When did you last puddle jump? by Sheila Claydon

I've been time travelling again, back into my past.  My companion is my two year old granddaughter who is on a nine week visit from Australia.

When did you last puddle jump? Or balance across a log? Or count pine cones? Or draw pictures in the sand? And why does the wind blow the leaves on the trees and make some of them flutter down to the ground? And why do we walk on the wide paths when the hidden ones made by rabbits and foxes are so much better? And what about shadows, and crows, and the aeroplanes that leave a trail across the sky? And bubbles. There is nothing better than blowing bubbles and then chasing them until they pop.

All this and much, much more and we are only three and a half weeks into the visit.

We don't really forget you know, we just need an excuse to revisit our own childhood, an excuse to arrive home wet, or sandy, or both.  And discussing the magic of the wind, or blowing bubbles, are very satisfying occupations once we remember how to let go of our own reality and fly backwards in time to the days when we were two and a little bit.

I remember reading somewhere that we are our memories. Nothing that ever happens to us, no experience, good or bad, is ever lost. Some of our memories become less accessible over the years of course, but they are still there, just waiting for the trigger that will awaken them. And this month my trigger has been a two year old who has taken me back to a world I once inhabited.

I have two more books to write for my time travel trilogy Mapleby Memories. It's not going to be an easy process because juxtaposing different centuries in one story is difficult. What I've discovered this month, however, is that it will be easier than I anticipated. I just need to find the magic trigger that will transport me to an earlier memory. It might well be my little granddaughter because I already know there will be children in the next book so inhabiting their world as I write is important.

There are small children in the first book, Remembering Rose, as well. Children from three different centuries, and although it doesn't say so in the book, I guarantee they all loved to puddle jump.

Sheila Claydon's books can be found at Books We Love and Amazon

She also has a website and can be found on facebook  and twitter

Extraordinary women—Tricia McGill

I recently watched the movie “Queen of the Desert” starring Nicole Kidman. It chronicled part of the life of Gertrude Bell, traveler, explorer, archaeologist, writer, linguist, and the greatest female mountaineer of her age. To be honest I had no idea who this woman was, but the movie had me intrigued about her amazing life and exploits. Her bravery and astonishing thirst for life left me breathless. After reading up on her I came to realize that the movie just skimmed over a very small part of her life story.

Gertrude Margaret Lowthian Bell was born on July 14 1868 in Washington, Co Durham. 

Her family were iron masters. In 1886, Bell went up to Oxford, where she became the first woman to win a first-class degree in modern history. She taught herself Persian and traveled to Iran in 1892, where her uncle was British ambassador. Gertrude became political attaché for the British Empire at the dawn of the twentieth century. Her trips into the desert with just a few trusty men and camels were undertaken with aplomb, and without a trace of fear for her own safety. Gertrude immersed herself in tribal politics and in 1914 made a dangerous journey to Hail, a town in northern Arabia that was the headquarters of a bitter enemy of Britain's new ally, the founder of Saudi Arabia, Abdul Aziz ibn Saud. In 1921 in Baghdad she drew the boundaries of what was known as Mesopotamia that became Iraq.

The movie depicted her as a rich woman who was unlucky in love and rather unhappy. Her first love affair ended in tragedy when her father rejected her lover. According to James Buchan she did have other lovers throughout her life but the movie only centered on two of them, and both affairs ended badly. She traveled around the world twice and gained renown for surviving 53 hours on a rope on the unclimbed north-east face of the Finsteraarhorn, when her expedition was caught in a blizzard in the summer of 1902. Gertrude died suddenly on July 12^th 1926. The story was that she ran out of physical energy after spending so much of her life beneath the heat of the desert, but in truth she died of an overdose of sleeping pills, whether by accident of intention no one knows. She is buried in Baghdad, which seems fitting.

Thanks to: https://www.theguardian.com/world/2003/mar/12/iraq.jamesbuchan

On researching strong women to match Gertrude through history I found many, but the following are just a few who stand out for me, mostly thanks to my history lessons at school.

Queen Elizabeth 1^st of England was born in 1533 and died in 1603.

