Alaska Bound by Nancy M Bell

 

Kayla's Cowboy coming September 2022 to find out more click on the cover.

ALASKA BOUND

My husband and I have just celebrated 45 years of marriage. Wow, where did the time go and I must have been a baby when I said I do. LOL  We spent 7 days cruising from Vancouver BC to Alaska and back. It was a lovely time. We saw whales, sea otters, seals, eagles and beautiful scenery. Glacier Bay never fails to inspire me, so timeless and yet always in motion. No matter how we live our lives one thing is certain, time stops for no one and sometimes that is a blessing and sometimes a curse.

We took the White Rail Line to the summit of White Pass, I can't even imagine how the people of the gold rush managed to get there. Steep terrain, snow and cold and they had to carry one ton of provisions in order to enter the Yukon Canada. Three thousand horses and pack animals lost their lives on that treacherous trail. Dead Horse Gulch is a sad sad place on the way up to the summit. 

I hope you enjoy the photos of Alaska below.

Glacier Bay

John Hopkins Glacier   Glacier Bay AK

On the way to White Summit

 

April is Poetry Month by Nancy M Bell

 

For more information about Nancy's books click on the cover.

BREAKING NEWS

HIS BROTHER'S BRIDE IS NOW AVAILABLE IN AUDIO FORMAT

Since April is National Poetry Month I thought I'd share some different poetry formats with you.

Poetic form is the physical structure of the work. It consists of the length of the lines, the rhythms and repetitions. Poetic forms are applied to works that are shaped into a pattern. Free verse is not constricted by poetic form and is indeed a type of form in its own right.

The Idyll. This is a short poem describing rustic life and is usually written in the style of Theocritus’ short pastoral poem ‘Idylls.  Lord Alfred Tennyson’s Idylls of the King is an example.

Blank Verse - written in a precise metre - usually Iambic Pentametre 

Sonnet- which Shakespeare liked  A sonnet consists of 14 lines and was made popular in the 14^th century and the Italian Renaissance. Sir Thomas Wyatt is credited with introducing the sonnet into English literature in the 16^th century. The rhyming theme in a Petrachan sonnet is abba abba cdecde, the Shakespearean sonnet follows the rhyming pattern of abab cdcd efef gg

Ode  The word Ode is from the Greek aeidein which means to chant or sing and belongs to the tradition of lyric poetry. This form in it’s earliest incarnation was accompanied by music and dance, but later evolved when used by the Romantic poets to convey their strongest thoughts and emotions. William Wordsworth for example. It is generally a formal address to an person, thing or event that is not present.

Haiku. This is a short poem which conveys the essence of an experience of nature. Written in English in the Japanese haiku style

Ballad  This is often a narrative set to music. The word Ballad comes from the Latin ballare which translates to dancing song. A Ballad is a form meant for singing, connected to its origin of communal dance and a product of oral traditions among peoples who cling to oral histories as opposed to written.

Epic  This is a long narrative in verse form telling of a heroic person, persons or journey. Homer’s Illiad and the Odyssey for example.

Elegy   This is a funeral song. It is a melancholy, nostalgic poem created to mourn the death of someone close to your heart. The first elegies were in Roman and Greek.

Lyric  Lyric is a form of poetry sung and/or accompanied by a musical instrument or a poem that expresses intense emotions on a personal level in a way that is suggestive of a song or singing. A Lyric makes the poet vulnerable by showing their thoughts and feelings and often evokes those emotions in the listener.

Poetic form is the physical structure of the work. It consists of the length of the lines, the rhythms and repetitions. Poetic forms are applied to works that are shaped into a pattern. Free verse is not constricted by poetic form and is indeed a type of form in its own right.

My favourite is a Sestina.

A complex French verse form, usually unrhymed, consisting of six stanzas of six lines each and a three-line envoy (The brief stanza that ends French poetic forms) The end words of the first stanza are repeated in a different order as end words in each of the subsequent five stanzas; the closing envoy contains all six words, two per line, placed in the middle and at the end of the three lines. The patterns of word repetition are as follows, with each number representing the final word of a line, and each row of numbers representing a stanza:

          1 2 3 4 5 6
          6 1 5 2 4 3
          3 6 4 1 2 5
          5 3 2 6 1 4
          4 5 1 3 6 2
          2 4 6 5 3 1

          (6 2) (1 4) (5 3)  

Below is my humble attempt at a sestina.

