home who was on his way to Canada. Their financial affairs grew steadily more precarious, however, and in 1837, they moved to Cincinnati where Samuel Blackwell died the following year.
In the wake of his death, the family was forced to struggle for money, taking in boarders and giving music and English lessons to local children. Although this was a time when women married fairly young and were considered fit for little else, it appears that none of the Blackwell daughters, including Elizabeth, were ever particularly interested in that institution. In 1844, Blackwell visited a family friend who was dying of cancer and who told her how much she had suffered from the humiliation of being treated by male doctors. This woman also mentioned that Blackwell, who had such a "love of study," would make an ideal doctor; it was apparently this meeting which gave her the idea of pursuing a career in medicine.

Discreet inquiries to doctor friends concerning the possibility of acquiring a medical degree were met with incredulity or disgust, but she was not deterred. The following year, Elizabeth was able to secure a post teaching in Asheville, North Carolina, where she studied medicine privately with Dr. John Dickson; the year after, she taught music in Charleston, South Carolina, while continuing her studies with Dickson's brother, Dr. Samuel Dickson. By 1847, she was ready to begin applying to the leading medical schools, and they were ready to turn her down. Sixteen schools denied her admission before liberal Geneva College (now Hobart College) in upstate New York put her application to a student vote. Probably as a joke, the students agreed to the admission of this "upstart" female.

Today's frenzied medical student, interning for days on end and mortgaging the future to pay for school bills, bears little resemblance to the medical student of Elizabeth Blackwell's day. After only three years of private (but not particularly intensive) study with a practicing physician and 32 weeks of pass/fail college study, a young man was handed a medical degree. Doctors in bloodstained coats with dirty hands operated largely without benefit of anesthesia. While Elizabeth was applying to colleges in America, the Viennese Dr. Semmelweis was becoming the first doctor to insist that his attendants wash their hands before touching open wounds. It would be almost 20 more years before chemist Louis Pasteur would suggest the existence of germs and be viciously castigated by the medical community for his gall.

In November 1847, Elizabeth arrived at Geneva College, where the wives of the faculty and the women of the town thought her "either wicked or insane," and so stayed carefully away. Passing her final examinations at the head of the class, she was granted a medical degree on January 23, 1849, an occurrence so unprecedented that the English humor weekly Punch memorialized it in a set of verses. Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell then returned to Philadelphia, where the formerly hostile hospitals now grudgingly permitted her further study. She was determined to become a surgeon.

After several months in Pennsylvania, during which time she became a naturalized citizen of the United States, Elizabeth traveled to Paris, where she hoped to study with one of the leading French surgeons. Denied access to Parisian hospitals because of her gender, she enrolled instead at La Maternite, a highly regarded midwifery school, in the summer of 1849. La Maternite's intensive course in obstetrics concerned both pre- and post-natal care, and often involved extremely ill infants. While attending to a child some four months after enrolling, Elizabeth inadvertently splashed some pus from the child's eyes into her own left eye. The child was infected with gonorrhea, and Elizabeth contracted ophthalmia neonatorum, a severe form of conjunctivitis which rendered her unable to "work or study or even read," and which later necessitated the removal of the infected eye. Although the loss of an eye made it impossible for her to become a surgeon, it did nothing to alter her intention of becoming a practicing physician--which was in no way guaranteed simply by her medical degree.

Unable to receive training, or even recognition, at Parisian hospitals, Elizabeth left France for London in October 1850. Partially through the intervention of a cousin, she was allowed to study under Sir James Paget in nearly all the wards of venerable St. Bartholomew's Hospital. While in London she became friends with the widow of Lord Byron and with Barbara Leigh Smith, who was one of the strongest proponents of the education of women in England and later the founder of England's first feminist committee. She also met Florence Nightingale shortly before that famous reformer defied convention and her family to study nursing; Elizabeth wholeheartedly agreed with Nightingale's belief that "sanitation was the supreme goal of medicine."

By mid-1851, the substantial amount of training she had received, in addition to her medical school studies, made Elizabeth more than ready for private practice. However, no male doctor would even consider the idea of a female associate, no matter how well trained. Her younger sister Emily had been struggling to become a doctor in America, and so Elizabeth returned to the United States with the intention of setting up a joint practice. The opposition Emily Blackwell encountered while trying to get a medical degree was, if anything, stronger than that which her sister had had to face. Even Geneva College refused to accept another female student, and when Emily was finally allowed to study at Rush Medical College in Chicago, that college was so strongly criticized by the state medical society that the college denied her admission for the second year of study.

Having determined to settle in New York City, Elizabeth Blackwell found it difficult to secure space for her practice; when a sympathizer finally allowed her to rent a boardinghouse room, all the other renters promptly moved out, scandalized at having to share quarters with a lady doctor. Forced to rent her own house, Elizabeth lived in the attic and used the main rooms as consulting space for the three liberal patients a week she'd managed to win over by the summer of 1852.

Less than two years later, Elizabeth opened the one-room New York Dispensary for Poor Women and Children in a slum area near present-day Tompkins Square Park on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. It was some time before necessity gave the poor women and children the courage to go to the woman doctor's clinic, but when they did, the dispensary had to move to larger quarters. In the fall of 1854, Elizabeth adopted (although never legally) a seven-year-old Irish orphan named Kitty, who gradually became one of the family and lived with her until Elizabeth died.

The dispensary was doing well, and Elizabeth was beginning to have grander plans--not just an enlargement of her clinic, but an actual hospital where women doctors could treat poverty-stricken women and their children. She had managed to pull strings for the medical education of a German immigrant, Marie Zakrzewska, who had been chief of midwifery at the Royal Hospital in Berlin, and Dr. Zakrzewska returned to work in the dispensary after receiving her degree from Western Reserve Medical School (now Case Western Reserve) in Cleveland. In 1854, Emily Blackwell had also graduated from Western Reserve Medical School and departed for further training in Europe, where she studied under Sir James Simpson of Edinburgh, Scotland, and attempted to raise funds for her sister's dream hospital. After returning to America in 1856, Dr. Emily Blackwell joined her sister Elizabeth's clinic in New York, and on May 12, 1857, the New York Infirmary for Indigent Women and Children was opened.

Liberal and reformers' groups from as far away as France and Boston had contributed funds towards the hospital's existence. Its beds were full within a month, although the first two times a patient died the hospital had to withstand attacks by neighborhood mobs convinced "the lady doctors were killing their patients." In 1858, Elizabeth, whose hospital had also served as a training ground for newly graduated female doctors, took a year's leave of absence to further the cause of women's education in England. While in London, she lectured extensively and became the first woman to have her name entered in the British Medical Register. It was one of these lectures that convinced Elizabeth Garrett Anderson, later the pioneer of English female doctors, to take up the study of medicine. Elizabeth apparently gave serious thought to remaining in England and possibly setting up a hospital similar to her own New York Infirmary, but at the end of the year she returned to America, where the infirmary soon moved to larger quarters.

In April 1861, the newly formed Confederacy fired on Fort Sumter in South Carolina, and the Civil War began. In New York, Elizabeth and Emily Blackwell set up the Woman's Central Association of Relief to train nurses for the conflict; the army at this time had no hospital units. This association soon became the celebrated United States Sanitary Aid Commission, officially appointed by President Lincoln. Fearing that their notoriety would hinder the project, the Blackwells withdrew from the organization as it grew.

The Emancipation Proclamation was issued in September 1862, and, though it declared free only those slaves in seceded states, many working-class Northerners took it to mean that freed slaves would appropriate their jobs when they were drafted to fight. Violent riots broke out in New York City for three days in July 1863, during which time hundreds of blacks were slaughtered. Buildings, including some a mere block from the infirmary, were burned to the ground. White infirmary patients demanded that the Blackwells discharge several expectant black mothers who had escaped the South, a demand with which the doctors refused to comply.
The Women's Medical College opened in November 1868, adjacent to the New York Infirmary, with Elizabeth as professor of hygiene. It was the first school devoted entirely to the medical education of women and to upgrading that education. It later became one of the first medical schools in America to mandate four years of study. The first black woman to become a doctor, Rebecca Cole, was also one of the first graduates of the Women's Medical College.

Elizabeth returned to England in 1869, leaving the infirmary and the college in her sister's hands. Certain sources say that disputes between the sisters were the primary reason for the departure, but in her autobiography Elizabeth notes that by that period "the early pioneer work in America was ended," and in England it was not. In addition to her private practice and her efforts for women's rights, she took up the fight against venereal disease or, more specifically, the fight to repeal the Contagious Diseases Act. This act required the licensing and regular physical examination of prostitutes in an attempt to stem the spread of syphilis and other diseases. Elizabeth, who was highly moral and considered herself more a "Christian physiologist" than a doctor, saw this law as tacit permission for men to behave immorally.

Her health was gradually growing worse. In 1873, she was forced to spend time in Italy to recover strength lost in several bouts of illness. The following year, while curtailing her private practice, she was made professor of gynecology at the newly incorporated London School of Medicine for Women, which had been organized by Elizabeth Garrett Anderson and by Sophia Jex-Blake, who would later become the fifth woman to have her name entered in the British Medical Register. Elizabeth's most important work, Counsel to Parents on the Moral Education of Children, was written in 1876. A highly controversial book at the time, it openly discussed sexual matters such as masturbation (of which she strongly disapproved), and would probably strike a modern reader as ill informed and dated.

In her later years, Elizabeth was also a strong opponent of vivisection and vaccination and considered the fledgling science of bacteriology to be utter nonsense. In 1879, she moved permanently to the village of Hastings on the English Channel, where she finally gave up private practice and wrote her autobiography, published in 1895 under the title Pioneer Work in Opening the Medical Profession to Women. A final four-month trip back to the United States was made in 1906, but she was too ill to visit the New York Infirmary, which had moved to buildings on 15th Street in Manhattan.

Elizabeth Blackwell died in England on May 31, 1910, at the age of 89. Due to scarce funds and the increasing acceptance of female students at more established universities, the Medical College had closed in 1899. The hospital she founded, however, now vastly enlarged and renamed New York Infirmary-Strang Clinic, still operates on East 15th Street.

Elizabeth Blackwell, the “real life” Dr. Quinn, never deterred from her dream of working in medicine. Her determination to reach her goal, against all odds (even with the ability to use only one eye), paved the way for all women doctors. Today female physicians are accepted and respected in hospitals and communities world-wide, many specialists in their field.

TRAVELING IN OUR WRITING

2009-10-21T06:36:00.000-07:00

When we write a short story or a novel, that work is a “journey” from beginning to end in many ways.

Hopefully, our main characters will learn something about themselves and grow emotionally and in their personal values of not only each other, but the world around them. They must become more aware of their place in the world as individuals to be able to give of themselves to another person, the hero to the heroine, and visa versa.

The main conflict of the story brings this about in a myriad of ways, through smaller, more personal conflicts and through the main thrust of the “big picture” dilemma. I always like to use Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell as a prime example of this, because the States’ War was the catalyst for everything that followed, but it also remained the backdrop throughout the book. This generated all of the personal losses and gains that Scarlett and Rhett made individually, so if the War hadn’t been the backdrop, the main original conflict, their personal stories would have taken very different routes and their love story quite possibly would have never happened.

No matter what kind of story we are trying to weave, we have to have movement throughout—not just of the characters’ growth, but of the setting and circumstances that surround them.

Have you ever thought about how important it is to have travel in your writing? No, it doesn’t have to be lengthy travel, although that’s a great possibility, too. Even a short trip allows things to happen physically to the characters, as well as providing some avenue for emotional growth and development among them.

One of my favorite examples of the importance of travel is the short story by Ernest Haycox, “Last Stage to Lordsburg.” You might know it better as the John Ford movie adaptation, “Stagecoach,” starring a very handsome young newbie…John Wayne. A varied group of people are traveling on a stagecoach that is attacked by Indians, including John Wayne, (a seriously good-looking young outlaw by the name of Johnny Ringo) who is being transported to prison. The dire circumstances these passengers find themselves in make a huge difference in the way they treat each other—including their hesitant acceptance of a fallen woman and the outlaw.

If your characters are going somewhere, things are bound to happen—even if they’re just going to the store, as in the short story “The Mist,” by Stephen King. Briefly, a man goes to the grocery store and is trapped inside with many other people by a malevolent fog that surrounds the store and tries to come inside. Eventually, he makes the decision to leave rather than wait for it to get inside and kill them all. He thinks he can make it to the pickup just outside in the parking lot. A woman that he really doesn’t know says she will go with him. By making this conscious decision, not only are they leaving behind their own families (he has a wife and son) that they know they’ll never see again, but if they make it to the vehicle and survive, they will be starting a new chapter of their lives together. It’s a great concept in my opinion—virtual strangers, being forced to make this kind of life-or-death decision in the blink of an eye, leaving everything they know behind, when all they had wanted to do was pick up a few groceries.

In all of my stories, there is some kind of travel involved. In Fire Eyes, although Jessica doesn’t travel during the story, she has had to travel to get to the place where it all takes place. And Kaed is brought to her, then travels away from her when he is well enough. Will he come back? That’s a huge conflict for them. He might be killed, where he’s going, but it’s his duty. He can’t turn away from that. After what has happened to him in his past, he has a lot of mixed feelings about settling down and trying again with a family, and with love.

One of my professors once stated, “There are only two things that happen in a story, basically. 1. A stranger comes to town. Or, 2. A character leaves town.” Pretty simplistic, and I think what she was trying to tell us was that travel is a great way to get the conflict and plot of a story moving in the right direction. I always think of “Shane” when I think of “a stranger coming to town” because that is just such a super example of how the entire story is resolved by a conflicted character, that no one ever really gets to know. Yet, although he may have a checkered past, he steps in and makes things right for the Staretts, and the rest of the community.

In my upcoming release, Time Plains Drifter, a totally different kind of travel is involved—time travel. The hero is thrown forward sixteen years from the date he died (yes, he’s a very reluctant angel) and the heroine is flung backward one hundred fifteen years by a comet that has rearranged the bands of time on earth. They come together in 1895 in the middle of Indian Territory. But the time travel is just a means to bring them together for the real conflict, and that is the case with most of the stories we write. We aren’t writing to look at the scenery/history: we want to see the conflict, and the travel is just a way to get that to happen.

How do you use travel in your writing? Do you have any tips that might make it easier to describe the actual travel sequences? I find that is the hardest thing sometimes, for me.

Here's an excerpt from my upcoming Dec. 2 TWRP release, "A NIGHT FOR MIRACLES". In this western short story, a wounded gunman and three children seek shelter on Christmas Eve with a lonely widow. Not only is their travel important, but the timing of that journey. I hope you enjoy!

