Showing posts with label #Newfoundland. Show all posts
Showing posts with label #Newfoundland. Show all posts

Wednesday, March 13, 2024

Book Birthday: Spectral Evidence

                                                           Find my books here!

 

I love book birthdays!

My latest, written with my wonderful partner in crime, Jude Pittman, is Book 8 of the Canadian Historical Mysteries: Newfoundland, entitled Spectral Evidence.

Imagine learning about a specific historical setting in each of Canada's provinces and territories through a thought provoking mystery? What fun!!

Ours is set in 1692-93 Newfoundland, which had historic trading ties to New England, and specifically Salem, Massachusetts. Well, THAT got our creative juices flowing, because it was the time of the notorious Salem Witch Trials and their tragic aftermath.

Our sleuth and storyteller is 17 year-old Charlotte Jaddore, the daughter of a merchant ship captain and his Beothuk/Mi'kmaq wife. Both heroine and content make our novel appropriate for YA readers as well as adult mystery fans. 

Jude and I are most pleased to present this excerpt. We hope you'll enjoy Spectral Evidence, and the entire series of Canadian Historical Mysteries.

Chapter 1 

Home from the Sea



The first name given to me by my mother, Rising from the Wave came because I was born in Lampok, the water world’s swell, on board my father’s ship. He insists the gale becalmed to hear my coos and suckling sounds. He sometimes calls me ma petite onde, his little wave. I’m a good person to have around in a storm still, he says. 

But I am also deeply rooted here, on the island my father’s people call Newfoundland. They came from across the wide Atlantic in ships with great white wings. My mother’s peoples, the Mi’kmaq and the Beothuk, who call me many variations of my first name, were watching from shore. They were not surprised by the new people’s arrival. Long ago a holy woman had a vision of islands of trees floating towards us, So, we greeted the tall ships with joy, eager to trade. We even added their spirit world of Christianity within our own. 

My father sought refuge here, away from wars and kings. Newfoundland is a good place, full of the bounties of earth and sea and sky. But the wars followed. 

We were in one of those wars in that Spring of 1692 as I scanned the horizon on a cold and fog laced spring day before dawn.  My companions on our cliffs above St. John’s, were gulls, our colorful sea parrots, and rough-legged hawks. And soon came the sound of Randall Kelly’s step assisted by a walking stick.

“You are up before the sun,” I said quietly.

A gusting, like the one our island ponies make through their noses, came out of him. “I tread toes first in the moccasins you made for me, Charlotte Jaddore,” he complained, loud enough to turn the head of a curious gull.

I turned. “Aye, but you took a winding way, giving me more time to hear your approach.”

Randall Kelly grinned. “Straight paths make for dull stories. I hope you have reaped some stories for me over the winter with your grandmothers.”

“I have. How did you know I was returned from the inland?”

“The dust has been flying out your windows.”

“Ah. Spring cleaning.”

“And the praise of your hired helper, after you noticed her hurting arm and took to your concoctions for help. What kind of a crier would I be to not know the comings and goings of St. John’s and all of Avalon beyond? You cut me to the very quick, lady!”

My smile ran away from me as we sat together on a nearby outcrop of rock. I miss our past together when Randall called me “child” and “sprite.” The “lady” had begun after my return last year. It honors me and my growing into my womanhood, but it feels strange still. 

I have known Randall Kelly since I was not much more than a toddling child and he an orphaned immigrant of ten years. Because of the injury he suffered over his Atlantic crossing, he was judged unfit for his indenture-contracted seaman’s duties. But he was more than fit to nurse my family through the smallpox that descended soon after, killing my mother and her babe, driving my father near madness in his grief. We all bear the marks of that terrible time. Randall Kelly bears them the lightest, showing us the way, for he had already survived the loss of his own family in a place called Waterford, Ireland. 

My father bought out the terms of Randall’s indenture. In the years that followed, others saw him as our lame servant, doing the work of women, the cooking and cleaning and household management. But he became my brother as he sat beside me at my lessons. We gained our love of books and knowledge together. Soon, we’d formed a new family—Randall, my father, and I. His literacy, combined with his sanguine humor and curiosity made it natural for our small community of St. John’s to offer him the brass bell of Town Crier.