Elizabeth I, the long-ruling queen of England, governed with relative stability and prosperity for 44 years. More than a few movies have covered various parts of her life and reign. The Elizabethan era is named for her. Queen Elizabeth was born in Greenwich England. She was a princess, but declared illegitimate through political machinations. She eventually claimed the throne at the age of 25 and steered England through wars, and political and religious turmoil.

Elizabeth I, remains perhaps England's most famous monarch, apart from the present day Elizabeth. She grew up in complex and doubtlessly difficult circumstances. The daughter of King Henry VIII and his second wife, Anne Boleyn, she was just 2 when Anne Boleyn was beheaded on the orders of her husband, based on questionable charges of adultery and conspiracy. Elizabeth and her older half-sister Mary were declared to be illegitimate as Henry sought to pave the way for a male heir. They were later reinstated as potential heirs.

Elizabeth was raised like any other royal child, and received tutoring. She excelled at languages and music. After her father's death in 1547, Elizabeth’s succession became another pressing issue once she took the throne. She showed her talents as a diplomat, managing a number of suitors and potential royal matches during her reign. Queen Elizabeth died at Richmond Palace in Surrey. With her death came the end of the house of Tudor, a royal family that had ruled England since the late 1400s. The son of her former rival, Mary Stuart, succeeded her on the throne as James I. Although the end of her reign was difficult, Elizabeth has largely been remembered as being a queen who supported her people. Her lengthy time on the throne provided her subjects with stability and consistency. Sometimes referred to as the “Golden Age”, the arts had a chance to blossom with Elizabeth's support.

Thanks to:  http://www.biography.com/people/queen-elizabeth-i-9286133

Catherine II of Russia was born in 1729 and died in 1796

Renowned as Catherine the Great, Empress of all the Russias, this remarkable woman was neither Russian nor originally named Catherine. She was born Sophie Friederike Auguste from Anhalt-Zerbst. Although a princess, she came from an obscure and impoverished German duchy. Her mother had royal connections, which resulted in a winter journey by 14 year old Sophie to St. Petersburg at the invitation of the childless Empress Elizabeth, who was seeking a bride for her heir, Peter.  On 21 August 1745, sixteen year old Sophie married Peter, then seventeen. Peter was also German-born, but the couple had little else in common. Peter was eccentric and loathed the country into which he was imported as child heir. He remained a supporter of all Prussian, especially the Prussian military, whereas Sophie came to Russia committed to doing whatever had to be done in order to qualify for the crown. She learned to speak Russian, converted to Orthodoxy, whereby she received the name Catherine, and with charm and determination cultivated long-term relationships with the powerful and well-connected.

After the death of Elizabeth in 1762, a swift and bloodless palace coup was all it took to remove the hapless Peter from the throne which he’d sat on for a mere six months. He was replaced by Catherine, and so this German princess with no Russian blood in her veins, and no legal right to rule, became the sole occupant of the Empire's throne. She governed for the next thirty-four years—longer than any of the country's other female sovereigns. We’ve all heard of Catherine's romantic liaisons, but in fact Catherine had about a dozen "favorites". The most famous were Grigory Orlov, an instrumental member in the coup that brought her to power, and Grigory Potemkin, a diplomat and military leader who may have secretly married her. Catherine was known for the generosity she showed her favorites, and was also smart at parting with them so there was little animosity. She died of a stroke at the age of sixty-seven, the oldest of any Romanov monarch, and is buried in the Cathedral of the Peter and Paul Fortress.

My thanks to:  http://www.saint-petersburg.com/royal-family/catherine-the-great/

Queen Victoria was born in 1819 and died in 1901

Queen Victoria served as Queen of Great Britain and Ireland from 1837, and as empress of India from 1877, until her death. Born Alexandrina Victoria on May 24^th in London, England, she was the only child of George III's fourth son, Edward, and Victoria Maria Louisa of Saxe-Coburg, sister of Leopold, king of the Belgians. Victoria’s father died when she was a baby and her mother became a domineering influence in her life. As a child, she was said to be warm-hearted and lively. She married her first cousin, Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, in 1840. They had nine children who later married into royal or noble families across Europe which earned her the title of “The Grandmother of Europe”. Victoria went into deep mourning after Albert’s death in 1861.