FROM "A NIGHT FOR MIRACLES":
He sighed, his breath drawn up short. “I didn’t want to keep riding,” he said quietly. “No, that’s not right.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t keep riding. When I saw this cabin, it was like an answer to a prayer.” She raised an eyebrow, and he slanted her a rueful smile. “No, I’m not one to pray too much, but sometimes hope’s all there is. That, and believing maybe everything will come around right—for once.” He sighed and closed his eyes. “We’ve barged in on you, haven’t we? Gave you no choice but to grant us shelter. I’m sorry—”

“No.” She laid a hand on his arm and squeezed, cutting off the rest of his apology. She’d been prickly, and she was suddenly ashamed. It was time to put aside her own guarded feelings and do what she could to help Nick Dalton and the children. They were all counting on her. “Please, don’t say you’re sorry. I’m afraid I should be apologizing to you. I haven’t been as--gracious as I should have. You’re welcome here, for as long as you want to stay.” She was surprised to find she meant it.

He gave her a sardonic white grin that creased the lines at the corners of his eyes, as if he were laughing at the entire situation, himself included.

“My…reputation…hinders a fair amount of hospitality sometimes.” He paused before he went on. “The light inside here warmed me, even in that wind. I could tell the kids felt the same. They got so…hopeful all of a sudden. Like a glimpse of heaven in all that damn snow.”

“Somehow, I’m beginning to wonder how much of what they say about you is really true,” Angela said in a low tone. She leaned over the wound again.

The dancing laughter evaporated from his expression as soon as she spoke the soft words.

“You don’t need to be afraid. I’d never hurt you.” Their eyes locked, the air sizzling between them. He let his breath out slowly on a sigh. “Never.”

A noise from the doorway caught Angela’s attention, and she tore her gaze away from his to see the two younger children peering around the corner. They pulled back quickly out of sight as she turned.

“Go easy on ’em, Angela,” Nick said quietly. “They’ve had…a rough time of it.”
His concern for the children was not what she’d expected, and as she called to them, she wondered again what strange circumstances had brought them all together. They sheepishly came from the kitchen into the bedroom. Angela quickly pulled the sheet over the hole in Nick’s side to hide it from their view.

“Thanks,” he muttered, giving her a grateful look before he turned to the children again. “Where’s Will?” he asked, his tone rough with the suppressed pain.

Leah glanced toward the bedroom doorway. “He went out back to bring in some more wood…” She trailed off at Nick’s sharply indrawn breath.

“He shouldn’t be out there.”

The faint measure of worry in the gunman’s tone mystified Angela. But she recognized that he didn’t want to speak plainly in front of the youngsters. She stood up and took Charlie’s hand. “Come with me, you two,” she said. “I bet I can find something you’ll like. A surprise.”

Underground Living

2009-10-20T00:01:00.000-07:00

In the late 1800's the Chinese who came to the United States didn't find the riches they came seeking. Instead they found menial jobs with little pay and discrimination. That is after the railroads were through using them. Many of the towns they tried to live in didn't like having them around or had rules. One being they weren't allowed on the streets after dark.

In some towns they created underground communities. One such place is in Pendleton, OR. Today they give tours of the tunnels, living quarters, and businesses that thrived in the late 1800's and early 1900's in that town.

If you remember a few months back when I wrote about some of Oregon's notorious characters one was a man named Hank Vaughn who rode his horse into saloons and kept the town on it's toes. Pendleton was a community of about 1500 people and had 18 bordellos and 32 saloons. It was the hub of the area.

The Chinese worked for above ground businesses during the day then slipped into the tunnels and basements after dark. Underground they worked in illegal gambling houses, brothels, and saloons in basements. The tunnels connected the basements and led them to areas where they slept, lived, had their own business, and opium dens.

One Chinese who did well was Hop Sing. He had a laundry and bath service. He drew his water from a well in the basement of his business. Which was good until he had to throw the water out. Then he had to pack it up the stairs and toss it out in the alley. To save himself work, he sold the first bath in a tub for 10 cents then drop a penny for each consecutive bath in the same water, adding a hot bucket of water to each new bather.

They give tours of the underground city and the brothels that were thriving up until the 1950's. One of these days I'm headed there because it has piqued my interest and needs to be in a book. It is also only 4 hours away.

Paty Jager
www.patyjager.com

Photos by David Jennings

The Western Showdown

2009-10-14T14:39:00.000-07:00

Western novels and movies thrive on some kind of shoot-out or showdown, in which one or more men will die. The term is also loosely used to describe a poker tournament, a golf tournament, and even a football game. Each year, the University of Texas plays the University of Oklahoma, but the game is played halfway between Austin, Texas and Norman, Oklahoma—in the Cottonbowl in Dallas. Title of the game: RED RIVER RIVALRY, but the first name was Red River Shoot-Out, then Red River Showdown. Now, probably to be politically correct, it carries a new name.

Webster’s Dictionary definition: “A showdown is a decisive confrontation or contest.” In this case, often no one dies, but simply wins. The term “shoot-out” is synonymous, but in this case, someone always dies.

A famous true showdown, Gunfight at the O.K. Corral, occurred in 1881 in Tombstone, Arizona Territory. The location was not a corral at all, but a 15x20 foot space between Fly’s Lodging House and the MacDonald Assay House. The final stages of the gunfight took place at the end of Fremont Street. The local newspaper headlined: “A Desperate Fight Between Officers of the Law and Cowboys.” The officers consisted of Wyatt Earp, his two brothers, and Doc Holliday.

Many Western movies revolve around the premise of a showdown. At times, the meeting occurs between only two men, reminiscent of the duel or sword fight. Most movies, though, tell the story of two sides, each having a sidekick or a group to back up the main characters.

Gunfight at the OK Corral lives on as one of the best shootouts in history.

Movie-makers filmed hundreds of Westerns. Here’s a list of the best from the Top Ten Best Western Shoot-outs:

1. Unforgiven-Clint Eastwood

2. Open Range-Kevin Costner and Robert Duvall

3. Tombstone-Kurt Russell and Val Kilmer

4. The Shootist-John Wayne

5. The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly-Clint Eastwood

6. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid-Paul Newman and Robert Redford

7. High Noon-Gary Cooper and Grace Kelly

8. The Wild Bunch-William Holden and Ernest Borgnine

9. Once Upon a Time in the West-Charles Bronson and Henry Fonda

10. The Quick and the Dead- Gene Hackman, Sharon Stone, Russell Crowe, and Leonardo DeCaprio

If I made a list, High Noon would be #1. In this tale, one man stands alone, because not one other citizen had the nerve to stand up to the approaching murderous gang. Not only did Gary Cooper face his extreme fear of dealing with the outlaws alone, he faced losing his bride, played by Grace Kelly, on their wedding day because she did not condone violence. If you’re so young that you’ve never watched High Noon, find the DVD and indulge yourself. The music alone is worth the time.

Celia Yeary
SHOWDOWN IN SOUTHFORK: eBook available at: http://www.thewildrosepress.com/
http://www.celiayeary.com/
http://www.celiayeary.blogspot.com/
ALL MY HOPES AND DREAMS-a Cactus Rose—
Print and eBook available at: http://www.thewildrosepress.com/

Sam Bass, Outlaw

2009-10-13T10:05:00.000-07:00

Sam Bass 1851-1878 Died at age 27

Sam Bass was born on a farm near Mitchell, Indiana on July 21, 1851. He was orphaned before the age of thirteen. He ran away from an uncle and worked at a sawmill for about a year in Mississippi. In early fall of 1870, he arrived in Denton Texas to work as a cowboy for the winter, but the life of a cowboy didn't live up to his boyhood dreams. He returned to the town of Denton and worked as a horse handler for the Lace House Hotel. Later, he worked for Sheriff William F. Eagan, caring for livestock, cutting firewood, and building fences.

At the age of 19, he became interested in racing horses. When this played out, he joined a group of drovers and helped drive a small herd to Dodge City, Kansas. He squandered his money on gambling. Drifting to Deadwood, South Dakota, he enjoyed a small boom in gold mining.

In 1877, he and Joel Collins tried freighting, without success, then recruited several hard characters to rob stagecoaches. On stolen horses, they held up seven coaches without much monetary success.

Next, in search of bigger loot, a band of six, led by Bass and Collins, they rode to Big Springs, Nebraska and robbed the Union Pacific passenger train. Their haul was $60,000 in newly minted twenty-dollar gold pieces from the express car and $1,300 plus gold watches from the passengers.

On July 20, 1878, Major John B. Jones, commander of the Frontier Battalion of Texas Rangers engaged in a gun battle with Bass and his men. Bass was wounded. the next morning he was found lying helpless in a pasture north of town and brought back to Round Rock. He died there on July 21, which happened to be the date of his twenty-seventh birday. He was buried in Round Rock

According to local lore, the outlaw Sam Bass used the vicinity of Rosston, Texas as a rendezvous, and the community celebrates Sam Bass Day annually on the third Saturday in July.

www.lorettacrogersbooks.com

Tanya Hanson: Wild Horses

2009-10-09T08:39:00.000-07:00

Nearly 37,000 wild horses and burros --descendants of the Wild West -- roam Nevada, California, and Wyoming. Another 32,000 are tended in corrals and pastures in Kansas, Oklahoma, and South Dakota. While the Bureau of Land Management rounds up thousands annually for adoption, there have been fewer takers the last few years.

In recent months, Secretary of the U.S. Department of the Interior Ken Salazar has warned that the slaughter of many of these animals might be inevitable. Water and forage are limited in the West, he said, and drought and wildfire threaten both range land and the animals' well-being.

Fortunately, Salazar just announced to Congress a new plan to protect both the animals and range by moving thousands of horses and burros to preserves in the Midwest and East. Five preserves in addition to two already maintained would become refuge for 25,000 wild horses and burros. Many remaining on the range would be neutered, and reproduction closely monitored.

The planned preserves, essentially large ranches, would be accessible to the public, ecotourism. Salazar's plan is highly praised as it reverses decades of government policies that consider these critters "nuisances."

The thought of slaughter broke my heart. Horses and burros are tightly woven into the fabric of the Old West. I almost wish those buckaroos were called horseboys in honor of those elegant, hardworking, temperamental equines. And as for burros, well, I just love them and have sponsored three at a sanctuary in Israel. If only I lived on a farm or ranch and not a typical suburban cul-de-sac.

Here's some downhome kinds of four-legged friends.
1. Bangtail is another name for a wild horse, a mustang.

2. Cold back is a green, or unbroke, horse.

3. Churnhead is slang for a stubborn horse.

4. Dobbin is a gentle farm horse.

5. Buttermilk is another name for a palomino.

6. Calico is spotted, piebald: a pinto.

7. Cremello is an albino with pink skin and blue eyes.

8. Medicine hat, a black speckled mustang, was considered good luck by the Indians.

9. Palomilla is a milk white with white mane and tail.

10. Sabino is light red or roan with a white belly.

How about that for a remuda, the string of horses, preferably geldings, assigned to cowboys on a ranch or along the trail?

I think my favorite movie horse was the mountain horse in Man from Snowy River. I sobbed when bad guys shot him out from under. Won't be watching that movie for a long, long time. How about you? What are your favorite horse or donkey stories?

A Mountain Tale

2009-10-07T03:57:00.000-07:00

The unexplained has always fascinated me. I imagine it’s partly because my family always loved telling ghost stories and tales of odd or unusual occurrences. Once such story was told by my grandfather ...

Ambrose had found the love of his life, and it was Louisa. She was smart and pretty. Louisa was the oldest daughter a local midwife and healer, and Ambrose knew he’d found the perfect woman. His pa didn’t think too much of Louisa’s ma, and that troubled him a bit, but he was sure it would work out for them. He was in love.

Louisa was in love with Ambrose as well. She couldn’t wait for each Saturday. Though it was five miles from his home to hers, he came calling every week, walking the distance across the mountain with his shotgun in hand. Ambrose was a good man, a fine man, the son of a preacher, but her mother didn’t care for him. She didn't like him and didn’t want him near Louisa. It broke Louisa’s heart her mother despised the man she wished to marry. Ambrose still came calling week after week, and Louisa hoped her mother’s heart would soften. But it didn’t.

One night in the late fall Ambrose bid Louisa goodnight, took the shotgun he carried for the five-mile walk through the mountain road and checked it. Three shells. Since he'd never needed the weapon, it really didn't worry him he had so little ammunition. At the last minute, Louisa called out to him. She ran to the white picket fence lining her yard, removed the bag of Asafoetida she always wore about her neck and placed it around his for good luck.

He was about to tell her he didn’t need it, but her round eyes were so full of fear and angst, Ambrose just thanked her, kissed her, and started walking home over the mountain in the twilight. He knew good and well it would never do for his Pa to see that bag around his neck. Louisa’s ma was a healer it was true, but some folk said she was more...she could speak away your pains, or fix you up a tonic. She made charms. He touched the bag. Good luck, Louisa had said. He knew it was for protection, but his pa would say it smacked of witchcraft. He had his shotgun. That was protection enough for him.

As a full harvest moon rose high Ambrose could see thousands of stars in the cold night sky. The road through the woods was wide and well-packed, but he still didn’t like the rustles in the forest, the sounds around him. There were mostly deer, raccoons and ’possums in these woods, but there had been an occasional bear or wildcat. He was still thinking about the dangers when he heard it behind him. The distinct sound of hooves came closer. But this wasn’t the deep sounding gait of a horse. He looked over his shoulder and puzzled to see a big gray billy-goat. His head was lowered and he was charging. Ambrose aimed and fired his shotgun. The buckshot hit their mark, the animal fell.

He continued down the road. He would wait until the light of day to return for his kill. He picked up his pace, now little over a mile from his house. At first, he thought his mind played tricks on him. Then, he stopped and listened. The familiar clops made his heart race. He didn’t turn at first but when the sound grew close once again he turned. The same animal was bearing down on him. The same goat charged his way. Once again he fired. Once again the goat fell. Ambrose now ran, shotgun in hand toward his father's house. Well aware only one shot remained he hurried up the next hill. Soon, he could see wispy fingers of smoke rising from his father’s chimney and smelled the fragrant burning pine. He had almost reached the trail to the house when he heard the sound again. He ran as fast as he could to the edge of the yard, then to the front porch. He once again fired from the safety of the house, and once again the animal dropped as if dead.

Ambrose's father came out of the house, his white hair wild from sleep. Ambrose recounted the tale of the goat and the shots. His pa was focused elsewhere. He had noticed the charm about his neck. The preacher man told him to remove the charm before entering the house-it was no wonder a devil goat was chasing him with that around his neck. As Ambrose removed the charm he thought of Louisa and her sad, worried eyes. Had she known something waited?