Randall had his own rooms now, in an old storage barn he acquired because it had a window that faced north. He carved more windows in that wall so that he could get that beautiful artist’s light, even on our many cloudy days. When my father brought paintings from Amsterdam to our shores, Randall was in their thrall. The portraits and landscapes became his teachers as his drawings acquired color and skill. His barn is his home now, and he sleeps below its rafters. 

The sign above our tavern-the Sea Parrot- bears Randall’s portrait of the nesting birds that live on our cliffs. Those seeking to decorate their dwellings with more than fishing tackle and clothes hooks are happy to keep our artist fed and clothed in exchange for the products of his craft. 

Randall leaned his dear face against the leaping dolphin he’d carved into his walking stick. He looked at me with his artist’s eye now, as if judging how well I fit into his mind’s new composition, along with land and sea, shrouded in morning fog. Suddenly, his brow quirked up, the way it used to when he suspected me of keeping a secret. “Are all shelves and storerooms made ready for this year’s new goods?”

“They are.”

“Aye, then. And now, Charlotte Jaddore, with your powers beyond mere mortal ken, might ye know when the winds will blow the Esperance in?”

“Do not you tread over that territory with me,” I admonished him. “George Wyatt already thinks I have dried up his cow.”

“Does he? And have you?”

“Pish. What do I want with her calf’s food? You are a strange people who steal eggs from the birds and milk meant for the young of others.”

He laughed. “Now you sound like your grandmothers. How did those fine women fare over the winter?”

“They are well. Their message for you is to study the weasel over our coming crowded months.”

Randall Kelly is one of the few my grandmothers have allowed close to the inland camps of the Beothuk and Mi’kmaq. He is a smallpox survivor. That is part of the reason they feel safe. The other lies inside our artist crier himself, who both my grandmothers consider a holy person. Holds Two Spirits is their Medicine name for him. They send me back to St. John’s every spring with another animal for Randall Kelly to study, to gather around him, to give him strength and protection. 

Randall’s laughing eyes, the color of seagrass in summer now stilled. “Tell the grandmothers that I will risk the weasel people’s bites of displeasure to follow their advice.” He looked at his hands then. “And thank them for me, will ye?”

“Of course,” I agreed.

“It’s glad I am that they see me as a scholar studying the world around.”

We had achieved twenty-five and seventeen years of life on Mother Earth, Randall and I. But I suspect we both missed our free childhoods, before I ran my father’s house and business. Before Randall took up his paints and the crier’s bell, back when we were welcomed like unruly puppies into all the communities of Avalon—the English and Dutch of St. John’s, the French at Plaisance, and the Irish dory fishermen of our many bays and coves. We were welcomed even into the high valleys of the mountains and barrens, where our trading partners, the Mi’kmaq and the reclusive earlier people of my great-grandmother, the Beothuk, abide.

The east wind picked up suddenly, blowing away the night’s fog. Randall reached into his pouch for his spyglass. He scanned the horizon, past the harbor bay, just as the sun was appearing over the eastern edge of the world the Mi’kmaq call Turtle Island.

“I knew it! I knew trudging up here after you would bear fruit!”

He handed me the glass, took up the shell horn that he used for long-distance summoning of the town’s attention, and blew. I stood beside my friend, letting my blue apron fly like a flag of welcome. For out there, among the last of the icebergs, was a ship we both knew well. The Esperance.  My father was home from the sea.


The gathered people at the dock parted upon my approach. I lifted my skirts and ran to the Esperance as the gangplank was set in place. Every mother’s child of them knew they would not get a first look at the wines, the lemons and oranges, the stockings, and French silks. Not until my father had given his heir and business partner a proper greeting. His arms, his salt tang smell mixed with clove, the quill and bead decoration that dangled from his ear- all were home to me. My world was not returned in balance until his quartermaster began a reel on his pipe and we’d danced a swinging circle in each other’s arms.

As the tune finished, we heard Randall Kelly’s bell, then his powerful voice.

“Hear ye! Hear ye! Be it known that by the grace of Divine Providence and the skill of her officers and crew, the good ship fashioned of fleet Bermuda cedar known as the Esperance, in their Majesties King William and Queen Anne’s port of St. John’s in the Colony of Avalon, has landed this eleventh day of April in the year of our Lord sixteen hundred and ninety-two! As first of the season into port, Martin Jaddore is hereby declared Fleet Captain and Fishing Admiral!  Is this not a day to bring our poor wintering souls joy? A day altogether calling to mind the words of our own gracious late and lamented governor poet?