Victoria became not only the most powerful woman in history being the Queen of Britain, but also head of a vast colonial Empire. She ruled for 63 years and despite having to share her power with the British Parliament, exerted a large amount of power over political decisions. She contributed to large political and social reforms, one being the Third Reform Act granting the right to vote to all male householders, thereby extending the vote to most British men.

Thanks to: http://www.biography.com/people/queen-victoria-9518355#early-life

Emmeline Pankhurst was born in 1858 and died in 1928.

Born Emmeline Goulden in Manchester, England she was the eldest daughter of ten children and grew up in a politically active environment. Her parents were both abolitionists and supporters of female suffrage. Emmeline was fourteen when her mother took her to her first women’s suffrage meeting. She chafed at the fact that her parents prioritized their sons' education and advancement over hers

In 1903, she founded the Women's Social and Political Union, which used militant tactics to agitate for women's suffrage. Imprisoned many times Pankhurst supported the war effort after World War I broke out. Parliament granted British women limited suffrage in 1918. Pankhurst died shortly before women were given full voting rights.

Thanks to: http://www.biography.com/people/emmeline-pankhurst-9432764#synopsis

Joan of Arc was born in 1412 and died in 1431

Joan of Arc, nicknamed "The Maid of Orléans," was born in Domrémy, Bar, France. The daughter of poor tenant farmers Jacques d’ Arc and his wife, Isabelle, also known as Romée, Joan learned piety and domestic skills and never ventured far from home, taking care of the animals, and also becoming skilled as a seamstress. At the time of her birth, France was embroiled in a long-running war with England known as the Hundred Years’ War. This dispute began over who would be the heir to the French throne. By the early 15th century, northern France was a lawless frontier.

At the age of eighteen, military leader Joan of Arc, acting under divine guidance, led the French army to victory over the British at Orléans and became a national heroine of France. Captured a year later, Joan was burned at the stake as a heretic by the English and their French collaborators. She was canonized as a Roman Catholic saint more than 500 years later, on May 16, 1920.

Thanks to:  http://www.biography.com/people/joan-of-arc-9354756

Queen Boudica or Boadicea 

as she is more commonly known, ruled the Iceni tribe of East Anglia alongside her husband, King Prasutagus, at the time of the Roman conquest of southern Britain. Boudica was a striking looking woman, very tall, with a fierce look in her eyes. Her great mass of red hair fell down to her hips. Her appearance was said to be terrifying. She secured a place of notoriety in British folk history, mostly remembered for her courage as “The Warrior Queen” who fought the might of Rome. In 1902 a bronze statue of her riding high in her chariot, was placed on the Thames embankment next to the Houses of Parliament in the old Roman capital of Britain, Londinium.

Britain has produced many fierce, noble warriors down the ages who have fought to keep Britain free, but this formidable lady’s name will never be forgotten. She and her allies gave no quarter in their victories and when Londinium and Verulamium (St. Albans) were stormed, the defenders fled and the towns were sacked and burned. Famously, Boudica and her daughters drove round in her chariot before the battle, exhorting them to be brave. She declared that she was descended from mighty men, but was fighting as an ordinary person for her lost freedom, and her outraged daughters. She is said to have asked the men in the ranks to: “Win the battle or perish” as that is what she would do. If they wished to live in slavery they could do just that. But Boudica was not killed in the battle. She took poison rather than be taken alive by the Romans.

Thanks to: http://www.historic-uk.com/HistoryUK/HistoryofEngland/Boudica/

So, there you have it. By watching a movie that started me thinking on how women have made their mark in history I went in search of some other women who made a huge impression and in their own way proved a match for any man. And there are dozens more out there who proved to be just as brave, powerful, and inspiring as these few.

To read excerpts from this series and all my other BWL books please visit my website 

Crazy July by Nancy M Bell

This has been a year of opposites so far. The late winter and spring was very dry here in southern Alberta. So dry that by the end of June the pasture still crackled under my feet when I walked the fence line. Then July hit and down came the rain. In torrential downpours. We had 5 tornadoes touch down in 4 days! Like holy cow, what's with that. Even with all the rain if you dig down four inches in the garden you can find dry earth. Crazy!