Though his father and brothers could clearly see the tracks the animal left on the road, the body of the large goat was never found—nor was there any blood. The next Saturday, Ambrose took his horse and Louisa from her small mountain home, and she became his wife. The mystery of the goat was never solved, but my grandfather told the tale of the mysterious creature that chased him one cold autumn night for the rest of his life.

In my Cactus release,Snakes, Jails and Puppy Dog Tales, the woman who took Arabella in and raised her after her parent's died was inspired by my great-grandmother It always amazes me what she accomplished. She sewed for people, was a healer and midwife, and as a widow, she raised four children by herself during the depression, Louisa being the oldest. Although my grandfather called her a witch and feared her to his dying day she was an independent woman, an oddity in those days.

I can't say whether my grandfather's story is true...but always enjoyed hearing it. Happy Halloween.

Courting in the old West.

2009-10-05T23:32:00.000-07:00

We often hear conflicting stories on a woman’s desire to marry during the Victorian Era. Marriage was a woman’s only means of security, a home of her own, and children. With these privileges, came many hardships—being tied to the home, bearing and caring for five to seven children, endless household tasks, and in a sense, being a servant to her husband. Therefore, many women, though desirous of the joys of marriage, had ambivalent feelings regarding the establishment.

Men, however, had a different outlook on the subject. They viewed marriage as a positive enterprise. Marriage meant sex, pampering, and maid service. For the man trying to ranch or farm, marriage meant someone to help him work the land as well as cook, care for the home, and any children born to them. Often the man was a widower and married just to provide his children with a mother. Love wasn’t a prerequisite. A couple was lucky if respect grew into affection.

Though we realize the above was probably true for the majority of couples, there had to be exceptions. If not, how would writers be able to write those wonderful western historical love stories, the ones with strong, independent women and tough men who weren’t afraid to show their softer side? True, many women had cruel husbands who saw their wives as baby machines and servants, and often abused them. But I believe there were just as many men who adored their wives, who wanted a wife to work alongside them as an equal.

So, how did men and women meet, get acquainted, fall in love, and marry on the frontier in the 1800s? Many met at church, church socials, wedding, corn husking bees, barn raisings, and other socials that usually involved food, music, and dancing. Courting in the old West usually took place at an older age for girls than it did back east. Women were usually in the early twenties when they married. Men married in the middle to late twenties.

Public displays of affection, like kissing at corn husking bees, were more acceptable in the old West than in the east, especially during the earlier part of the century when women were in scarce supply. For dates, the couple took walks, took the buggy or wagon out for picnics, took horseback rides, hayrides, cuddled in the hayloft, and danced at socials.

For men in areas with few women, there were subscriptions to heart-and-hand clubs. The men received newspapers with information about women they could correspond with. Often photographs were included. Over a period of correspondence, the man might convince the woman to join him in the West and marry. Other men found their spouses as picture brides. They might see the picture of a friend’s sister or cousin and invite them to join them in marriage.

In 1849, Eliza Farnham encouraged women to travel to California to meet men and marry. Since only two women accompanied her, Eliza’s efforts weren’t considered successful. Later, Acer Mercer organized two different trips to take women to Washington to become brides to the men living there. Do you remember the 1968-1970 television show Here Comes The Brides? Three brothers risk their logging business to bring 100 women to Seattle to live for a year and hopefully become wives and remain to help settle the territory.

History is loaded with stories to tempt our imaginations. Happy Writing!

Check out the contest I have on my blog to celebrate the release of Flames On The Sky.

Linda

Advice for the newly married...

2009-09-30T19:02:00.000-07:00

I’m often asked where I get the ideas for my stories. (A very common question for authors, it ranks up there with “You should write a book about me.” To which I respond, “I write ROMANCE novels.” Sorry, I regress…) Stories come in as many ways, shapes, sizes, and intensity as canines.

Last year, I was stumbling around the internet, researching for my WIP, when I came across the below article by Ruth Smythers.

Instruction and advice
for the young bride.

On the Conduct and Procedure
Of the Intimate and Personal Relationships
Of the Marriage State
For the Greater Spiritual Sanctity
Of this Blessed Sacrament
And the Glory of God
by Ruth Smythers
Beloved wife of The Reverend L.D. Smythers,
Pastor of the Arcadian Methodist Church
of the Eastern Regional Conference
Published in the year of our Lord 1894
Spiritual Guidance Press, New York City

Instruction and advice for the young bride

To the sensitive young woman who has had the benefits of proper upbringing, the wedding day is, ironically, both the happiest and most terrifying day of her life. On the positive side, there is the wedding itself, in which the bride is the central attraction in a beautiful and inspiring ceremony, symbolizing her triumph in securing a male to provide for all her needs for the rest of her life. On the negative side, there is the wedding night, during which the bride must pay the piper, so to speak, by facing for the first time the terrible experience of sex.

At this point, dear reader, let me concede one shocking truth.Some young women actually anticipate the wedding night ordeal with curiosity and pleasure! Beware such an attitude! A selfish and sensual husband can easily take advantage of such a bride. One cardinal rule of marriage should never be forgotten: GIVE LITTLE, GIVE SELDOM, AND ABOVE ALL, GIVE GRUDGINGLY. Otherwise what could have been a proper marriage could become an orgy of sexual lust.

On the other hand, the bride's terror need not be extreme. While sex is at best revolting and at worse rather painful, it has to be endured, and has been by women since the beginning of time, and is compensated for by the monogamous home and by the children produced through it. It is useless, in most cases, for the bride to prevail upon the groom to forego the sexual initiation. While the ideal husband would be one who would approach his bride only at her request and only for the purpose of begetting offspring, such nobility and unselfishness cannot be expected from the average man.

Most men, if not denied, would demand sex almost every day. The wise bride will permit a maximum of two brief sexual experiences weekly during the first months of marriage. As time goes by she should make every effort to reduce this frequency.

Feigned illness, sleepiness, and headaches are among the wife's best friends in this matter. Arguments, nagging, scolding, and bickering also prove very effective, if used in the late evening about an hour before the husband would normally commence his seduction.

Clever wives are ever on the alert for new and better methods of denying and discouraging the amorous overtures of the husband. A good wife should expect to have reduced sexual contacts to once a week by the end of the first year of marriage and to once a month by the end of the fifth year of marriage.

By their tenth anniversary many wives have managed to complete their child bearing and have achieved the ultimate goal of terminating all sexual contacts with the husband. By this time she can depend upon his love for the children and social pressures to hold the husband in the home. Just as she should be ever alert to keep the quantity of sex as low as possible, the wise bride will pay equal attention to limiting the kind and degree of sexual contacts. Most men are by nature rather perverted, and if given half a chance, would engage in quite a variety of the most revolting practices. These practices include among others performing the normal act in abnormal positions; mouthing the female body; and offering their own vile bodies to be mouthed in turn.

Nudity, talking about sex, reading stories about sex, viewing photographs and drawings depicting or suggesting sex are the obnoxious habits the male is likely to acquire if permitted.

A wise bride will make it the goal never to allow her husband to see her unclothed body, and never allow him to display his unclothed body to her. Sex, when it cannot be prevented, should be practiced only in total darkness. Many women have found it useful to have thick cotton nightgowns for themselves and pajamas for their husbands. These should be donned in separate rooms. They need not be removed during the sex act. Thus, a minimum of flesh is exposed.

Once the bride has donned her gown and turned off all the lights, she should lie quietly upon the bed and await her groom. When he comes groping into the room she should make no sound to guide him in her direction, lest he take this as a sign of encouragement. She should let him grope in the dark. There is always the hope that he will stumble and incur some slight injury which she can use as an excuse to deny him sexual access.

When he finds her, the wife should lie as still as possible. Bodily motion on her part could be interpreted as sexual excitement by the optimistic husband.

If he attempts to kiss her on the lips she should turn her head slightly so that the kiss falls harmlessly on her cheek instead. If he attempts to kiss her hand, she should make a fist. If he lifts her gown and attempts to kiss her anyplace else she should quickly pull the gown back in place, spring from the bed, and announce that nature calls her to the toilet. This will generally dampen his desire to kiss in the forbidden territory.

If the husband attempts to seduce her with lascivious talk, the wise wife will suddenly remember some trivial non-sexual question to ask him. Once he answers she should keep the conversation going, no matter how frivolous it may seem at the time.

Eventually, the husband will learn that if he insists on having sexual contact, he must get on with it without amorous embellishment. The wise wife will allow him to pull the gown up no farther than the waist, and only permit him to open the front of his pajamas to thus make connection.

She should be absolutely silent or babble about her housework while he is huffing and puffing away. Above all, she should lie perfectly still and never under any circumstances grunt or groan while the act is in progress. As soon as the husband has completed the act, the wise wife will start nagging him about various minor tasks she wishes him to perform on the morrow. Many men obtain a major portion of their sexual satisfaction from the peaceful exhaustion immediately after the act is over. Thus the wife must insure that there is no peace in this period for him to enjoy. Otherwise, he might be encouraged to soon try for more.

One heartening factor for which the wife can be grateful is the fact that the husband's home, school, church, and social environment have been working together all through his life to instill in him a deep sense of guilt in regards to his sexual feelings, so that he comes to the marriage couch apologetically and filled with shame, already half cowed and subdued. The wise wife seizes upon this advantage and relentlessly pursues her goal first to limit, later to annihilate completely her husband's desire for sexual expression.

Copyright 1894 The Madison Institute.

This article is posted on many sites. I copied it from this site

Various resources (here and here) have confirmed the article couldn’t have been written in 1894 for numerous reason (lucky for Mr. Smythers) and was most likely written during the ‘sexual revolution’ (1960’s-1970’s).

HOWEVER, it made me wonder if such an article could have appeared, especially since periodicals, magazines, newspapers, as well as books were coveted by pioneer women. (These pieces of paper were not just a connection to the outside world, a pioneer woman found thousands of uses for every page.) Well, that’s how my latest release, Kendra’s Choice, came to be.

Back Blurb:
Kendra Parker needs a man-it's research for Widow Swanson's article, "What Every Woman Needs to Know about Her Marriage Bed." But the sparse population of Eastern Colorado in 1883 doesn't offer many choices, until Major Marlow arrives.

Sterling Marlow rode into the Parker farm in time to celebrate the wedding of one of Kincaid Parker's daughters. But it was the Pastor's older daughter, Kendra, who caught his attention. Her seductive body wanted him, and who was he to deny the needs of a young woman?

THE GENERAL STORE

2009-09-24T05:00:00.000-07:00

THE GENERAL STORE
By, Roberta C.M. DeCaprio

My mother visits Wal,art daily, and most of the time she hasn’t anything to buy. It’s become the local haunt for senior citizens in my area, many meet for coffee, do a bit of 'power walking' while browsing the isles for sales. She knows all the cashiers and sales people by name and has made tons of friends.
The convenient, finding-everything-under-one-roof type of store has also become an easy stop for the younger generation, who haven’t the time or patience to scout around various shops for their needs. The Super Walmart has an optical store, a nail salon and a pharmacy beneath one roof.....it even carries food, as would a grocery store. The first time my daughter called to say she bought a real nice cut of sirloin steak at Walmart, I did a double take.
As always, my writer’s curiosity got the best of me, and I decided to do a little research on the Walmart of the pioneer days . . . known to the shoppers at that time as THE GENERAL STORE.

Thinkquest Jr. 2000 explains THE GENERAL STORE, as not having a big variety of food and clothes. The size of the store was not very big, maybe about the size of a classroom. The stores would have a backroom where they kept extra supplies especially during the winter.

Some of the things the pioneers might have bought at the general store were: coffee grinders, rugs, clothing, bedding, cooking stoves, baby cradles, sets of dishes, candles, lanterns, butter molds, and food.

They also might have purchased tools there like animal traps, anvils, hoes, hammers, hatchets, shovels, axes, grinding stones, ropes, and other tools.

The general store would also have items for children like toys, dolls, jump ropes, marbles, family bibles, books, cloth, ribbons, buttons, and more.

The general store was like a gathering place for people in the town. They would meet there to talk about things, to find out news, and maybe to even play a game of checkers with the storekeeper or a neighbor.

Laura Ingalls Wilder explains THE GENRAL STORE as follows:

Every town had a general store, and they were all much alike. The general store was a place where things could be purchased that was not produced at home. It sold groceries, dry goods and hardware items. There were no unfilled spaces in (or out of) the store. Items for sale were stocked in bushel baskets, barrels, bins, glass cases, canisters, cloth sacks, shelves, and even overhead on wires strung across the store.

On the Mast Store History site I learned the first MAST GENERAL STORE of Valle Crucis, North Carolina was built, at least the first of its many rooms, in 1882 by Henry Taylor and opened in 1883. Henry had run a much smaller store across the road for many years previous to the building of the new structure. In 1897 half interest in the store was sold to W. W. Mast, a member of a pioneer family that settled in the valley. The store was known as the Taylor and Mast General Store up until 1913 when the remaining half of the enterprise was purchased by W. W.

For the next 60 years, the store was owned and managed by the Mast Family. During that time, W. W. and his family tried to carry all of the items their neighbors might need - from plows to cloth and "Cradles to Caskets," which led to the popular saying, "If you can't buy it here, you don't need it."

Credit was extended to all who needed it and payments were often made in trade (a chicken for a sack of flour, and so on). If you wander back in the store, you can see the chicken hatch door in the floor. "In the floor?" you may ask. "That seems like an awfully funny place to put a chicken coop." As the story goes, a couple of young boys took a chicken to the Farthing Store, a competing general store just two tenths of a mile down the road, and traded with them for merchandise. Their chicken was duly weighed and put out back in the chicken coop. When the storekeeper wasn't watching, they took their just-bartered chicken back and brought it to the Mast Store to trade it again. Therefore, the hatch at the Mast Store was put beneath the floor and secured from the outside to prevent those individuals who wanted to get more than they bargained for.

In addition to being the community gathering place, the store also served many other needs over the years. It provided an office for Dr. Perry - one of Watauga County's first doctors. It was a place for wild crafters to bring their roots and herbs in exchange for store credit. And in the aftermath of the '40 Flood, it provided a site for mourners to gather to honor the memory of their lost loved ones.

Operation of the store was passed from W. W. to his son Howard, who continued to run the business in the long-established manner of providing for the needs of the community. Howard passed it along to his son, "H."

The store was sold by the Mast Family in 1973 to a doctor in Atlanta and a professor at Appalachian State University. Around about that same time, the site was named to the National Register of Historic Places as one of the finest remaining examples of an old country general store. In November of 1977, the doors were closed presumably just for the winter season with hopes of reopening in April of 1978. However, plans did not pan out. Many residents of Valle Crucis banded together in an effort to save the old store and Exxon even helped with the drive to preserve the landmark.