The air in Newfoundland is wholesome good,

The fire as sweet as any made of wood,

The water, very rich, both salt and fresh,

The earth more rich, you know it is no less

Where all are good, fire, water, earth and air,

What man made of these four would not live there?’”


Loud cheering followed his recitation of Robert Hayman’s verse. Amid the jubilation, my father growled before he whispered in my ear, “Poetry? More like royal sanctioned versifying lies out of that Devonshire pirate! Did we not have Randall Kelly recite enough Shakespeare in his youth to know the difference?”






Tuesday, February 13, 2024

1692 And All That...

 



Find my books here


I'm so happy that my new novel in the Canadian Mystery series with my co-author Jude Pittman is coming out next month! What do you think of the cover? I think this series is a fine way to learn more about Canadian history, province by province, while engaging in great stories and tacky mysteries to solve, along with resourceful amateur and professional detectives.

Our assignment was Newfoundland-- an island I've admired since seeing the enchanting musical "Come From Away." Since I'm a New Englander, a place with historic ties to Newfoundland in the colonial period, Jude and I decided to link the province's vibrant cod fishing trade to that of Salem, Massachusetts. And what was happening in 1692-93 Salem? You know it-- a witch hunt.

That got our creative juices flowing! 

Then of course, came research and lots of it. I have not set a novel this far back in time, so I thought I share some of our research that I found fascinating...

Did you know....

* That most witch hunts took place, not in the so called "Dark Ages" or medieval times, but in the period of the Renaissance?

*That there was a secret alliance between England and France that left Newfoundland's settlements vulnerable to attack during King William's War?

*That the delightful puffins of Newfoundland did not get their name until 1760? So in Spectral Evidence we needed Newfoundlanders to call them sea parrots!  

Puffin (Sea Parrot)


*That the First Peoples of Newfoundland, the Beothuk, were declared "extinct" by the 1820s, but their friends the Mi'kmaq disputed the claim. Genetic evidence have proven them right.

The Beothuk of Newfoundland


*That there are "easter eggs" in Spectral Evidence that fans of Star Trek might enjoy?

What??? Oh, yes, make it so!


 

Sunday, January 13, 2019

The Vikings in North America by Joan Donaldson-Yarmey


The Vikings in North America

 




 
I started my writing career as a travel writer, researching and writing seven travel books about the attractions, sites, and history along the backroads of Alberta, British Columbia, the Yukon, and Alaska. While working on them I realized what a beautiful country I live in. Since then I have switched to writing fiction but I still love to travel. 2017 was Canada’s 150th birthday and to celebrate it my husband and I travelled in a motorhome from our home on Vancouver Island on the Pacific Ocean to Newfoundland on the Atlantic Ocean. The round trip took us nine weeks and we were only able to see about half of the sites and attractions along the roads.

       I have decided to write about the scenery, attractions, and history of my country. This post is about the Vikings who had a settlement in the present province of Newfoundland more than one thousand years ago.

       After a seven hour ferry ride from Cape Breton we landed at Port aux Basque, Newfoundland, and headed north along Highway 1 to Corner Brook where we spent the night. In the morning we carried onto Deer Lake where we turned on Highway 430. We drove through Gros Morne National Park and along the Gulf of St. Lawrence. We were pleasantly surprised at the number of picturesque small fishing villages we passed through on our way north. Eventually we turned onto a smaller highway and reached the national historic site of L’Anse aux Meadows on the tip of the Western Peninsula of Newfoundland overlooking the Atlantic Ocean.

       It has been long thought that the first European to step on the soil of North America was Christopher Columbus. Excavations done at this site in the 1960’s recovered artifacts like jewellery, a stone oil lamp, a bone knitting needle, and tools that were compared to ones used at Viking settlements in Greenland and Iceland around the year 1000 and have been carbon dated to between the years 990 and 1050.
 
 

       From the parking lot I walked to the interpretive centre where I looked at the displays of what the settlement would have looked like during its occupation. There are replicas of the longships that the Vikings sailed in, artifacts unearthed during the excavations, write-ups about the Vikings, tools that were found, and maps showing the route the Vikings used to get to Newfoundland or Vinland, as they are thought to have named it. The Scandinavians of the medieval period were known as Norse and they were farmers and traders. When they began raiding other countries they became known as Vikings, the Norse word for raiders.