Once again this July I was fortunate enough to be invited to read my poetry at Stephansson House just west of Red Deer, Alberta. This is the homestead of Stephan G Stephansson, an Icelandic poet who came to live in Alberta in the late 1800's. The site is an Alberta Historical Site and is very well preserved. The house is wonderful to wander through and the surrounding area is kept much as it was during Stephan's life. It should be on everyone's list if they visit this part of the country. Eight poets read their work, the theme this year was Nature and it was exciting to hear what everyone offered.

Getting back to the rain. Last week was Calgary Stampede when the whole city shuts down and parties. It all began on Friday July 8 with the Stampede Parade where thousands of people lined the streets of downtown Calgary to watch marching bands, horses, tons of floats and the always spectacular showing of the Treaty 7 tribes of the First Nations. This year they have representatives of the seven tribes doing an exhibition during the opening ceremonies of the rodeo each day. Each tribe has different ways of painting their faces and bodies as well as their mounts, the stories and meanings behind each colour and symbol are amazing.

The crops are progressing well with the prairies turning bright gold under the blooming canola while fields of wheat and barley wave in the wind like a sea of grass. There has been some attempts to grow drought resistant corn without much success. Here in Alberta corn is happy only in the south country down by Taber where sugar beets also thrive. A true sign that summer has reached the tipping point and is slipping toward autumn is the appearance of pick up trucks selling Taber corn out of the bed, ears of corn piled on the tail gate.

I have been busy working on the third book in the Longview Romance series tentatively titled Wedding Interrupted. If you want to catch up on what Cale and Michelle have been up to since the end of Storm's Refuge be sure to pick up Come Hell or High Water. It fits right into the theme of my blog this month as it features action at the Calgary Stampede and the Half a Mile of Hell which is the chuck wagon races as well as touching on the floods that inundated Calgary and surrounding area in 2013. Click on the cover to get your copy.

Until next month, stay happy, stay well.

Sepia photographs and other stories revisited by Sheila Claydon

Eighteen months ago I wrote about a sepia print I found in a box of old photographs and how the beautiful young woman and dashing young man who were its main characters transfixed me. I was so intrigued by their apparent happiness that I tracked down their story and discovered that while it didn't have a sad ending, it didn't have a happy one either. By the end of their lives they were careworn and frail from years of hard work and semi-poverty. Their lives were typical of many people who lived in rural England in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.  (To read their full story search for Sheila Claydon 14 September 2014 on this website)

Of course research prompts possibilities for a writer and before long I had the beginning of a book. It wasn't the real story of Rose and Arthur, although it borrowed a lot of facts from their lives, it was the one in my imagination.

There were two problems, however. The first was that I was still in the middle of writing Miss Locatelli, my book set mostly in Florence in Italy. The second was that however much I tried to avoid it, Remembering Rose insisted on being  written in the first person, something I had never tried before. It wasn't Rose's voice that was telling the story though, it was Rachel, her great-great-granddaughter.

It took me a while to discover that Rachel wanted to be Rose's mouthpiece across the centuries but when I did I had another dilemma. Time travel! I'd never tried that before either.

There was another problem too. I mainly write contemporary romance, so how was that going to work in a book that was about someone from the nineteenth century?

The end result, after wrestling for weeks with various ideas, is a number of intertwined romances, some contemporary, some historical, as well as a sort of family saga, and of course that elusive time travel. By the time I finished I felt as if I had run a very difficult marathon but it was worth it. I love Rose and Rachel even though they are very far from perfect, and I love their heroes even more.

Writing Remembering Rose has been like piecing together a jigsaw puzzle and although the real Rose and Arthur will never know they were the inspiration for this story, and would probably be horrified at how I've interpreted them, I like to think they would forgive me for playing with their lives if they did.

Sheila Claydon's books can be found at Books We Love and Amazon . She also has a website and can be found on facebook

The Weight of Words by Victoria Chatham

Coming Soon!

All authors know that writing can be a lonely occupation. They also know that sitting for hours with a computer is not good for them. It’s easy to get lost in the flow of writing. The upside is – the book gets finished. The downside? All that sitting may add a few extra pounds. It is so easy to forget about taking the exercise we all need in favor of just adding a few more words to the work-in-progress, and those words can weigh heavy.

