That Feeling and Garter Snakes – Barbara Wackerle Baker

 

 

 

Jillian of Banff: https://books2read.com/b/Jillian-of-Banff 

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I got that feeling again. It bubbled up so quietly it totally caught me off guard. Happy-sad vibes. They hit me when I completed a read through of Book 4 from my Summer of Lies series. Happy – I finished. Sad – oh no, what now? I have to send her off. Say goodbye for a while. 

 

The happy feeling put a skip in my step. The sad part made me worry if I did her justice. A mixed bag of emotions. Somewhat like being a teenager and wondering if you’ll have a date for prom. 

I ignore the flare-ups that attempt to filter through the happiness. You know the ones I’m talking about. They come from anxious anticipation about editor’s critiques, potential rewrites, beta readers reviews and the end all—will anyone even buy the damn book if/when it gets published? 

But for now, and because summer in Alberta is too short to worry about stuff I can’t control, I vow to enjoy the heat and sunshine we’re experiencing. 

 

And to prevent me from spiraling down the infamous rabbit hole I will enlighten your day with fun and need-to-know facts about garter snakes in case you have a story percolating that needs a slithery character. 

Don’t you dare groan. 

Snakes in general get a bad rap. And some of them deserve it. But the lovely garter snake does not. People often jump or shriek when they see them. But it's not the snake’s fault. They have no intention of scaring you. They’re shy and prefer to live a quiet life. Which is why they slither away when they sense your presence. 

 

Garter snakes are Calgary’s most polite wildlife. They don’t hiss. They won’t chase you. And they’re polite sunbathers even when they’re shedding their skin. If the skin comes off in one piece, it means they're very healthy.

Fun facts: 

• if picked up, a garter snake will let off a stink and smear you with a greasy fluid from the base of its tail to make itself smell too bad to be eaten…and hopefully make you put them down. The fluid is nearly impossible to wash off and it's their way of saying ‘leave me alone’. Most people don’t need to be told twice.   

• during the winter, hundreds of garters gather into a ball and have a good old fashion cuddle. It’s called brumation – a cold-blooded creature’s version of hibernation. 

 

• their rear-fanged teeth and mild venom helps to subdue frogs and fish. I did not know that. If you piss off a garter by handling it, you might get bit. No, you won’t die. But you might get redness and itching at the sight. And it might teach you to leave them alone.

• they’re fast and also excellent swimmers

• instead of laying eggs, female garter snakes have 15–40 live babies in the middle of summer 

 

•  they eat grasshoppers, crickets, spiders, slugs, snails, earthworms, frogs, toads, tadpoles, mice and small minnows 

Having said all that, maybe none of your stories need snake factoids so here are a few pictures that hopefully put a bit of summer back into your feelings. Have a great August. 

   

   

Baker, Barbara - BWL Publishing Inc. (bookswelove.net)

Barbara Baker Author Page Facebook 

 

Summer of Lies by Barbara Baker — BWL Publishing

What About Me? by Barbara Baker — BWL Publishing

Jillian of Banff XO — BWL Publishing

Kevin Shea’s journey from Canadian radio- by Naguib Kerba

 Kevin Shea’s journey from Canadian radio, the music industry, Hockey Hall of Fame to writing — Naguib Sami Kerba Photography

Jury Duty by J. S. Marlo

 

Wide of the Mark

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I don't know about all of you, but I've seen plenty of movies and television shows with a jury scene, either during a trial or less often during jury selection, though I don't recall seeing someone open an envelope with a letter inside summoning that person for jury duty.

A few of those 'jury duty' letters have found their way in my mailbox over the last thirty years.

Those letters weren't sent by courier or registered mail. They were just normal letters sent through regular mail. On the top left corner, it said it was from the Provincial Justice and Solicitor General - Jury Management.

The letter summons you to report to the court house on a given day at a certain time for jury selection. It also gives you five days to request an exemption.

The first letter was addressed to my oldest child while she was in university in a different province. She was exempted. A few years later, a second letter was delivered, this time it was addressed to my youngest child while he was also in university in a different province. He was also exempted.

Around that same time, I'd gone back to writing murder/mysteries, so it sounded very interesting to be on jury duty, to witness the process behind the scene. I wish I'd been summoned, but I thought the odds of a third letter ever ending in my mailbox were slim to none. 

Fifteen years later, a third letter arrived. This time it was addressed to my husband. I wasn't impressed to see his name on the envelope, and he wasn't impressed to see his name either, but for the opposite reason. He couldn't afford to take time off work to be on jury duty, but that didn't count as a valid excuse. So, he went to the court house, waited and waited as the people summoned were interviewed, secretly hoping that the jury would be selected before his turn came. He was called in, was asked questions by the defence and the prosecution, and eventually rejected.

I would have been disappointed to be rejected. Needless to say, he wasn't.