Seasonal Sestina

 

Why is it that the first flowers of Spring

Are so special and the green of new leaves

Wakes a wild joy in my heart

Is it because they signal the end of Winter

Filled with the promise of long summer days

And the lazy hum of honey bees among the flowers

 

The tiny white snowdrops are among the first flowers

Along with the purple crocus of Spring

Courageously piercing the snow with their leaves

Small purple clusters to gladden my heart

Throwing a gauntlet in the face of Winter

Shining brightly through the short Spring days

 

The snow retreats with the lengthening of days

The garden paths are strewn with clots of flowers

The sweet bouquet of flower scented Spring

Bright daffodils dance above their pointed leaves

The tulips glowing red as the sun’s heart

They chase from the path the last of snowy Winter

 

Now only under the brambles lies the evidence of Winter

Soon that too will retreat from the sunny days

The lilacs burst into a froth of fragrant purple flowers

The scent mingling with the sun warmed air of Spring

Slow awakening summer flowers break the soil with their leaves

Heralding the coming of Summer’s heart

 

Spring passes softly into summer; the pulsing green heart

That rules the year opposite the white of Winter

The long halcyon green and gold days

Forged by the fire of the sun and the glory of flowers

There is just the faintest memory now of Spring

The full heady bounty of Summer canopied by trees of leaves

 

In due course fiery autumn will colour the leaves

And the flames of October will quicken the heart

The winds of snow will welcome the Winter

The frosty silver and blue of early winter days

Will make us forget the summer of flowers

Too new and beautiful yet to make us wish for Spring

 

By January we will be wishing for green leaves and Spring

Our heart will have hardened against the silver beauty of Winter

And we will hunger after the days of Summer and flowers 

Til next month, stay well, stay happy.

Happy Dancing! by Nancy M Bell

 

To learn more about Nancy and her books click on the cover.

Soooooo, a little sneaky preview. I can share this as my post doesn't go live until March 18th and the big reveal is on March 17th.  His Brother's Bride, and indeed, all the Canadian Historical Brides books will soon be available as fully accessible audio books. There will be Daisy/NNELS files available for those who require them. This is a huge step forward for us at BWL Publishing Inc and I for one am very excited about it.

Now, more good news! My book of poetry, Touchstone 2015 was reviewed by Miguel Angel Olive Iglesias in his latest book  A Shower of Warm Light. Miguel is editor in chief of the Canada Cuba Literary Alliance (CCLA) magazine The Ambassador and president of the CCLA. He is a member of the Mexican Association of Language and Literary Professors, VP of William Shakespeare Study Centre and member of of the Canadian Studies Department of the Holguin University in Cuba.

I am more than thrilled and certainly humbled to be included in this book, along with many highly successful Canadian poets. I must thank James Deahl, the editor of Tamaracks, Canadian Poetry for the 21st Century for including my poem Henge in his book and encouraging me to send my poetry to Miguel.

Miguel says of my work:

"Her book (Touchstone) is a reminder of how connected we are to the essences of life and points to our origins, our guiding principles, our salvation. It is a book about, with and for love. It exudes gratefulness and wholeheartedness from the very first proposal, "Touchstone," to its last poem, "Lost in Choices."

He goes on to say:

"Bell connects nature with the human condition in the last stanza (of "Tide") using a versatile expressive means, simile: The tide is coming in/sliding up the shore/Sure and steady as mothers love." She is able to link the sureness and steadiness of the ever-lapping sea with love, a leitmotif in her creation."

In conclusion he says of my poem "Still in Love" and my work in general :

"As I said at the beginning, this is a book of love. Bell has a gift: she is able to pour out words with an emphatic and empathic tone that catches the reader as she turns concrete occurrences and a great love into an ever-lasting experience: "The memory of  what we had/ And what we were to each other....// With the summer days we lived together/ And the love we shared."

I am totally humbled by his words. I write poetry because it comes to me, like breathing. Usually already whole and complete  just waiting for me to put the words on paper. It's something that I've done from a very early age and something that I enjoy. It also has a cathartic aspect, as putting emotion into words helps to exorcise pain and help me heal, and also to express the beauty that abounds around us. So much beauty that it would break my heart if I didn't set it free and share it.