I have a love hate relationship with weight. Photographs show that I was a child of average build and size, but all that changed when I was eight years old and had a three month long bout with pneumonia with much of that time being spent in bed.

I apparently did not have much of an appetite and the doctor advised my mother to not worry about what I ate as long as I drank plenty of milk which, in the early 1950s, was whole milk. Consequently, by the time I got out of bed, I was almost as round as I was high and so began my life long battle with weight.

It didn’t seem to matter what I ate, there was the potential for another inch on my hips. Through my teens I managed to keep a regular weight with numerous activities – horse riding, swimming, badminton, archery and good old rock ‘n roll.

As a Mom with a young family, I burnt a lot of energy keeping up with my three kids. Then I experienced a complete metabolic flip-flop when, after a divorce, my weight plummeted. Family and friends encouraged me to eat – and I did. Anything, at anytime, anywhere. It made no difference. At my lowest weight I was 87lbs and it took me two years to regain a somewhere-near right for my then age, height and build of about 120lbs. Once I reached that weight, I maintained it for several years but it was a constant balancing act.

I lost weight again, naturally enough I suppose, when I immigrated to Canada. My husband was a true blue, dyed in the wool steak and potatoes loving Canadian but he was also a man who loved to cook. How could I refuse to eat a meal so lovingly and carefully prepared for me? From chicken wings (I’d give you the family marinade and sauce recipes but my DH would probably come back to haunt me if I did) to planked salmon, chili and sea food dishes, he tried it all. If he didn’t cook at home, there were a variety of restaurants to be enjoyed. 

And life was changing. We became so busy that what we were doing was more important than what we were eating so, you guessed right, I started putting weight on again. Breakfast was about the only meal we ate at home. Dash here, grab pizza on the way. Dash there, oh we’ll just pick up coffee and donuts.  Then there were the days when we didn’t make time to eat until the evening by which time we could have consumed half a cow because we were so hungry.

Everything changes, and life changed again when my husband passed away. Being a consummate shopper, he did the shopping for what groceries we did have at home. Faced with not much more than an echo in my fridge, I had to start taking care of myself again and I reverted to what the cashier in my local grocery store laughingly referred to as ‘English shopping’. I bought fresh produce on a day to day basis which is almost anathema to the average Canadian shopper.  I started eating more meals at home, boring and time consuming though preparing food for one person was. I’ve never been fond of frozen meals, and could easily live without a microwave, so my meals at home were mostly salads.

Now being more mature than I’ve ever been, in years anyway, it really does matter what I eat. Over the years I’ve weathered the various theories that have been touted around. You know- the ones like apples-are-bad-for-tooth-enamel versus eat-an-apple-before-each-meal, coffee-is-bad-for-you then one-cup-in-

the-morning-is-fine. It all boils down to eating sensibly. A little of everything does you good as my grandmother used to say, with the emphasis on ‘little’.

And where, these days, do you find ‘little’ of anything? Supersize this or that, MSG-laden pre-packaged food products and the question about a bag of chips, ‘Can you eat just one?’ I have discovered for myself the truth nutrition gurus have been telling us for a long time – diets don’t work. Diet programs are great for initially losing weight, but how many people actually learn the lesson of smaller portions of the right foods aligned with exercise? Many don’t so, when they stop the program, the weight piles back on.

So where am I on a scale of 1-10? I must be honest. I’m pretty low on the totem pole actually. I know I could and should pay more attention to my diet. I know I could and should take more exercise than my walking and yoga. With each book I start I plan to take my exercise first thing in the morning to get it out of the way, but my characters have a siren song and I often find myself sliding out of bed into a housecoat and sitting down at the computer to get to grips with them. The walk can wait until later in the day, the yoga stretches I’ll do in a minute.

I’m starting another book now. I have a schedule up on my white board of how each day Monday to Friday is going to be. By the time I finish this one I hope to have lost the few pounds I put on with the last one. Come December I’ll let you know how I did.