       There has been a lot of interest in the Vikings recently with televisions shows and documentaries about them and their raiding which began in the 790s and lasted until around 1050. With their longboats and advanced sailing and navigational skills the Viking men and women travelled from Scandinavia south through Europe to Africa, the Middle East, and Asia and west to North America.
 

 

       I left the centre and followed a long, wooden boardwalk through grass and small bushes to the actual site. There I found a post fence around a yard with large mounds covered in grass. When the Vikings landed here there were forests from which they were able to get material for their boat building and house building. The remains of eight buildings were found in the 1960s and they are believed to have been made of a wooden frame and covered with sod.

       They have been identified are a long house, an iron smithy, a carpentry shop, and smaller buildings that may have been for lower-status crewmembers or even slaves or for storage. There are three replicas of those sod buildings with their thick walls on the site. One is a long house which is equipped with clothes, beds and bedding, household utensils, tools, a fire pit and has a couple dressed in period clothing cooking a meal. The Vikings hunted caribou, bear, and smaller animals plus whale, walrus, and birds for food as well as fished.
 
 

       I wandered through the rooms divided by hand carved wooden plank walls. Light came from the fire and holes in the ceiling which are partially covered with upside down wooden boxes to keep the rain out.

       One of the other buildings is the smithy complete with anvil, forge, bellows and various tools. I wandered the rest of the site and saw the outlines of other buildings that have not been reconstructed. It is estimated that between 30 and 160 people lived there over the years.
 
 

       The Vikings arrived in Newfoundland from Iceland via Greenland. According to historical records the site was inhabited by the brothers and sister of Leif Ericson plus a series of explorers. It is believed the settlement was there for seven or eight years before being abandoned. This is the only confirmed Viking site in North America and is the farthest west that Europeans sailed before Columbus.

       After viewing the buildings I followed a trail along the rocky shoreline and then turned inland to walk on a boardwalk over a bog back to the parking lot.
 

 

       One of the best things is that not only does the interpretive centre have the history of the Vikings, but there is also extensive displays showing the history of the aboriginal people who inhabited the area over thousands of years before any European arrived.

Thursday, September 13, 2018

If I Could Go Back in Time by Joan Donaldson-Yarmey


If I could go back in time, where would I go? I was born and raised in Canada where our non-native history goes back almost 400 years if you look at what is now the province of Quebec or 1000 years if you count the Vikings having a settlement in what is now the province of Newfoundland.

In 2017, I travelled across Canada to the site of the Viking settlement at L’Anse Aux Meadows on the tip of Newfoundland’s Great North Peninsula. There I toured through the encampment which consisted of replicas of the timber and sod buildings constructed by the Vikings who had sailed from Greenland. I talked with the costumed interpreters who were sitting around a fire inside one of the buildings cooking their meal. It felt surreal to be there, to know that my ancestors (I have recently found out that I have Viking heritage) lived there for a few years. This is the first known evidence of European settlement in the Americas. From the camp, I walked along the rugged cliffs overlooking the Atlantic Ocean and crossed a large bog on a boardwalk. Then I toured the museum, looking at the fascinating artifacts that were found during the excavation. The site was declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1978.


 

This year I spent 66 days in Europe and one of the places I visited was the Viking Ship Museum in Roskilde, just outside Copenhagen, Denmark. In the museum is a permanent exhibition of parts of five original Viking ships excavated nearby in 1962. A thousand years ago these ships were deliberately scuttled (filled with rocks and sunk) in a river to stop the enemy from invading the city by water. Over the decades since they were found, the pieces have been preserved and put together on a metal frame to show how the ships would have looked. Also at the site are replicas of the Viking ships and I became a Viking for an hour. A group of us sat on the seats and rowed the ship out of the harbour using the long oars. Once on the open water we hoisted the mast and set sail. After sailing for a while we headed back to the harbour. As we neared it I had the honour of pulling on the rope that lowered the mast and sail and we glided back to our dock.


 

So if I could go back in time I would like to be a Viking Shield-Maiden. Women of the time were not called Vikings because they normally did not take part in warfare. They were called Norsewomen. However, women fought in a battle in 971AD and Freydis Eiriksdottir, Leif Erikson’s half-sister is said to have grabbed a sword, and, bare-breasted, helped scare away an attacking army. These women were called Shield-Maidens.

http://bookswelove.net/authors/donaldson-yarmey-joan/
 

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