John and Faye Cooper purchased the Mast Store and reopened it in June of 1980. Since that time the store had regained its reputation as "the store that had everything." The Valle Crucis Post Office reopened in October of 1980, thus giving the valley back its identity.

There is an interesting story about the post office. It was said that the post office changed locations - from the Farthing Store (staunch Republicans) to the Mast Store (dyed-in-the-wool Democrats) - depending upon what political party was in power. How would you like to get up in the morning after an election and not know just exactly where to go get your mail?

The operation has expanded in much that same manner as when W. W. Mast was operating the establishment (several Mast General Stores were located in the area and operated by brothers and other family members). The Annex was opened in 1982; the Old Boone Mercantile was opened in 1988; the Little Red Schoolhouse was opened in 1989; the Waynesville store was opened in 1991; the Hendersonville location was opened in August 1995, a store in Asheville joined the Mast Store family in 1999; the first location outside of North Carolina is located on Main Street in Greenville, SC and opened in March 2003. The newest "old" location, which opened in August of 2006, is in Knoxville, TN on Gay Street.

THE GENERAL STORE is alive and well . . . Walmart beware!

Buffalo Gal

2009-09-22T21:03:00.000-07:00

I just had the opportunity to travel to Montana and Wyoming, to do some research, take photos for my book trailer, and enjoy a few days of vacation. We visited Yellowstone National Park, and I’m ashamed to admit that this was my first visit, despite living in the Northwest for thirty years.

It won’t be my last visit. I was enthralled with the landscape, wildlife and hydrothermal features. We had the chance to see elk, beaver, coyote, pronghorn, deer, badger, hawks and wolves. But, my favorite animal was the buffalo, also known as the American Bison.

We visited the National Bison Range in the Flathead Valley of Montana a few years ago, and it was my first opportunity to see these magnificent animals up close. Watching them run, seeing their shaggy heads, and observing the males protecting the females as they crossed the road turned me into a true “Buffalo Gal”.

On this visit I had a chance to see herds grazing across the plains and the sight was awe-inspiring. I try to imagine what it was like when these animals covered the land from Canada to northern Mexico, and east to the border of the Appalachian Mountains. It’s been estimated that there were between 60 to 100 million buffalo in the mid-19th century. By 1902, they were nearly extinct. Greed killed them, with many hunters taking only the hides and the tongue. The Lakota people called these hunters – wasichu – which means bad medicine and white man. The tatonka (buffalo) were not only sustenance for these plains Indians, they were also sacred and important to their spirituality.

A few years ago I had the

opportunity to spend two days with Michael Blake, the author of “Dances with Wolves” and he talked about filming the movie with Kevin Costner. One of the things he mentioned was assembling the herd of buffalo for the movie and the way the entire crew stood transfixed that first day of filming when the entire herd stormed across the plain.

It’s not a sight we’re ever likely to see again, even in Yellowstone National Park where the herds are carefully managed to be maintained at approximately 3000 animals.

I think we're diminished by this loss, because for me, buffalo make a landscape more beautiful.

In the coming weeks, PBS will be showing a new Ken Burns documentary, “The National Parks: America’s Best Idea”. Because I’ve been working with our local station to help promote this series, I’ve had a chance to see some clips from the film. I encourage you to turn on the TV, because this is an event not to be missed.

And then get out into one of “our” parks. The scenery is amazing!

Deborah Schneider
Promise Me – January 2010
www.debschneider.com

The Victorian Era in america:1837-1901

2009-09-17T05:19:00.000-07:00

After the Civil War to the turn of the century, wealth increased all across the nation. By 1870, an enormous building boom increased the number of millionaires to one hundred. With the advent of new money, the call for more of everything reigned among the wealthy. “Too much is not enough” became the mantra, as the rich constantly sought out new ways to display their prominence in society.

From New York to the West coast, a woman of means threw her heart and soul into creating a home befitting her status. This meant building a home that was as festooned as a Christmas tree—inside and out. She stuffed every room with spindly, feminine furniture, until it overflowed with excess. She decorated with abandon, creating grossly decorated rooms, filled with every knickknack and gimcrack imaginable. A person might feel stifled and claustrophobic in the room.
The ladies, young and old, dressed in the fashions of the day. The outfits were as ornate as the homes in which they lived. Pronounced bustles, unnecessary and odd-looking, was part of every well-to-do lady’s dress. One dress might contain as many as twenty yards of silk and satin, and rows and rows of lace and fringe and ruffles decorated the necklines, hems, and bustles.

A lady strived for the most extravagant hairdo she could manage. She piled it high on her head, tortured it into masses of curls and ringlets, and above all, draped it with all manner of gewgaws to frame her face. All in the name of elegance.

In my first release, All My Hopes and Dreams, a Western Historical set in the Victorian era, 1880 Texas, Miss Cynthia Harrington lives in a big, white house in Nacogdoches, Texas with her banker father. As she says in the novel, “Nacogdoches is not exactly the social and fashion center of Texas.” However, she strives to be the best-dressed young lady of the small East Texas town. With her loveliness and poise, she manages to attract the attention of visiting horse-buyer, Ricardo Romero. Of course, they marry, and she soon learns that the Romero ranch on the far Western edge of the Texas Frontier most certainly differs in all ways from her usual lifestyle—and that includes dress. By the third day, she finds herself wearing boots, split skirt, blouse, and gaucho hat.

Read about their adventures and how they fall in love. Purchase the eBook here:

http://www.thewildrosepress.com/celia-yeary-m-366.html

Or purchase the print here: http://www.amazon.com/books-used-books-textbooks/b/ref=sa_menu_bo0_b?ie=UTF8&node=283155

Thank you, Celia Yeary

TYING YOUR BACKSTORY TO SETTING

2009-09-16T06:50:00.000-07:00

We’ve talked some in the past about backstory, but I thought it would be interesting to look at why we choose the backstory we do to create our “front story”—or what the main thrust of the novel is about. A backstory does lots of things for our setting, plot and characters.

Why do we choose the particular backstory we decide to use to create our setting? For me, the backstory must bring the setting to life to show why the characters were so affected by what has happened in their pasts.

A male character, our protagonist, that is “tall, dark, and handsome,” could be one of any type of characters in any time period—until we create his backstory. Of course, the backstory shapes his character in the plot of the book, but the setting is such an integral part of the equation that it would be hard to say what’s more important to your character’s development: where he came from, or where he’s going.

Let me show you what I mean. In my novel, Fire Eyes, the hero, Kaed Turner, has been denied a family by one twist of fate or another since he was a small boy. His parents were killed when he was eight by the Apache, and though he was kept with his sister and brother by first the Apache, then the Choctaw, they were so much younger than he that they quickly forgot what he felt compelled to remember—the deaths of their parents, and their lives before.

He loses his young Choctaw wife and their two children, ironically, to a group of white men who don’t want Indians to settle in the community where he’s built his house.

So, there is no room in his heart to totally embrace the ways of the Indians, but he is being shown physically that he is unwelcome now in the white world. This is further illustrated when Fallon’s band captures him and tries to kill him, but he is saved by the Choctaws. Where does he belong?

Could Fire Eyes have happened the way it did if Kaed’s backstory hadn’t included these incidents? No. The entire feel of the character would have been changed if he had not had these experiences. And to show his growth in the "front story," we have to show what happened to him before. The setting is indispensable in shaping all the other elements of the story, in this case. Kaed has come from rough beginnings due to the things that happened to him that were beyond his control. Now, what kind of man will it make him?

Could these things have happened to him in any other setting? No. When we begin to delve into the history that is pertinent to a particular area and/or time period, there are certain events that have happened that are unique to both time and place. Just as the events of history shape the setting your story takes place in, those same happenings also shape your characters both directly and indirectly.

How much description of the setting do we need in the backstory to set the scene? And how do we deliver it?

In Fire Eyes, we know none of the facts about Kaed’s upbringing at the beginning of the story. In chapter one, when he sees he must give himself up to save the two Choctaw girls, we begin to realize that he knows them, and therefore, has an affiliation with the Choctaws. It isn’t until later, even after the Choctaws rescue him, that it comes out as to why he knows Standing Bear, the chief, and what happened to him as a child. Even later in the story, we learn of the tragedy that happened to his own young family ten years past.

In creating a world we are not familiar with, such as in science fiction or fantasy writing, more of the backstory must be told in the beginning. The stage must be set, and in order to let us know about the world that has been created, more description has to be given toward the front part of the book rather than waiting.

Frank Herbert’s “Dune” series would have made no sense without some description of the world and customs, the people and landscape he created. The same with Tolkien’s world, and even the Harry Potter books, which are a mix of a created world and one we are familiar with.

Letting the setting affect your character is easier than you might think—it’s really inevitable. Even if your novel is set in contemporary times, the city, state or country and even the matter of picking a rural or urban setting will make a huge difference in your characters and your story overall. Was your hero raised on a ranch or was he a city boy? This will definitely determine his reactions the first time his new love interest suggests they go riding next weekend.

How much should your reader know? Not as much as you, the author, does. The art of backstory and description of the setting is in doing it interestingly and seamlessly. Dumping all the information on the reader at once will prove overwhelming.

The saying goes, “The devil is in the details.” Blending your setting, characters, and plot successfully in the backstory of your novel proves the truth of that statement!

In the excerpt below, Kaed talks to Jessica about what happened to his parents and his brother and sister. He is showing us why he feels like he does now, his fears at trying to hold on to family of any kind, after what happened. What we don’t know yet, is the rest of the story about what happened ten years ago, to his wife and children. This is a kind of turning point for Kaed. Will he let events, the setting of his life in the past, shape him? Or will he try again—will he be strong enough to risk everything one more time and shape the setting that is yet to come, the future?

FROM FIRE EYES:

“Family seems to be a hard thing for me to hold on to.” He shifted, and Jessica moved to lay her head on his shoulder. Her long hair trailed across his bare chest, and he felt her breathe slowly, relaxing in his embrace. “I lost my parents when I was eight.”

“It still hurts, doesn’t it?” Jessica laid her hand across his side, tracing his ribs.

He drew a long breath, and spoke quietly. “Yeah. I guess it does.”

“What happened?”

“My father was determined to have some bottom land to farm. Never mind that the place he selected was unprotected, away from the rest of the small settlement there in Cale Switch. The land was good, and it was what he wanted. But the Apache saw an easy target. They came in the night and took us. My younger brother, Kevin; my sister, Marissa; and me.”

“They killed your parents?” Her voice was hesitant, and Kaed was silent for a moment before he responded.

“My father tried to stop them. He just couldn’t defend us against so many. They killed him, then my mother, and took their scalps.”

At her sharp intake of breath, Kaed stroked Jessica’s long hair. “Barbaric?” he asked, reading her thoughts easily.

She nodded her head against him. “I’ve been afraid of the Indians ever since we came here.”

Kaed smiled at this admission. “Standing Bear won’t hurt you, sweetheart. The Choctaws aren’t as—”

“Cruel?”

“Taking scalps was a practice the Indians learned from the Europeans, Jess. Barbaric, cruel—yes. But remember, they only fought back using the methods the white men used first.” He cupped her chin and she raised her eyes to his. “You can trust Standing Bear.”

“That’s what he told me about you.”

Kaed grinned. “He knows me pretty well. After the Apache had had us for a year or so, he bartered for the three of us. We lived with the Choctaw after that. I left when I was seventeen. Kevin and Marissa were so young, the way of the People is all they knew.”

“They stayed with the tribe? Even when they had a choice?”

“It’s how they were raised. Kevin was only five when we were taken; Marissa was two.” He was silent a moment. “I was the only one old enough to remember.”

“Do you ever see them?”

“I walk in both worlds, Jessi. I come and go freely in the Choctaw camp. Kevin and Marissa are married and have families. They’re both more Choctaw than white by the way they’ve been raised. I lost them to a way of life I couldn’t fully embrace. I guess it’s harder for me, because I remember our parents, our home.” He shook his head and felt her fingers moving gently, absently, over his bronze skin.

“I wondered how he knew you. Standing Bear, I mean.” Jessica lifted her head and met his eyes. “You’re like a son to him, aren’t you?”

“I’ll never think of him as my father, but he saved us from the Apache.” He smiled caustically. “They’re a pretty rough bunch. The Choctaws are reasonable, at least. I owe him for what he did. Can’t ever repay that.”

“He’s a good man. He raised a good man.” She kissed his side. “Whether you want to think of him as your father or not, it seems he did what he could to do right for you.”

Tanya Hanson: The Legend of the Yellow Ribbon

2009-09-11T04:44:00.000-07:00

I never liked the song much, Tie a Yellow Ribbon 'Round the Old Oak Tree, but that doesn't mean I can't sing it at will all these years later! And I remember wearing a yellow ribbon during the Iran Hostage Crises of 1981-82. These days, I see frequent reminders to pray for our troops on yellow-ribbon car magnets.

But not until last week, visiting Old Sacramento, did I learn the origins of the yellow ribbon. For almost 150 years, displaying a yellow ribbon is a sign of loyalty to family, friends and loved ones far away from home in difficult situations such as war or captivity.

According to legend, the custom of a yellow ribbon showing support for a loved one far away began during the Civil War. At this time, the United States Cavalry wore yellow piping on their uniforms. Women who were married or promised to a Cavalryman wore yellow ribbons while waiting for their soldiers' return. Supposedly the practice kept prospective suitors at bay as well as warned of reprisal by the soldier if his lover was harmed.

Another version of the custom traces its origins to the horrific Andersonville Prison. Officially known as Camp Sumpter, Andersonville was one of the largest, most notorious Confederate prison camps. During its 14 months of operation, more than 45,000 Union soldiers were confined, 13,000 losing their lives from disease, malnutrition, overcrowding, and exposure.

Supposedly a member of the Ninth Ohio Cavalry who had been a Confederate prisoner there for several years, wrote to his wife with the suggestion that, rather than wear her ribbon, she tie it to a signpost near the train station so he could see it upon his return. The tale soon became part of Civil War lore.

The following song spread throughout the North, its words set to an old British drinking song:

Around her neck she wore a yellow ribbon
She wore it in the Springtime and in the month of May.
And if you ask her why the hells he wore it,
She wore it for her soldier who is far, far away.

(Chorus)
Far away, far away.
She wore it for her soldier who is far, far away.

During the 1991 Gulf War and following 9/11, the yellow ribbon symbol has gained widespread popularity as it sends our service members the message that they are never far from our hearts.

Sincere thanks to the Old Sacramento School House Museum for this information.

History of Western Dancing--Cowboys did it their way.

2009-09-08T11:05:00.000-07:00

The cowboy was not the most limber of creatures. The long hours in the saddle and strenuous work produced dancers of questionable finesse. He was not of a temperament to master intricate dance steps or to gracefully lead a fair maiden across the floor to the strains of a fiddler's reel. Rather he would join a dance with a wild whoop and a goat cry.