 Find me and my books at:

http://bookswelove.net/authors/chatham-victoria/

and follow me on:

www.facebook.com/AuthorVictoriaChatham

http://victoriachatham.blogspot.ca

Everything is coming up roses Nancy M Bell

It's been an early spring here in southern Alberta. The roses are beginning to bloom, the delphiniums are almost there with just a few blue spikes already showing. We had some really hot weather in May and then some cold weather in June. But that's springtime in Alberta, I guess. Last weekend we drove up to Lake Louise in the Canadian Rockies and it snowed a bit while we were walking along the lake path. The lake was a very milky turquoise blue due to the snow melt, but still very lovely. The canoes were out in spite of the cool wet weather. Some of the trails were closed due to bear and wolf activity which is pretty common in the spring when the bears are just getting moving.

But back to the garden. I planted two new Echinacea plants, one is white bloom and the other a deep pink. They join the original one I planted a few years ago which gets a big seed head but no petals. Looks kinda funky, but I wanted to add a couple with actual blooms. This year I planted vegetables in containers on the front porch in the hopes that I can actually get some tomatoes to grow. It gets too cold at night as a rule, but I have then close to the house on the south side and sheltered, so I have got my fingers crossed.

Right now I have an adorable foster mommy cat with four kittens. She came in as a feral cat and was pretty hissy at first, but now she is so friendly and wants attention. The kittens are four weeks old and becoming more active. Two boys and two girls. The momma's name is Louisa, actually they named her Louie when she first came in as they thought she was a boy. There were a bunch of grey cats all looking the same. But ooops, no. Louie is a girl and pregnant! I brought her home and a week later she presented me with four babies. My husband loves the British show Doc Martin which is set in north Cornwall. Louisa is one of the characters, so we have named the kittens after people on the show. The boys are Martin - for Dr. Martin Ellingham played by Martin Clunes, and Bert for Bert Large played by Ian McNeice. The girls are Morwenna after Doc Martin's receptionist, and Ruth for Doc Martin's aunt. Life in our house is never dull.

I'm also fostering another cat at the moment. His name is Jackson. He came to us from Ponoka, AB, the victim of being hit by a car. Jackson had a broken pelvis and had to have his tail amputated. He is the most loving affectionate cat you could imagine. He spent 6 weeks on crate rest and has now been given the okay so he is roaming free with my other cats. He loves people, gets along with other cats and loves the dogs. He should get a good home very shortly. You always hate to see them go, but I can't keep them all. Knowing they are going to good homes helps a lot. The rescue is very careful about who adopts the animals which helps set the foster's mind at ease.

Last but not least, I am working on the third book in the Longview Romance series. Cale and Michelle are getting married at last, nothing can go wrong. Right? The second book in the Arabella's Secret series released recently. Arabella Dreams fills in some of the questions readers of the Cornwall Adventures series have asked about Laurel Rowan's Gramma Bella. I love the cover. Kudos to Michelle Lee for created the perfect cover.

Arabella Angarrick is heartbroken. Exiled from her beloved Cornwall, she must come to terms with life on the Canadian prairies and her arranged marriage to D’Arcy Rowan. She struggles to reconcile herself to life on a remote ranch with a man she barely knows. He knows he’s getting a two for one deal and Bella is thankful he is happy to welcome her unborn child into his home. D’Arcy is a kind man, but try as she might, Bella just can’t bring herself to love him. Her heart still yearns for Vear Du, the father of her baby. Will she ever stop dreaming of him?

Until next month, stay happy, stay safe!

Song of a Whip-Poor-Will

by Kathy Fischer-Brown

Louis Agassiz Fuertes - Birds of New York 

I’ve never ceased being amazed at how a sound, a smell, or an image can set off a chain of memories. Often these are deep-seated, long forgotten memories tucked away among recollections from earliest childhood. Sure, there are photographs stored in boxes or old slides whose colors have faded that I’ll take out and once in a blue moon to share with family, or scan to preserve for the future. But every so often, something totally unexpected tickles a nerve, stimulating the mind to take a trip back in time.

Take the song of the Eastern whip-poor-will, for example. Too many years had passed since I last heard its distinctive call, making for a completely unexpected moment of nostalgia one late spring evening about a year ago. Well over sixty years, to be precise. 