Well, I thought we'd beaten the odds with three summons within the same household. Was I ever wrong!

Last week, I found a fourth 'jury-duty' letter in my mailbox. Guess who it was addressed to? 😒 Yes, my husband. Again. This time he'll more than likely be exempted, but still...

I think it's the universe telling me that I will never serve on jury duty.

Enjoy the summer. It's still hot in my northern corner of the world.

JS

 

 

J. S. Marlo's Website

RIP Tom Kelleher by Eileen O'Finlan

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On May 26, 2026, I received devastating news. My dear friend, Tom Kelleher, had just been killed when he was hit by a car while riding his motorcycle to work. Those who read the acknowledgments in my historical fiction books, know that I always thank Tom. As a professional historian, Tom was an enormous help to me in my research. He also read my drafts to check for historical accuracy. I even dedicated The Folklorist to him. He was indispensable to me for the 1830s timeline in that book.

Tom was a research historian and curator at the living history museum Old Sturbridge Village in Sturbridge, Massachusetts where he worked for 40 years. The Village is a living history museum which interprets life in a New England village in the 1830s. A brilliant historian, Tom had a gift for making history real for thousands of visitors. There was nothing he enjoyed more than putting on a 19th century costume (some of which he made himself on his grandmother's foot treadle sewing machine) and getting into character. He even created several characters such as a peddler, a traveling dentist, a revival preacher, and a phrenologist.

It seems that there was very little Tom didn't know about 19th century American history. Yet, it didn't stop there. He also had a vast knowledge of European history and American history of other time periods as well. It wasn't just me who turned to Tom when in a research conundrum. Other professional historians who knew him have told me that if they didn't know something and weren't having any luck finding the answer, they'd contact Tom. He always knew.

I met Tom in the mid 1990s when I worked for three years as the Museum Assistant for the Department of Research, Collections, and Library at Old Sturbridge Village. He was promoted from costumed interpreter to Research Historian during my second year of working there. We quickly became friends and, not much later started dating. We were a couple for eight years, the last year of which we were engaged. For reasons I won't go into here, we decided not to marry and to go our separate ways romantically, but we never ended our friendship. It continued uninterrupted until the accident on May 26th took his life.

Tom and me in the log cabin where he lived - early 2000s

Tom was a huge part of my life. To the day he died, my entire family still considered him part of our family. Everyone loved Tom. Whether they knew him professionally, personally, or both, all held him in high esteem. That was evidenced by the seemingly endless stream of people who attended his wake which was held in the Center Meeting House at Old Sturbridge Village.

At about the half-way point of the line for Tom's Calling Hours

I knew I needed to acknowledge his passing and the massive contribution he has been to my writing and to my life. That's why I did not write a blog post in June or July. I wasn't ready. Even now, in early August, I had to psych myself up to write this. I can still barely believe that he's gone.

Rest in peace dearest friend. I will always love you.

                                        

    Tom in costume at Old Sturbridge Village

Horse Camp!

 

       Echoes                                    Voices                                  Sparkslingers!

Sometimes life requires me to take a break from writing. This last week was a perfect example. Once again, I can log another successful horse camp with one of my nieces here on our little farm. This year, my 13-year-old niece came for her third visit. Her younger sister, who is 10, came for the first two days for a sampling of what's to come. We did so much more than just play with the horses. We scooped poop, fed grain and hay, cleaned stalls, swept the barn, and filled water troughs. Only then did we ride, and not before a gentle grooming and generous dose of fawning. 

We cooked, crafted, baked, and learned to crochet. We walked the donkey and played with the pups. We cared for the chickens and cleaned the coop. We even watered and weeded the flower and vegetable gardens. In the mornings, we read Chancey of the Maury River by Gigi Amateau together on the front porch, and in the evenings, we watched season 19 of Heartland in our jammies. 

This year, she practiced several new riding skills, like a soft jog trot, riding one-handed, and making a tight turn. She designed her own "show," and we practiced and practiced every day to the music she picked out. Mind you, the week she spends with me is pretty much the only time she gets to ride horses. It was really important to her that she show her family all she had learned throughout the week when they came to pick her up.

Her performance began with a demonstration of free lunging our decked-out quarter horse Tuff in the round pen, walk/trot/canter. It's pretty cool to watch a girl and her horse communicate and connect when their only tether is the one between their hearts. I spied some teary eyes in the audience, including my own.

Her one-handed weave poles at the trot were really impressive, as well as her egg-and-spoon trip all the way around the arena, the first half at a walk and the second half at the trot. For her finale, she chose to carry a big, beautiful, flowing American flag twice around at a posting trot. All to Miranda Lambert's Bluebird.

The week flew by. 

I'm exhausted.

I'm also inspired and invigorated to get back to writing. My second Forever Fields book is well underway! If you haven't yet read the first one, check it out soon!