Joseph McCoy, the first great cattle baron, wrote in 1874 that the cowboy "usually enters the dance with a peculiar zest, his eyes lit up with excitement, liquor and lust. He stomps in without stopping to divest himself of his sombrero, spurs or pistols." This dance style was not so much original as it was a spontaneous adaptation of traditional moves brought west by various immigrant cultures.

The open unexplored spaces of the West both shaped the character and determined the interaction of its settlers. People organized barn dances, husking and quilting bees, cowboy balls and get-togethers. Invitation was by word of mouth and those who heard usually came to dance. To prevent chaos from dominating the dance floor (few people knew the same steps), a figure who soon became legendary emerged; this hero was the caller and it was his job to orchestrate the ranchers, ranch hands, cowboys and ladies into harmonious movement.

Working with the steps of formal quadrilles and folk dances, the caller added a "cowboy waltz" position and helped promote the square dance. This new dance was considerably more casual in that the traditional dances where bodies didn’t touch, but still inhibited the young who were ready for a dance that would add a more intimate hold on their partner.

A new dance called the Polka started moving West. Having "the intimacy of the Waltz and the vivacity of the Irish jig", the Polka was embraced with enthusiasm.

The western population included such groups as Poles, Germans, French, Irish, Jews, Scandinavians, Czechs and Russians and each still enjoyed their own folk dances, but many found common refuge in the polka. New hybrids were also developed, creating offspring such as the Varsouvianna and the Two Step. German settlers in El Paso, Texas developed the Schottische and line dances which were important precursors of modern western dances such as the Cotton-Eyed Joe.

Folks gathered just about anywhere to dance -- on ranches, in barns, in the wide open spaces under the stars. Slowly a dance that was specifically "western" began to evolve. Novelty moves and styles popular in Appalachia and the South came west and were absorbed by the new settlers. The most important influence came from the cowboy!

The cowboy paid little attention to traditional dance forms. One observer commented in 1873, that "some punchers danced like a bear 'round a beehive that was afraid of getting stung. Others didn't seem to know how to handle a calico, and got as rough as they do handlin' cattle in brandin' pens."

The swing of the leg when dismounting from a horse became a mighty Polka gallop. Women were handled as if the cowboy were throwing a beating calf to the ground to be branded. Heavy army issue boots contributed to crude footwork. The habit of wearing spurs even on the dance floor forced the cowboy to keep his feet apart and shuffle as he moved to the music. Several of these cowboy mannerisms, although tamed, survive in today's modern western dance. The "double arms over" move is reminiscent of the final "tying off" of a calf's legs prior to branding. The basic "push pull" position recaptures the rhythm of grasping the reins.

All I can say is, "Yee-haw." Way to go--cowboy!

www.lorettacrogersbooks.com

Western Heroes or, What I Learned from Russell Crowe

2009-09-05T16:16:00.000-07:00

In planning this blog today, all I could think about were the two main characters in the movie 3:10 To Yuma, starring my favorite actors, Christian Bale and Russell Crowe. I have seen this film probably 10 times, since DH also loves it, though for different reasons. At first, I watched it because of the Western background, costuming, storyline, drama, etc...but, by the 7th time, I watched it as a historical romance author and saw something that helped me with my own writing.

The basic plot is: "a small-time rancher agrees to hold a captured outlaw who's awaiting a train to go to court in Yuma. A battle of wills ensues as the outlaw tries to psych out the rancher." This plotline made me think it would just be a shoot-em-up good guy/bad guy type of story. Ho-hum. Never heard one of those before!

In the story, Dan (Bale) is a struggling rancher about to lose the farm when the opportunity arises to ride with a posse who've captured murderer Ben (Crowe). Dan asks for $200 for his trouble; it will be enough money to save the ranch and buy medicine for his sickly son. Simple black hat/white hat theme. Like the good guy, cheer when the baddie is caught. As the story progresses, however, these two characters show deeper, different sides that makes this more a study of characterization and GMC, than a showcase for two hunky actors who make sweaty brows and scowling eyes look good.

Dan is not just a struggling rancher. He's a Civil War veteran and his sons consider him a great war hero. The family story is that he lost his leg in battle. At the end of the film, he confesses to Ben that one of his own men shot it off accidentally, but he was too ashamed to admit that to his sons, who admire him. Through added digs by Ben and others, it's also hinted that Dan feels like less of a man with his frustrated wife, who resents that he cannot make the ranch work. His older son thinks him a coward when he won't shoot one of the bad guys. With just a few insights, the story becomes more an internal battle in each man than a simple chase story.

Ben, the heartless killer, is a lover of Shakespeare and quite the artist. He also shows a knack for reading people and becomes more and more sympathetic toward Dan and his plight. When he finds out that Dan needs the money his capture will bring, Ben is determined to make sure he is on the train (taking him to Yuma Prison where he will be hanged). But his gang has other plans, and will kill everyone in their path to release Ben. One of my favorite scenes is toward the end, when the worst of his gang fatally shoots Dan. Without hesitation, Ben kills the rest of his men, then gets on the waiting train. Dan's son leans down and whispers, "He got on the train." And Dan smiles, knowing that Ben is the unlikely reason his family and ranch will go on without him.

That two unlikely heroes can become friends despite their backgrounds and occupations made me want to explore their characters even more. I studied how their interractions brought them closer; the private secrets they reveal to each other. Secrets their own friends and families don't know. Dan speaks of the war and his shame while Ben reveals he once read the Bible cover to cover when his mother abandoned him, as a child, at a train station. These revelations, simple at first, reveal more of the man beneath the label. Dan just doesn't need the money - he wants to redeem himself in his wife's and sons' eyes. And Ben admits he can always escape again from Yuma, even though he is risking his life by getting on the train. There is still the chance he will be hanged, but he wants Dan's family to go on.

There were so many levels to this story that sets it apart from most. It reminded me that our characters are not one- or two-sided, but multi-faceted, like real people. Even though the men started out as good guy/bad guy, by the end of the movie they were very similar - both had positive and negative traits, both were sympathetic, and both were capable of loyalty and honor.

And both could scowl a hole through the darkest cloud any time!

The Bone War

2009-09-03T08:11:00.000-07:00

The Wild West went deeper than outlaws, buffalo hunters, Indian raids, wagon trains, and cattle drives. For over twenty-years a race to uproot fossils raged across the western plains—THE BONE WAR.

Sometime around 1864 two men, Othniel Marsh and Edward Cope, became acquainted in Germany at a time when paleontology was at its forefront. Cope was from a wealthy Quaker family in Pennsylvania and thought Marsh was too uncouth to be a scientist. Whereas Marsh (though his family was not well-to-do, he had considerably rich uncle) thought Cope was simply dabbling in the field and not really serious about the fossil evidence uprooting itself around the world. The BONE WAR became a feud between Cope and Marsh as they each fought to gain notoriety as the world’s greatest paleontologist. Their war resulted in hundreds of fossil finds, but also in trickery, theft, and overall corruption.

It all started in 1868 when Cope attempted to reconstruct a fossil sent to him by one of his ‘diggers’ in Kansas. (At the time, no one had any idea how out of proportion historical reptiles were.) Mistakenly, Cope placed the skull at the end of the animal’s short tail instead of its long neck. When Marsh unearthed this mistake, he pointed it out in public, thoroughly humiliating Cope.

The Bone War was kicked into high gear when increasing numbers of reports came from the American west. The railroad, surging its way across the country, unearthed bones as the tracks were laid. A school teacher in eastern Colorado wrote to both Cope and Marsh, sending them samples of a fossil he’d found. Marsh immediately offered the man $100 to keep his find secret. When Marsh discovered Cope had heard about it, he dispatched an agent to ‘protect’ his assets. Soon both men were sending troops of prospectors westward.

Soon it was common knowledge the men were in a race to find the most and best dinosaur fossils. Boxcars of fossils were shipped eastward, and both men had barns full of bones. Both Marsh and Cope relocated to the west and over the next few years they deliberately destroyed each other’s finds, hijacked shipments, spied on each other, bribed employees, and outright stole one another’s bones.

By the 1880’s it looked as if Marsh was winning the war. Thanks to his rich uncle he could hire more men, make larger bribes, and open more dig sites. Cope continued with the discoveries, but soon started to focus on publishing information about the findings. Marsh would scour through every one of Cope’s papers and exploit every mistake he could find.

Cope had kept a journal during all his excavations. In these diaries he’d listed all of Marsh’s discretions, transgressions and unlawful behavior, and in the late 1880’s provided them to a journalist at the New York Herald. Marsh of course published a rebuttal, accusing Cope of the same deeds.

The airing of dirty laundry didn’t help either of them. Marsh was asked to resign from the U.S. Congressional Geographical Survey Division and Cope soon took ill. By the time of Cope’s death in 1897 both men had squandered their fortunes. A large number of their finds were not unpacked and re-constructed until after their deaths.

In Shotgun Bride—The Quinter Brides Book One, I introduce the readers to the Bone War when the second brother arrives home after visiting the Kansas Badlands with a pocket full of sharks teeth. The second book of the series, Badland Bride, has the Bone War as a subplot.

There are several fossil museums in Kansas. My favorite is the Keystone Gallery It is in the middle of no where (I can say that because I grew up there) and is housed in a 1916 limestone church building.

Badland Bride—The Quinter Brides Book Two will be released in November 2009.

The Bishop's Palace, Galveston

2009-08-31T20:40:00.000-07:00

My girl cousins on the Riley side try to get together every summer for a weekend. This year we went to Baytown where one cousin lives. Her house sits on the bay and we enjoyed sitting on the deck drinking coffee in the morning and margaritas at night while watching the sunset telling tall tales. The last morning we were there we saw dolphins gliding through the water.

On Saturday, we drove to Galveston to tour the Bishop’s Palace, a castle like structure built by Galveston’s premier architect, Nicholas Clayton. Construction began on the Victorian building in 1887 and was finished in 1893. It stands proudly today, a survivor of the worst hurricane disaster in 1900 in this country’s history. The house cost $250,000 to build.

The home, first named Gresham’s Castle, was designed for Colonel Walter Gresham, a native Virginian, and his wife and cousin Josephine. Walter served in the Civil War earning the honorary title of Colonel. With the upheaval in Virginia during reconstruction, he moved to Galveston to begin anew.

A lawyer and entrepreneur, Gresham founded the Gulf, Colorado, and Santa Fe Railroad and was later instrumental in Galveston becoming the only deep water sea port west of the Mississippi. He served in the Texas Legislature. He died in Washington in 1920 while serving in the United States Congress. Josephine remained in Washington and the house in Galveston remained vacant. She died in 1933.

In 1926 Josephine sold the house to the Catholic Diocese for $40,500 as a home for Bishop Christopher C. E. Byrne. At that time it became known as the Bishop’s Palace. Though run by Galveston’s Historical Society, the house is still owned by the Catholic Diocese.

The home was the first ever to boast recessed lighting, a Clayton design. At the far end of the entry hall, a fireplace, combination gas and coal, has a flue below the fireplace, an oddity that no one knows exactly how it works. A beautiful solid oak staircase curves up and over the fireplace and has a Bishop’s pulpit where the Gresham children often observed party festivities of Galveston’s elite. Above the staircase is a rotunda with cooling vents in the upper windows. The house was lit with gasoliers, combination gas and electric lights. Can you imagine the fire hazard they must have been?

Josephine was a great entertainer. She loved to travel and did so extensively. On her travels she mailed post cards home to add to her collection. Many ladies in her circle also had collections and gatherings gave hostesses the opportunity to boast of the places they’d been. On display in the parlor is the box Mrs. Gresham had made to display her cards. At one end of the parlor is an alcove where as guests danced on the pine floors, musicians played behind hand-painted screens and palms. The entertainers were to be heard, not seen. It is in this alcove where after his death Bishop Byrne lay in state.

Mrs. Gresham was an accomplished artist and painted many of the murals on the ceilings. Some of her paintings remain on display. In the dining room, Lincrusta, a wall covering similar to linoleum is shaped to adhere to the curved area below the ceiling.

Fresh water was a commodity in Galveston. A drainage system allowed rain water to be collected and stored. In the master bathroom, the bathtub has three faucets—one for cold water, one for hot water, and one for rain water to wash the mistress’s hair.

When the house was built, the kitchen was located in the basement. There were three kitchens—one to cook breakfast, one for lunch, and one for dinner. During Bishop Byrne’s time, a modernized kitchen was installed in the warming room behind the butler’s pantry where the food was held until it was served. On display in the kitchen today is an old Crescent stove that used both wood and gas.

Many of the windows on the first and second floors open from the floor up to allow air flow and individuals to step out on the porch that surrounds the house. The house is filled with stained glass, Italian pink marble fireplaces, a hand carved mantle made of Santa Domingo mahogany that won first- place at the World’s Fair in Philadelphia in 1876, and another made of onyx, pewter, and silver that won first-prize at the New Orleans Exhibition.

Hand carved woodwork abounds in the house—light mahogany in the music room, black burl walnut in the library, dark mahogany in the parlor. The lower floor rooms have massive sliding doors with different woods on each side so they’ll match the wood of each room. In the library, the glass doors on the book shelves slide rather than open out and all of the windows have folding inside shutters. Of the beautiful woods used in the house, the most valuable is located in the servant’s entry area and staircase. It is long leaf pine, though cheaper in 1890, is very rare and expensive today. The servant’s stairs go up to the third floor. There are ninety-three steps. Women servants of the era wore corsets and long dresses. Off of this area is a cloak room with pegs to hold coats of guests. Though the servants didn’t live on site, they had their own bathroom complete with bathtub just off this area.

Mr. and Mrs. Gresham’s rooms, along with those of their three daughters, are on the second floor. The rooms are elaborate, many containing half-canopy beds with painted murals. The girls had their own bathroom, but it’s half the size of the master. The boy’s rooms were on the third floor. Though we were not allowed on that level, the guide explained the rooms were spartan compared to those of the girls. Boys needed space to run and play, decoration wasn’t important. They had their own toilet upstairs, the girls most likely wouldn’t have approved of sharing, but bathed in the girl’s bathroom or downstairs in the servant’s bathroom.

Mr. Gresham’s bedroom was converted into a private chapel for Bishop Byrne and remains as such today. If you have time to only visit one of the historical homes in Galveston, The Bishop’s Palace is the one to see.

I hope you've enjoyed this little bit of history from Galveston, Texas.