I was a city kid. We lived in a one bedroom apartment in The Bronx—my mom, dad, two-year-old sister, and I. Some years earlier, my paternal grandfather had bought a property in Plattekill, NY, a picturesque spot in Ulster County on the Hudson River, with acres of land on which stood an old and sizeable stone and clapboard Dutch farmhouse. It was to have been Grandpa Ben’s retirement home, but a massive heart attack felled him at the age of 48, a month after my sister was born. Subsequently, the house, along with its abundance of trees and assorted wildlife reverted to my dad, his sister and my grandmother. I don’t remember much of my life before the summer after I turned three. But that summer was memorable.

As a toddler my world consisted of our small one bedroom apartment on University Avenue, where a grassy esplanade down the center of the street held groups of benches for sitting and shooting the breeze on sunny days in all seasons; a small playground with swings and seesaws, and a movie theater were within walking distance. Family and friends all lived close by. But starting some time after I turned two, we began spending our summers at the house in Plattekill. 

My sister and me (right) in the haystack, circa 1954

Even now I remember how much I loved the place, although I can’t really visualize much of it, and after a futile search for it online, I wonder if it’s still standing. There was a certain smell, of pine and cedar, the coolness in the shadows of wide elms and oaks, from one of which my father hung a tire on a rope from a hefty bough for us—and the many cousins who came from the city in an endless stream—to swing on.  We had a beagle, Taffy Lou, who, it seemed, had a litter of fat, fluffy puppies every summer—brown ones, black ones, spotted ones…. Her beau was a neighbor dog named Fido (no kidding), who came to visit alone or with his owner, a freckle-faced girl named Terry, who was about seven or eight. Down the country road was a dairy farm. I had a particular favorite among the cows; her name was Elsie (or at least that was what I called her).

On warm summer evenings, we’d sit outside in the newly mown grass on folding chairs with striped canvas slings and watch what seemed like hundreds of rabbits hopping along the edge of a copse of tall trees at the edge of the property. We had a small tractor that one of my older boy cousins liked to drive over the acres of tall grass, with me and his younger brother dangling our legs off the back platform. Afterwards, we’d rake up the cuttings and build a gigantic haystack, which provided hours of jumping and burrowing fun. Our next door neighbors behind a palisade fence were a family who owned the Freihoffer Baking Co. They had an apple orchard, and by summer’s end, there were more apples than they could shake a stick at. Around this time, the sweet cinnamon aroma of simmering apple sauce and apple pies in the oven filled the place. 

And, of course, there were whip-poor-wills. Every evening and well into the night, I'd stay awake listening. A kid from The Bronx never heard such a thing.

After my family sold the house following the summer of my fourth year (because we had outgrown the small apartment with the birth of yet another sister), we moved from The Bronx to Long Island. I remember being sad over not having the old house to summer in anymore. Even the thought of having grass and trees (and bugs) year-round was of little consolation. And for the next 12 years, I didn't hear a single whip-poor-will. Not even once. Then, after we moved again when I turned 16, this time to Connecticut, the whip-poor-will and its singular sound had faded from my consciousness.

My dad was glad of the moves. He owned a printing company in The Bronx and during those summers in Plattekill, he’d stay in the city and join us for weekends. I missed him, just as years later I’d wait up for him and worry on especially snowy nights while he made his onerous nightly commute home.

Which brings me back to that elusive bird. Sadly, its numbers are in decline, and as I mentioned, I hadn't heard one in over half a century. So, you could say, I was exuberant on that evening in early June last summer when its unmistakable warble broke the settling silence in the wooded area near my house. It was probably just passing through, for its call was unusually brief, and I haven’t heard it since. But in the moments following, I was transported back to a Friday night long ago, when, unable to stay awake long enough to greet my dad following his weekly commute, I fell asleep. The bird’s song was a sweet reminder of that night and of my dad, all of about 29 at the time, sitting at my bedside, gently waking his sleeping child with the song she had grown to love over a few short, unforgettable summers.

~*~

Kathy Fischer Brown is a BWL author of historical novels, Winter Fire, Lord Esterleigh's Daughter, Courting the Devil, The Partisan's Wife, and The Return of Tachlanad, her latest release, an epic fantasy adventure for young adult and adult readers. Check out her The Books We Love Author page or visit her website. All of Kathy's books are available in a variety of e-book formats and in paperback from Amazon and other online retailers, as well as a bookstore near you.

A WRITER'S RETREAT by Victoria Chatham

All writers have their own processes, their own tried and true foibles which work for them. It may be having that particular cup for coffee or tea when they sit down to write, or having their favorite music playing in the background or their pets at their feet. My process is to have peace and quiet and I had that in abundance during my stay at Keystone, a two-hundred year old stone built cottage which nestles comfortably into the hillside at Blakeney in the Forest of Dean, west Gloucestershire.

The Forest covers a roughly triangular area between the Rivers Wye to the west and Severn and was famous for its timber and mineral resources. The Romans were the first to exploit the iron ore found in these ancient woodlands. Later the Forest became royal hunting grounds and was used exclusively for that purpose by the Tudors. Iron making and coal mining continued through the ages, those industries being at their peak in the 19^th Century.

But it wasn’t for any of that history that I chose the Forest for my retreat. I wanted time to research and draft Shell Shocked, the third book in The Buxton Chronicles trilogy. I found Annie McKie’s retreat on line at http://www.anniemckie.co.uk/ and it made the perfect Easter break for me. My room had a view overlooking the valley and it was a pleasure to sit outside on the balcony to enjoy it. I had my own front door with beautiful stained glass window panels and could come and go as I pleased without disturbing anyone.  

A comfortable bed ensured I slept like the proverbial log. Had the weather turned cool I could have made the room more cozy than it was with the aid of a wood-burning stove. A writing desk by the window gave me light and fresh air while I worked. Annie kept my room well stocked with tea, coffee, fruit and snacks. In the evenings I joined her and her husband Ian for the most marvelous vegetarian meals cooked in her solid fuel stove. Annie introduced me to the free-range chickens which produced our eggs and explained how she and her neighbors ran a self-sustaining gardening cooperative.

The more I talked with Annie the more I realized we had a connection. At least, I felt connected because hers was a familiar voice and face as she was a former newsreader and announcer for BBC Radio 4 and the BBC TV regional station Points West. Annie had also trained as an actor, speech and drama teacher and taught all aspects of voice and communication skills. She writes fiction and mentors writers and I had several brainstorming sessions with her.

I so appreciated that aspect of my time at Keystone. My first draft of Shell Shocked raised more questions in my mind as to which battle or battles to include in my story. It was Annie’s suggestion to not concentrate on that, but on the people who remained at home. Among the books available in my room was Winifred Foley’s A Child in the Forest, a book I had once owned and thoroughly enjoyed. Reading it again gave me ideas for my book and I quickly revised my first draft and made many more notes.

With access to the Forest only 30 seconds away from Keystone, I walked every day. It didn’t matter in which direction I went I got plenty of exercise as, if I walked downhill I had to come back up and vice versa, but wherever I went I enjoyed the views. This view is from Blakeney Hill looking across the River Severn to the Cotswold Hills. I don’t know any writer who does not use walking time as thinking time. The only thing I had to be concerned about while on these daily walks were the free-roaming sheep and pigs, especially the pigs which forage for acorns. Fortunately I only heard them squealing and grunting as they rooted up the forest floor but the freshly turned grass beside the pathways on which I walked were clear evidence of their existence. Free grazing rights, established in Norman times, applies to basically anyone who lives within the Forest purview.

During my time at Keystone the weather was gorgeous. The trees were greening and the pussy willows beside the streams along the valley bottom bursting into life. Primroses and celandines peeped beneath the hedgerows bordering the lanes and  steep paths that connected one level of the hillside with another. The sweet smelling carpets of bluebells, for which the Forest is famous, were just beginning to bloom and I was sorry to miss this spring extravaganza.       A writers retreat is at the very least a gift you can give yourself, whether you go alone or join a group. At most it is a magical period of time in which you may surprise yourself with heightened insights and productivity and, in my case, a completed book.

 AVAILABLE AT SMASHWORDS

Victoria lives and writes near Calgary, Alberta and visits her family in England as often as she can. She has always loved historical romances but never thought she'd write them. Now in full-time retirement but busier than ever, she writes full time. That is - when she is not enjoying the company of friends, walking, attending yoga class, volunteering at a world class equestrian center or taking weekend breaks in beautiful Banff.

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