Linda
Linda LaRoque ~Western Romance with a Twist in Time~ A Law of Her Own, Desires of the Heart, My Heart Will Find Yours, Flames on the Sky10-9, Forever Faithful, Investment of the Heart, When the Ocotillo Bloom
www.lindalaroque.com/ http://wwww.lindalaroqueauthor.blogspot.com/

THE FRONTIER WOMAN'S CORSET.....OR BODICE

2009-08-27T05:00:00.000-07:00

THE FRONTIER WOMAN’S CORSET….OR BODICE
By, Roberta C.M. DeCaprio

I’ve often heard romance novels of years ago referred to as “bodice rippers.” After reading a couple, I fully understood why. Back-in-the-day, when the hero ripped the clothes off the heroine, it was considered “sensual,” “exciting,” and “romantic.” I find it more disturbing, especially because I am a very practical person and would hate to see a perfectly good piece of clothing destroyed. Then, of course, I have this thing about being cherished by a man, and prefer to be unwrapped like a precious gift, instead of stripped. However, different strokes for different folks and to each their own taste in literature. This blog today isn’t about the various ways romance is written, likes and dislikes in the style used, etc.; but about the clothing, especially the corset…..or bodice, as a corset was sometimes called. One wonders, the way the corset or bodice was made (with wool, whale bone and tons of laces), how it could be ripped that easily while two people are in the throws of passion. Being the curious and inquisitive sort, I decided to do a bit of research on the frontier women’s corset. This is what I discovered:

Women of yonder years were taught from an impressionable age to conform to society's norms via serious amounts of peer pressure. To deviate from the norm was to be considered less than a lady and no one wanted to be shunned for being less than a lady. Doing your best to look your best was important, and all who could afford it aspired to attain the latest fashions.
One of the measures of beauty for this look was to appear to have a small waist, one no less than 17 inches, and no larger than 21 inches. To this end, women constructed gowns to accentuate this feature. The jewel neckline and center front openings were universal. Arm seams went very low onto the arm, making the shoulders look wide and sloping, thus accentuating the smallness of the waist. Side and shoulder seams were moved to the back to make a smoother line to the waist. Sleeves were full at the elbow; to make the waist look smaller by comparison, as well as a full skirt. Fashionable skirts were as wide as possible; this width was accentuated with the support of hoops or multiple starched petticoats. Another way to achieve the “small waist” look was by wearing a corset beneath the dress.

A corset is an article of dress designed to support or modify the figure, worn to shape or constrict the torso. It dates to at least c. 2000 BC, when it was worn as an outer garment by men as well as women in Minoan Crete. Corsets, also called bodices or stays, were worn by European women from the 16th century onward into the 17th century and was worn to flatten the chest and was reinforced with wood. Some outer corsets were jeweled and elaborately embroidered. After 1660 they were shaped to accentuate the breasts. In the 19th century the corset, now reinforced with whalebone or metal, changed with the style of dresses, changing their form as fashions changed.

The over-all look of the undergarment extended to the hips, and triangular gussets accommodated these curves as well as those of the breasts, which they could direct sideways. The center front had a pocket where a rigid ruler-like "busk," often made of wood or whale ivory, was inserted top to bottom through the front of the corset and served to keep the posture erect. These corsets were important to the development of the new fashionable figure. Since corsets were designed and worn for the sole purpose of cinching in the waist, it’s obvious that they were worn for compressing the body into an hourglass shape. And to do that, the laces must be tightened considerably. Tight lacing was, in fact, common. However, over-tight lacing of the corset was blamed for numerous health problems.

What happens to the human body when it is compressed in a corset? The human skeleton-muscular system is in perfect symphony with a vast network of internal and external organs. Throw a wrench in the system, however, and this wonderful machine that was designed to serve reliably for many years begins to break down. Breathing, eating, digesting, waste processing, and other bodily functions are restricted and become dysfunctional when the internal organs are constricted and displaced. The muscles are weakened and the ligaments stretched, so posture is not improved but deteriorates as the body becomes dependent upon an external support mechanism. A full range of motion is not possible, so energy levels and fitness decrease.
Because the corsets were so tight, women were only able to fill the tops of their lungs with air. This shallow breathing resulted in the bottom part of the lungs being filled with mucus. This was characterized by a persistent cough, the body’s way of ridding the lungs of foreign matter. This may have been why doctors believed corsets were a cause of tuberculosis. Women were also known to faint because of the reduced lung function. This made smelling salts a typical household item. Another corset health issue was the compression of the internal organs, including: Liver, Stomach, Bladder, and Intestines.

In the early 1800s, after the French Revolution, fashionable women temporarily gave up their corsets (along with the other symbols of the aristocracy) for looser clothing that seemed to parallel new ideas of freedom in political life. But when the corset returned a few years later, it took forms that eventually led to concerns for women’s health. Two things changed. First, the corset accentuated rather than hid the woman’s natural form, producing the corset shape that most of us recognized as an hourglass figure, with tight compression of the waist. Throughout the 1800s, corset forms became more and more exaggerated, women’s clothing increasingly hugged the torso, and the corset squeezed in more and more of the body to create an ideal female shape from shoulder to thigh. Second, more and more women wore them, and mothers used them for young children.

Women wore special maternity corsets while pregnant. Women who had worn corsets since childhood or adolescence probably had weaker abdominal muscles and might have benefited from proper support, but maternity corsets were not specially designed for support. Instead, the corsets were designed to mask, even minimize, the size of the pregnant body.

Leigh Summers writes in Bound to Please:

The corset had been the subject of intense medical and scientific scrutiny since the 1860s. By 1880 both the medical profession and of course the women who wore the garments understood that the corset exerted tremendous pressure on the abdomen as well as the chest. Using a manometer on more than fifty women, Dr. Latou Dickinson had shown that ‘regular’ stays produced between 21 lb. and 80 lb. of pressure per square inch on the body. Dickinson’s work had been replicated and further publicized by Dr. D.A. Sergeant, who had shown that the corset reduced lung capacity by at least one-fifth. Their work was further supported by hideous animal experiments on dogs and monkeys. The animals were corseted and the pressure on their abdomens and chests were systematically increased until they expired. These experiments, argued defenders, attempted to replicate the conditions imposed by the corset on the human frame and were discussed at some length in Lancet. The experiments showed that heart damage, syncope, and death were related to tightly laced corsetry. Critics of vivisection by corset described these experiments as ‘horrifying and wanton cruelty’. This charge was disputed by doctors who claimed that the [anaesthetized] animals did not suffer, and that similar “compression of the abdomen and chest… [was] self inflicted daily by thousands of women in Great Britain without anesthetic’.

Summers also discusses how the corset was used as an abortion device:

Lionel Rose has briefly discussed several case histories of working- and middle-class women whose illegitimate babies were successfully concealed from families and employees in nineteenth-century Britain. Rose noted that these pregnancies were completely undetected until the accidental discovery of the infants’ bodies. In almost all cases these unfortunate women insisted the infants were born dead or died very quickly after birth. It would seem extremely likely, given that Dr. Latou Dickinson’s experiments showed that the standard corset exerted up to 80 lb per square inch of pressure on the torso, that corsetry was probably integral in the maternal deception and contributed significantly to the ‘concealed’ infant’s death. The tightly laced corset offered an expedient method of family limitation that was instrumental in avoiding the outrage of husband, family, employers, clergy, state, and even personal ‘conscience’. The extreme pressure of a tightly laced corset may have inhibited quickening and would certainly have obscured it from public notice. In reducing the effects of quickening, or forestalling the completion of pregnancy altogether, the corset allowed the pregnant nineteenth-century woman to convince herself, consciously or unconsciously, that no pregnancy had occurred and that bleeding after months of ‘failed’ menstruation was simply a case of cleared ‘obstruction’. Moreover, if the corset failed to procure an early miscarriage, the likelihood of an infant’s survival, after it had been corseted throughout its term in utero, were markedly reduced.
[Dr.] Alice Stockman noted that many girls gave birth to ‘frail scrofulous children’ because of ‘obstruction in the respiratory system’. These obstructions, she maintained firmly, were the direct result of the corset. The corset allowed ‘mother’ to ‘breathe enough to sustain her own organism in fair condition’ but it meant she did ‘not inhale enough oxygen to sustain an inter-uterine being.’ Stockham stated that ‘many still births were explainable to this principle’. When asked by a patient how far advanced a woman should be in pregnancy before she laid aside her corset, she replied that ‘the corset should not be worn for two hundred years before pregnancy takes place’. Stockham insisted that ‘it would take that time at least to overcome the ill effects of the garment which [women] thought so essential.

Even young girls were corseted. Below is the telling of how a child, as yet unbowed by societal pressure to be “feminine”, would outright reject the corset. Gwen Raverat, a young girl during the Victorian era, recalls enforced juvenile corset wearing in her memoirs Period Piece. She recalls that her sister Margaret, when put into corset at thirteen, “ran round and round the nursery screaming with rage.” Raverat herself reacted this way:

I ran away somewhere and took them off… [then] endured sullenly the row that ensued when my soft-shelled condition was discovered; was forcibly re-corseted; and as soon as possible went away and took them off again. One of my governesses used to weep over my wickedness in this respect. I had a bad figure and to me they were instruments of torture; they prevented me from breathing, and dug deep holes into my softer parts on every side. I am sure no hair shirt could have been worse to me.

So is wearing the corset “feminine", and is a man able to rip one from a woman’s body in the heat of passion? The natural female body is feminine: just look at the strong healthy natural woman in Botticelli’s “The Birth of Venus”. And unless a lover has a crow bar and metal snips handy, I doubt he’s going to get to the goods in a hurry. But there’s not much profit to be made in encouraging women to look natural . . . especially in those “bodice ripping” romances.

Finding The Trail

2009-08-25T21:29:00.000-07:00

This year we decided to remodel our house, or at least my husband decided. We’ve been married for a long time, so I know when the mood strikes him, the hammer will start swinging. And I’m a fortunate woman, because I married, “a man who can do things” as my female friends refer to him. He was a carpenter when we first married, and I give the man credit, he’s an artist when it comes to wood, stone, tile and paint.

In February, when I had to tear my kitchen apart for six weeks, it seemed reasonable we’d manage to get through this project with as little pain as possible. Things went along just fine until it came time to put the dishes, pots, pans and various items used everyday for making meals back into the cabinets.

It seems there were not as many places to store things as in the previous arrangement of the room. I heard those dreaded words, “you’re gonna have to clean things out”. I’m not proud to admit I threw something of a hissy fit. I was absolutely convinced I needed every single item I had to prepare a decent meal. These items were precious, irreplaceable and necessary. We’d never eat well again if I was forced to discard any thing in those boxes we’d packed up several months before.

Then a funny thing happened, I started sorting through the various pans, dishes, and implements I thought I needed and realized that some things were still around just because I couldn’t seem to find the energy to get rid of them. I started to ask myself, “when was the last time you used this?” and by the time I finished, I had extra space in the new cabinets.
I realized I didn’t need all that excess baggage, and couldn’t believe how much better I felt just by getting rid of stuff. It made be begin to think about what I buy, why I buy it and how I could find ways to live a simpler, more sustainable lifestyle.

It reminded me of one of my Grandmother’s favorite sayings, “Use it up, wear it out, make it do or do without”. As a farmer’s wife in upstate New York, and the mother of thirteen children, that woman knew what she was talking about. She taught all her children and grandchildren how to be thrifty. It was time to review some of that knowledge.

As we moved through the house to put down wood floors, closet to closet, room to room, I discovered there was a lot of stuff I’d put away thinking I might need it, could use it, didn’t really want to throw it away. All good reasons for keeping things, but when you finally understand that you should keep only the things you really need, that are important to you or that are beautiful, there’s an incredible sense of freedom.

I started to think about the women who’d moved from the east to the west, searching for a new life, but finding it necessary to jettison the remnants of the old life along the way. I’ve considered the choices they had to make as they broke their lives down to the simple basics, and discarded the family heirlooms, coveted treasures and small luxuries of their old home to assume the basic austerity of the new, unknown future they faced at the end of the trail.

I think that’s what I’m in the midst of right now, as I search for the new territory of our closer to empty-nest home. I find the old haunts, like antique shops, thrift stores and flea markets no longer sing their siren song to me. I’m paring things down to the basics, and finding ways to shape a new life from the ashes of the old.

Change is hard, but change is also healthy and like a pioneer woman facing the unknown, I’ll be eager for the end of the trail, but also careful to enjoy the journey.

Have you faced a major life change in the past few years? How did you deal with it?

Deborah Schneider, RWA Librarian of the Year 2009
"Promise Me" coming January 2010, from The Wild Rose Press
www.debschneider.com
Blog - http://debster-blahblahblog.blogspot.com/

Journal Entry: Texas, 1835

2009-08-20T05:36:00.000-07:00

Journal Entry: Fall, 1835, Brazoria, Texas

Today is my 16th birthday. Mama and I have prepared for this most wondrous occasion for two months. She wanted a beautiful, grown-up dress for me to wear to my party, so she sought the services of Miss Emilie Milam to create a very special gown. No longer shall I wear calico, nor style my hair in braids, nor run and play with my brothers. Ladies do not act in such a manner in our household, each member is born to a role, and best we carry out our duties or most likely face the wrath of Papa.

Secretly, I shall miss the days of riding my pony bareback across the coastal plains, through our plantation, chasing my brothers, for all four of them can out-race me every time. Ah, well, such is the lot of the female persuasion. Now, my brothers believe they have become my protectors, especially when young gentlemen look my way. Brazoria County fairly bursts with bachelors, young men, some wealthy, some poor, but each one seeks a bride to ensconce in his home.

One young man, a Mr. Randolph Long, nears my person at every opportunity, at church services, all-day dinners, and when Mama and I shop in town. Papa forbids me to speak with him alone; as a result, our conversations become awkward, as each of us stumbles on words we know perfectly well. After my party—of which he will attend!—I plan to speak with him as any grown woman may do with any gentleman she wishes.

Worrisome events have surfaced over this part of Texas. Papa hears tales in town, at the saloon, the community hall, and the warehouse, and he brings the stories home to share with Mama and my brothers. Of course, they all believe they have protected my delicate ears, but I listen and they do not know. It seems a crisis of some sort has arisen in Anahuac, a small place not far from our home. I am uncertain of its exact location, but the news is that General Santa Anna sent a small detachment of soldiers to Anahuac to enforce the collection of customs there and in Galveston. The merchants and the wealthy landowners—such as my papa—object to this unfair treatment, and when Papa speaks of the Santa Anna’s army and their ways, he becomes red in the face and begins to pound on the table!

Now, just before my party, he tells of a gathering of Mexican troops, more as the days go by. But the most frightening news comes from Gonzales, where Papa said a Colonel Domingo de Ugartecha, commander of troops in San Antonio, sent five cavalrymen to Gonzales to retrieve the six-pound canon that had been provided four years earlier for defense against the Indians. The Texan officer in charge hid the canon, telling the military he had no authority to give it up. He sent out dispatches calling for military aid.

Four hundred Texans, who worked in a loosely formed military troop, heard the call, turned from their original destination, Goliad, and marched to Gonzales. One hundred Mexicans soldiers were already there to seize the canon. But a Colonel Moore and one-hundred and sixty Texans loaded the canon with chains and scrap iron, and strung a banner across it inscribed “Come and Take It.” Then the Colonel and his men attacked the Mexican troops, forcing them to retreat to San Antonio. I wanted to cheer! However, I did not wish to reveal my hiding place from which I listened avidly of the exciting battles.

Dread fills my heart, now that I understand what is to come. Papa says we must prepare, put away our frivolous desires for the present, and do our part to secure Texas for ourselves. I can only pray the war does not last too long.
My party will go on, however, and I must end this writing to don my beautiful dark blue silk gown, adorned with a lovely inset of lace, and an ivory brooch at my throat. Handsome coils of braid divide the lace from the silk. Underneath, my pantalets are of the finest linen, and my petticoat is of a fine silk. Mama will arrange my hair atop my head, in a manner befitting a grown young woman. I do hope I look beautiful, or at least pretty, for a photographer will capture me in my new gown. Would it not be magical if someone two hundred years hence finds my photograph and wonders about me?

Signed--Elmina Ingram

Note from author: The sixteen-year-old young woman in the photo is one of my Texas ancestors, but I did not use her real name. I have no idea where she grew up or lived in Texas. I took the date from the photo, 1835, and used historical events of the beginning of the Texas Revolution. The story my ancestor writes, however, is fiction, a figment of my imagination.

Celia Yeary
http://www.celiayeary.com/
http://www.celiayeary.blogspot.com/
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/thebookspa
http://twrpcactusrose.blogspot.com/
ALL MY HOPES AND DREAMS-a Cactus Rose—
eBook available at: http://www.thewildrosepress.com/
Print available now at: http://www.thewildrosepress.com/

THE ROMANCE OF A ROOM ADDITION

2009-08-19T06:37:00.000-07:00

What is the most romantic room in a home? In our romance stories, it’s quite often the bedroom where the romance actually physically happens. Other rooms in our characters’ homes are romantic and meaningful to the hero and heroine for various reasons as well.

The room I think of as most romantic is one that doesn’t exist yet: the room addition.

How can adding on a room be romantic? Okay, first of all, let’s remember this IS make- believe! In real life, home construction or remodeling projects will cause the topic of divorce to be introduced into the loving couple’s conversation at some point. Over and over.

Two short rollers and a can of paint in a bathroom can break a marriage faster than an overdrawn bank account. But come with me to the world of fiction—historical fiction—where women are heroines and men are heroes…and the announcement of “needing another room” is a joyous occasion, and not just another “honey-do.”

The addition of a room most generally heralds the impending arrival of a baby, or the growth of the young family in some way. Because cabins were so small and were generally put up as quickly as possible to provide a more permanent shelter for a family, improvements often had to wait until time, weather, or supplies permitted.

In our historical romances, our heroes are always eager to do whatever is necessary to provide the best possible quarters for their families. You’ll never hear them say, “I’ll do it when the playoffs are over.”

All joking aside, I believe we find the room addition romantic for several reasons, the most obvious one being that our heroine is pregnant and there needs to be a room for the little one the couple has created. Most women can relate to that maternal instinct of preparing a safe, warm place for their baby to sleep.

The second reason a room addition is romantic, is that the hero is actually building something with his skill, knowledge and love to provide for his growing family. It’s his answer to the heroine’s maternal need. Generally, the delivery of the news that a baby is on the way and discussion of the room addition is a shock to the hero, but not an unwelcome one. It transitions him from “husband” to “family man” and gives him the opportunity to “show his stuff.” He proves himself by his reaction to the news. The action he takes toward following through with the reality of building on shows the heroine (and the reader) that he is our “dream man.”

The family unit, complete, is probably the most romantic reason of all. The room addition shows the reader that the heroine and hero have matured, grown in their love for one another and are able to look toward the future as a family unit now. In the child to come, they will see themselves and one another, and will risk everything for the safety, comfort and protection of that child.

And it all starts with…the addition of the extra bedroom for the new life they’ve created.

In the following excerpt from FIRE EYES, Jessica gives Kaed the news that they’re going to be needing a nursery. This is an especially poignant moment because of Kaed’s past, and what it means to him personally. He’s being given a second chance—one he wasn’t sure he wanted, but now is desperate to hold onto.

FROM FIRE EYES:

“Looks like we gave up our bed.” Kaed’s gaze rested on Frank and the two girls. Nineteen. God, he looked so young, like a boy, as he slept, all the lines of worry around his eyes erased. Nineteen. I remember nineteen. Just didn’t understand until now how young it really is.

“Twice now.” Jessica’s voice called him from his thoughts. She grinned and nodded toward where Tom lay talking to Harv. “Maybe by this time tomorrow morning we’ll get lucky,” she whispered, reaching up to kiss his cheek.

“Neither one of us is going to ‘get lucky,’ in any respect, until everyone’s gone,” he grumbled softly, letting go a frustrated sigh. “One thing’s for sure. When everything settles down around here, I’m gonna add on a bedroom. With a door that shuts.”

Jessica was quiet for a moment, then very softly she said, “Better make that two.”

“Two bedrooms?”

“Uh-huh. Ours, and a nursery.”

Kaed nodded. “For Lexi.”

“And the new baby.”

His gaze arrowed to hers.

“Our baby, Kaed.”

The blood rushed through his ears, pounding at his temples. Nothing existed but the woman standing in his strong embrace, her love washing over him in warm waves as her eyes sparkled into his.

“Jessi.” The words he’d spoken to her the day he left came back to haunt him. I just hope that maybe we got lucky. Maybe it didn’t take.
But it had. And damn if he didn’t feel like the luckiest man alive. A baby. He read the unasked question in her expression, and he bent to kiss her. To reassure her. To let her know a family was what he needed and wanted. He felt her relax beneath his hands.

“I told you I was working my way through it, Jess,” he whispered against her cheek. “I’ll be a good father.”

Tears rose in her eyes. She nodded, her hair soft against his stubbled beard. “You’ll be the best.”

“Better than I was before, that’s for sure.” The words slipped out before he could stop them. He took a deep, jagged breath as Jessica finally dared to meet his eyes. He looked away, his gaze wandering about the small cabin, finally returning to lock with Jessica’s.

“I can appreciate what I’ve got this time, Jessi. I took it for granted the first time, and I lost it. I won’t let that happen again.”

Jessica shook her head. “Promise—” she began, but he tilted her face up, putting his lips to hers once more in a gentle, reassuring kiss.

“I’ll never let you go, Jessi. And I’ll never hurt you. I want what we talked about, the family, the farm, maybe a ranch.” He stopped and moistened his lips that had suddenly gone dry. “But most of all, I want you.” He glanced across the room at Tom, who gave him a fleeting grin. After a moment, he returned his gaze to the fathomless pools of Jessica’s eyes. “None of it means anything without the woman I love, Jessica. You. Yes, I promise, sweetheart. I promise everything.”

Travis leaned against the kitchen doorjamb, fresh coffee in hand. “Guess we’d better start beating the bushes for a preacher-man, boys. Get it done up legal and right for Miss Jessi while Kaed’s in this mood. I never seen him like this. Never heard him talk so serious.” He took a drink of his coffee, his green eyes mischievous above the rim of his cup. “I do believe he means it, Miss Jessi.”

Three Card Monte

2009-08-18T00:01:00.000-07:00

I'm working on a WIP with a gambler as my hero. To be exact a riverboat gambler. While reading books on the subject of riverboat gambling and gambling in general I learned about a game I'd heard of but didn't know anything about and I've had my illusions of gamblers dashed. My character is a little like James Garner in Maverick. Only reading books about gamblers I learned, the natty-dressed, clean shaven, sophisticated gamblers of the movies were few and far between.

Gamblers didn't dress to impress or show their prowess at gambling. They dressed like the miner, the rancher, the farmer, or laborer whose money, gold, valuables they were trying to gain. From reading the books I've learned that gambling wasn't just about knowing how to play cards and play them well, it was about illusion.

Some gamblers carried game boxes. These held the equipment they needed for specific games: poker, euchre, brag, dice, and paper squares to form the layout of certain games where betting is done on marks. Or the ones that wanted to remain anonymous (no game box giving them away) could purchase a deck of card from a bartender on a riverboat. The riverboat captains knew boredom led to problems so they all ordered cards be available in the saloons to keep the passengers engaged.

Riverboat gamblers didn't operate alone. They stalked their prey and drew them into a game with one of the gamblers as the dealer and his cohorts filling the table using signals like cigar smoke, and scratching of ears, nose, and eyebrows.

Poker was played as well as faro, euchre, brag, crown and anchor, and backgammon, but the game that caused the most stir and used slight of hand was three card monte.

Three card monte wasn't really a card game it was a slight of hand game like the shell game. It used three cards, Two insignificant cards like fives or sixes and an Ace called the "baby". The professional gambler put the cards face down and shuffled them around on the table, mixing them. The other person bets on the location of the Ace. The dealer or "thrower" starts the game with a spiel:

"Here you are gentlemen; this ace of hearts is the winning card. Watch it closely. Follow it with your eyes as I shuffle. Here it is, and now here, and here, and now- where? It is my regular trade, gentlemen, to move my hands quicker than your eyes. I always have two chances to your one. The ace of hearts.If your sight is quick enough you beat me and I pay; if not, I beat you and take your money. Who will go me twenty? It is very plain and simple, but you can't always tell. Who will go me twenty?"

He goes slow the first few rounds allowing the bidder to build his confidence by winning. And with each game the "thrower" ups the bids. until they are up to $500 and possibly $1000. Then while the gambler pretends to be preoccupied and accomplice makes a mark on the ace that the bidder can see.This builds the bidders confidence and he starts bidding higher and winning. Then the dealer slips a low card in for the ace and when the bidder picks the marked card, he loses because it isn't the ace and he can't cause a riff because he would have to tell on himself for cheating knowing he had been picking a marked card all along.

I've also been reading a biography about a riverboat gambler. Gamblers were not heroic figures so the one I'm writing will definitely be fictional!

My source for this information was an interesting book: Gamblers The Old West by Time Life books.

www.patyjager.com
www.patyjager.blogspot.com

Tanya Hanson: The Olivas Adobe

2009-08-13T09:50:00.001-07:00

The Olivas Adobe is a great way to “visit” Southern California’s Rancho Period first-hand. Not far from my home, this prime example of adobe (dried clay brick) architecture is unique with its two-story structure. Don Raymundo Olivas added an unusual second floor during the rancho’s hey-day in the late 1840’s, and the house has been restored to its original stature.

Don Raymundo was born poor in 1809 in the tiny pueblo that grew into today’s Los Angeles and joined the Mexican Army in California at 16. As a Lancer (cavalryman), he was assigned to the Presidio (fort) at Santa Barbara, about two hours north of L.A.

It was here in Santa Barbara that Raymundo met Teodora Lopez and married her in November 1832. In gratitude for his loyalty and service, Mexican Governor Juan B. Alvarado granted Raymundo and a friend 4,670 acres of land in today’s Ventura County. Raymundo began ranching this land while Teodora began bearing children. 21 total, eight girls and 13 boys.

When gold was discovered along the American River about four hundred miles north, Raymundo found his own "gold mine" and made a fortune supplying those Forty-Niner miners with beef as well as hides.

These were the golden years for the adobe, with its remodeling and additions and glorious parties. Raymundo’s family prospered until drought in the 1860’s destroyed the cattle empires. He survived by raising sheep.

His death in 1879 was the beginning of the end for the Olivas' fortune, and the adobe house was sold in 1899. Some of the ranchland has become a municipal golf course, some strawberry fields, some subdivisions. After passing through many owners, the adobe itself was purchased by Max Fleischmann, of the yeast empire, who restored the building in 1927. Upon his death, the adobe was given to the City of Ventura, and it opened as a museum in July, 1972. Docent-led tours are frequent.

We local folks enjoy the “Cowboys, Heroes and Outlaws: Passport to the American West” held every summer, with Western reenactors in full regalia as well as pioneer crafts for the kids.

In fact, many fourth-grade schoolchildren take field trips to the adobe for a hands-on two-hour program that brings to life the Rancho Period of California History.

And at Christmas, you can enjoy a holiday candlelight tour that showcases the tradition of Las Posada, where Mary and Joseph seek room at the inn.

It’s a great place to visit. Ya’ll come on down, ya hear?

~Tanya
www.tanyahanson.com
www.petticoatsandpistols.com

History of the Appaloosa Horse

2009-08-11T07:35:00.000-07:00

When writers use the breeds or colors of horses in their novels, I often wonder how much the authors know about these magnificant animals. Once an avid horsewoman, I was partial to the pinto (see July post), but the history behind the Appaloosa is facinating.

Appaloosa horse, although often recognized for its colorful coat patterns is a breed of horse, and not a color. In fact, not all Appaloosas have a colorful coat pattern but can come in solid colors as well. Coat pattern or not, there is much more to the Appaloosa than its color.

Appaloosas are very versatile having great endurance. Although they can be stubborn, most Appaloosas are extremely intelligent and have excellent dispositions.. Some physical characteristics that are shared by most Appaloosas include mottled skin, vertically striped hooves, a white sclera which encircles the iris, and a short mane and tail. Most appaloosas also have strong sturdy legs and hooves, and are generally very sure-footed.

History: The Appaloosa breed was originally bred in the Inland northwest of America by the Nez Perce Indians. Before the horse had been introduced to them, the Nez Perce were sedentary fishermen.The horses changed The Nez Perce's culture forever. The horses enabled them to hunt buffalo easily, and the Nez Perce soon became known throughout the Northwest for their hunting skills and craftsmanship. These new found skills allowed the Nez Perce to trade for goods and services.

The Nez Perce became excellent horsemen as well as the only Native Americans known to selectively breed their horses. The horses were bred to be strong, fast, sure footed, and intelligent mounts. A short mane and tail was bred into the horses so that they could not easily be caught in brush. Meriwether Lewis wrote the following of the Nez Perce's horses, in his diary on Feb. 15, 1806 : "Their horses appear to be of an excellent race; they are lofty, eligantly [sic] formed, active and durable…some of these horses are pided with large spots of white irregularly scattered and intermixed with black, brown, bey [sic] or some other dark color."

In the mid-1800s, settlers came to the Nez Perce reservation. The Nez Perce War of 1877 began when some of the Nez Perce rebelled against treaties imposed by the settlers.

The Nez Perce never referred to their horses as 'Appaloosas'. The name Appaloosa comes either from the Palouse River, along which the horses were abundant known to be abundant, or from the Palouse tribe, whose main village was on the Palouse River. The Palouse River flows through eastern Washington and north Idaho.When Chief Joseph surrendered in Montana in 1877, the Army confiscated most of the horses. The horses were then indiscriminately bred, and many of their unique traits were lost or severely diluted.

Settlers first referred to the horses as 'A Palouse Horse,' which was soon shortened to 'Appalousey.' The name Appaloosa was made official in 1938.In the late 1800s and early 1900s, because of its use in round ups and rodeos, people became more interested in the Appaloosa breed. On March 25, 1975, the Appaloosa was named Idaho's State horse.

Colors: The Appaloosa Horse Club describes five basic coat patterns: Leopard -- Large dark spots completely covering a white body, Snowflake -- a dark body with light spots or speckles, Marble -- A light coat covered in small dark speckles, Frost-- A dark coat covered in small light speckles, and Blanket -- White on hips and/or loins. Darker spots may or may not appear on the white blanket. However, some appaloosa's are 'solid,' meaning that they do not have any coat pattern. Height: 14.2hh upwardsUses: Appaloosas are a light breed used for showing and riding. Today they are used in a wide variety of sports, from rodeo and trail riding, to jumping, showing, and endurance riding.

www.lorettacrogersbooks.com

The Peacemaker

2009-08-04T19:41:00.000-07:00

When writing My Heart Will Find Yours, I wanted my heroine to to fire a Colt. Someone asked me, do you mean a Navy Colt, or an Army Colt, known as the Peacemaker?

After some research and actually getting to see a Navy Colt, I decided there was no way my heroine could lift and hit anything with that long barreled pistol. I'd attended a workshop where they had one on display. I couldn't lift it with one hand. Though the 1851 Navy Colt was designate primarily for the Texas Navy, it was most often purchased by civilians and military land forces. A couple of famous users of the Navy Colt were Wild Bill Hickok, Ned Kelly, and Robert E. Lee.

The Army Colt, or Peacemaker, a single action revolver made in 1873, became the gun of the West, cowboys and the military. It was known as "The Great Equalizer" because it could be loaded and fired by just about anyone. Though the barrel is shorter than the 1851 Navy, it's not small by any means.

This is just a brief overview of the Colt .45. I'd forgotten today was my turn to blog so I've put this together in a hurry and didn't go into as great of detail as I'd have liked.

When my heroine, Texanna Keith, is transported back to 1880s Waco, TX, she's impressed to see what she calls a genuine Peacemaker, a real antique. Marshall Royce Dyson is flummoxed at her remark as his firearms are the most current available. Texanna participated in rifle competition in 4-H in school. When Royce learns what 4-H is all about, he wonders why Texanna didn't take to the cooking and sewing. The woman claims she doesn't know how to cook, sew, and certainly can't milk a cow.

I've posted the full first chapter of My Heart Will Find Yours on my website. I hope you'll take a look. And please drop by my blog. I give away and ebook each month.

Happy Reading and Writing!

Linda
http://www.lindalaroque.com/
http://lindalaroqueauthor.blogspot.com/

FOOD PREPARATION IN PIONEER TIMES

2009-07-30T04:00:00.000-07:00

FOOD PREPARATION IN PIONEER TIMES
By,
Roberta C.M. DeCaprio
(Information gathered from the Houlton Pioneer Times web site)

Whenever we’re hungry, all we need to do is go to the refrigerator, pop something into the microwave oven, set the timer for the allotted minutes, and then sit down and eat our food. It wasn’t so easy for the people of pioneer times. A lot of time was spent in the getting, growing, and preparing foods.

First a pioneer farmer had to work out the supply problems before the family ate well. Land had to be cleared and a crop garden had to be planted. No matter what was grown, it had a fence around it to keep out the livestock. Common garden crops included corn, potatoes, beans, onions, squash, pumpkins, and turnips. Fruit trees took time to grow, so it took a few years to have their own apples, but other wild berries and fruits were picked.

In the forest, there was meat from deer, bear, turkey, squirrel and wild pigeons. The pioneer farmer also raised chickens, hogs, sheep and cattle. With the cedar sticks and oak logs burning many good smells came from the fireplace; the boiling of hominy, the steaming of sassafras tea, the baking of cornbread, and the frying of meat.

A dutch oven was used to cook food in, as well as brass kettles, large and small iron pots and skillets. Jars, crocks and mugs were also needed. Early potters found clay to make dishes. The firing of the pottery was done in a huge oven of brick with a slow fire of poplar wood. This firing took twenty-four to thirty-six hours. The pioneer often ate on a trencher. This was a wooden plate made from a board. Some plates, spoons and forks were made from pewter or out of wood horn.

Baskets were made for carrying, measuring and storing food. Splits of white oak, hickory ash or buckeye made good baskets. Honeysuckle vine, willow cane, and cornhusks were also used. Baskets would last many years. Other containers such as pails and buckets were made of wood. All day-to-day cooking was done in the fireplace. These fireplaces were usually big enough that you could walk into them. The making of apple butter and soap were done outdoors.

Corn was a common food of the pioneer family. It had to be shelled before it could be ground into meal. Shelling of corn was a chore for small children. It was often done in front of the fireplace on winter nights. Corncobs were saved to help start a fire and to smoke some meats.
The most common bread was made from corn meal, salt, and water. This was known as corn pone or hoecake. Cornbread was made from corn meal, eggs and buttermilk. It was cooked in the dutch oven covered with coals.

Pumpkins were one of the most useful of the vegetables. They could be kept fresh by putting them in a dry, cool place. Pumpkin was mixed with corn meal to make pumpkin bread. It could be baked whole or mashed up. Pumpkins were also fed to the animals.
Butter was made in churns. After the butter formed in the churn, it was lifted out into a wooden bowl and washed several times. A little salt was added. It was then put into pretty molds.

There was not much sugar in the pioneer’s kitchen. Honey, maple syrup and sorghum molasses were used to sweeten foods. Bees were kept in hollow pieces of the tree trunks. The bees made the honey. Maple sugar could be made by boiling down maple tree sap. Molasses was made by boiling down the liquid from mashed sorghum cane.

Fresh meat was cooked by broiling, frying, boiling, and roasting. Meat was preserved by being salted, smoked or pickled. Pork or ham was the most common meat of the mountain people.

Vegetables and fruits were cooked fresh or preserved by drying or pickling. Jelly could be made from wild grapes and blackberries. The entire family helped with the making of apple butter. Long hours were spent cutting up the apples. Before sunup of the big day a fire was started under a large copper kettle. The apples were added and the cooking began. All day the apples cooked over a slow fire. The apples always had to be stirred, so as not to burn them. By the end of the day, the apple butter would be done and put away in jars for the winter.

Drinks of the pioneers were sassafras tea, buttermilk, apple cider, fruit wines and spirits. The family liked hickory nuts and walnuts. Children gathered nuts each fall.

During the summer, the diet of the pioneer family was good. Common farm tools used to plant, grow, and pick crops were the harrow, plow, hand cradle, flail, hoe, rake and pitch fork. The diet was not as good in the winter months because foods were hard to keep. The root cellar was used to keep vegetables (potatoes, cabbage, and turnips) and fruits(apples, pears, and quince).

Smoked meats might have hung from its ceiling. The root cellar was often dug into a hillside. This helped make the room both cool and dark. Foods needing to be kept cool and dry were kept in the loft of the log house or hung from the ceiling beams. Corn, dried beans, pumpkins and apples were examples of these foods.

The springhouse was the walk-in refrigerator of the pioneer time. It was built over a mountain spring. In the summer, it became a storehouse for fresh milk, butter, eggs, buttermilk, sweet cream and cheese. These foods were kept in bowls and placed in the cool spring water. I can’t imagine getting up in the middle of the night and trying to grab a snack from the springhouse. I’m sure glad I’ve got a refrigerator instead.

Motion Sickness or Stage Travel

2009-07-20T20:54:00.000-07:00

As a writer of historic romance I like to make sure I know all I can about modes of transportation during the era I write about. I've yet to use a stage coach in a published book but one of my characters had a brief trek in one in a story that is making agent rounds.

So here is a bit of info I gleaned from researching stage coaches.

The first Concord coach was built in 1827 and cost $1200- 1500. It weighed 2000 pounds and had leather strap braces rather than springs to give a swinging motion rather than a jolting ride. Leather boots in the front and back held baggage, mail, and valuables. Extra luggage was also stored on top.

A single coach could hold nine passengers inside and up to a dozen on top. The coach had leather roll down curtains and three leather upholstered seats with little leg room. The front row who faced backwards had to dovetail their knees/legs with the passengers in the middle row facing them. They had fifteen inches per passenger to a seat when it carried the nine passenger capacity. The passengers in the middle had no back support other than a wide leather strap for support or a leather strap that dangled from the ceiling, which they could grab when the road was treacherous. The average speed was five to eight miles an hour.

In some areas there were different rates for the same trip. If you paid the highest price you were 1st class which meant you rode all the way, 2nd class you paid less and had to walk in the bad places, 3rd class you paid the least but you walked in the bad places and had to push at the hills. Most overland stages required passengers to walk in the rough spots and men to help push up some hills.

Some prices from 1880:
Boise City to Winnemucca $35.00
Boise City to The Dalles $54.00
Silver City to Winnemucca $20.00
Silver City to Boise City $ 8.00

The rides were either sweltering or freezing. The weather wasn’t any easier to keep out of the coach than the dust and mud. Women who were seasoned travelers knew to wear long duck cloth dusters to keep their clothing clean. Few hotels sat along the routes and travelers sometimes had a choice of sleeping in corrals or in the street. The way stations along the routes were often crude structures made of either lumber or adobe. The Stops were famous for bad food. The usual menu consisted of jerky or salt pork, stale bread, bad coffee, and always beans.

Besides the close quarters, dusty trails, and rustic stage stops there was also the threat of Indian attacks and robberies from outlaws.

Raphael Pumpelly, who rode on the Butterfield Overland Mail stage west to Tucson, noted:
"The coach was fitted with three seats, and these were occupied by nine passengers. As the occupants of the front and middle seats faced each other, it was necessary for these six people to interlock their knees; and there being room inside for only ten of the twelve legs, each side of the coach was graced by a foot, now dangling near the wheel, now trying in vain to find a place of support. An unusually heavy mail in the boot, by weighing down the rear, kept those of us who were on the front seat constantly bent forward. The fatigue of uninterrupted traveling by day and night in a crowded coach, and in the most uncomfortable positions, was beginning to tell seriously upon all the passengers, and was producing in me a condition bordering on insanity…"

William Reed described the experience of motion sickness in a coach.
"The heat could be unbearable; the bodies of the passengers covered with sand, which permeated every inch of clothing. The rough roads gave to the coaches a motion not only from side to side, but a roll from front to back. Seasickness in the hot desert air, some said was far worse than the same ailment out on the cool Pacific waters. A seat in the front, in back, and a bench in the middle called for precise seating… Dust, sweat, insects, and a variety of irritating conditions made for an interesting, if not particularly pleasant trip across the arid desert."

The stages were the main source of mail delivery. When Wells Fargo started moving valuables via stage they sent guards along with the stages and made them more vulnerable to outlaws.

Overland stages traveled continuously though the day and night. Trying to sleep in one of these, confined with eight other people, I think I'd go mad. I don't do well on little sleep. LOL

If passengers, who had tickets to a town farther along the route, chose to stay in a town or at a home station to seek relief from their journey, they could become stranded for a week or more before resuming their travels. A ticket did not guarantee passengers the right to travel on the next stage, when the seat was occupied by another.

There were two types of stations: home and swing. The home station allowed passengers time for a hasty meal. The swing station was a ten minute stop to change the team of horses.

They was a code of etiquette for traveling on the stage in the 1870's.

• When a driver asked a passenger to get out and walk, one was advised to do so, and not grumble about it.

• If the team of horses ran away, it was better to sit in the coach because most passengers who jumped were seriously injured.

• Smoking and spitting on the leeward side of the coach was discouraged.

• Drinking spirits was allowed, but passengers were expected to share.

• Swearing was not allowed, and neither was sleeping on your neighbor's shoulder.

• Travelers shouldn't point out spots where murders had occurred, especially when "delicate" passengers were aboard.

• Greasing one's hair was discouraged because dust would stick to it.

I'm pleased to have received a review for Miner in Petticoats that stated: Author Paty Jager has faithfully reproduced the setting and attitudes that permeated this period of western expansion. That's why I research.

Sources:
http://www.parks.ca.gov/?page_id=25450
http://genealogytrails.com/main/stagecoaches.html
http://www.tombstonetimes.com/stories/stagecoaches.html

Erastus "Deaf" Smith

2009-07-16T05:00:00.000-07:00

Some called him Johnny-on-the-Spot.

Eratus “Deaf” Smith, ace scout, soldier, spy and hero of the Texas Revolution, commanded Sam Houston’s scouts at the Battle of San Jacinto. As scout, he set up the Battle of Concepcion and the Grass Fight, and he brought the Widow Dickenson and her baby back to safety from the fallen Alamo. When Sam Houston wanted Vince’s Bridge destroyed, so that neither his Texians nor Santa Anna’s troops could escape the field of San Jacinto, he called on Deaf Smith. Smith also briefly captained a company of Texas Rangers after the War.

Born in Duchess County, New York, on April19, 1787, Erastus Smith settled in San Antonio de Bexar, raising livestock and working as a scout, spy, soldier, and surveyor. Accepted as a member of the Tejano (Latino-Texan) community, he was known as “el Sordo” (the deaf man). He died in November of 1837, when the Republic was barely a year old. Sadly, he lost his eyesight, too, before he died. Smith became a folk hero in Texas.

Deaf Smith County borders New Mexico in the far-flung Panhandle of Texas. The county is one of about fifty descendant counties from Bexar County in South Texas (San Antonio.)

DEAF SMITH COUNTY CORN SALAD
In a saucepan, combine: ¾ cup vinegar, ¾ cup corn oil, ¾ cup sugar, 1 teaspoon salt, ½ teaspoon pepper. Bring to a boil—set aside to cool.
Chop: 1 cup chopped green pepper, 1 cup chopped celery, ½ cup chopped green onions and tops. Place in a mixing bowl.
Drain: one 16-ounce can shoepeg corn, one 8-ounce can LaSeur peas, one 2-ounce diced pimentos.
Lightly mix the chopped and the drained vegetables. Pour the vinegar and oil mixture over vegetables and mix. Refrigerate several hours. The salad stays crisp for days.
(Disclaimer: Recipe from “Tastes and Tales of Texas,” but the same recipe can be found in numerous other cookbooks, and written on 3x5 recipes cards in many kitchens.

Celia Yeary

http://www.celiayeary.com/
http://celiayeary.blogspot.com/

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