Until next month, stay well, be happy.

  

Is it Spring yet? by Nancy M Bell

 

To see more of Nancy's books click on the cover above.

Spring

I chose the cover of The Selkie's Song because it's just so pretty and reminds me that Spring is coming. Really, it is.

With that in mind I thought I'd just share some of my poetry that celebrates Spring.

May Moonlight

How many times have you heard

You can’t go back again?

It’s true you know, you can’t

You can go back to the way things are now

Never to the way things were then.

Long summer nights spent under the stars

Riding in the moonlight up Spy Glass Hill

The May darkness rich with the perfume of apple blossoms

The orchard ghostly white in the gloaming

The world is dark around me where I stand alone

Once more at the apex of that steep hill

Silence gathers, deep and still

Muffling the subtle chatter of the river

I see them coming through the cedars

Rising through the pearly clouds of flowering trees

Young and confident riding sure footed horses

Too young to know how the sweetness of this moment

Will linger in memory long years after this enchanted night

Celebrate

The banners of Spring are flying on the blue of morning

Yellow catkins dance in the sunlit air over the ice-skim puddle

Purple crocus carpet the brown and grey prairie

Bright butter yellow jonquils nestle close to the house foundation

Sheltered from the ever present Alberta winds

Spring comes riding the coat tails of the mighty Chinook

The earth breathes in misty tendrils above the rough ploughed field

 

Winter’s back is broken, melt water runs like blood

Warm sun shyly promises the glory of June to come

Alberta blue sky and flowering prairie flowing forever

The long cold months are gone, come celebrate Spring  

But Spring doesn't always come gently, does it?

Spring Snow

The storm demons are howling rabidly across the sky

Dragging their icy talons against the window glass

Screeching their defiance through the hydro wires

Buffeting the house with their fists of wind

Shrieking they the fall upon the exposed prairie

Vomiting great gouts of snow to cover the earth

They hurl handfuls of icy pellets in my face

As I struggle to let the stock into the barn

Mean spiritedly they snatch the door from my frozen fingers

Slamming it open and popping one of the hinges

I bare my teeth at them and wrestle the door from their grasp

Hold it steady as the horses troop in out of the angry storm

The bale of hay spills its summer scent in the frigid air

A sunlit meadow song to battle the storm raging outside

The storm demons grab me in their teeth and shake me

As I blindly make my way back to the house

Power and fury personified; they scream their defiance

Their voices howling through the wind in my ears

Reluctant to exchange the winds of winter

For the thunderheads of summer 

Seasonal Sestina

Why is it that the first flowers of Spring

Are so special and the green of new leaves

Wakes a wild joy in my heart

Is it because they signal the end of Winter

Filled with the promise of long summer days

And the lazy hum of honey bees among the flowers

The tiny white snowdrops are among the first flowers

Along with the purple crocus of Spring

Courageously piercing the snow with their leaves

Small purple clusters to gladden my heart

Throwing a gauntlet in the face of Winter

Shining brightly through the short Spring days

The snow retreats with the lengthening of days

The garden paths are strewn with clots of flowers

The sweet bouquet of flower scented Spring

Bright daffodils dance above their pointed leaves

The tulips glowing red as the sun’s heart

They chase from the path the last of snowy Winter

Now only under the brambles lies the evidence of Winter

Soon that too will retreat from the sunny days

The lilacs burst into a froth of fragrant purple flowers

The scent mingling with the sun warmed air of Spring

Slow awakening summer flowers break the soil with their leaves

Heralding the coming of Summer’s heart

Spring passes softly into summer; the pulsing green heart

That rules the year opposite the white of Winter

The long halcyon green and gold days

Forged by the fire of the sun and the glory of flowers

There is just the faintest memory now of Spring

The full heady bounty of Summer canopied by trees of leaves

In due course fiery autumn will colour the leaves

And the flames of October will quicken the heart

The winds of snow will welcome the Winter

The frosty silver and blue of early winter days

Will make us forget the summer of flowers

Too new and beautiful yet to make us wish for Spring

By January we will be wishing for green leaves and Spring

Our heart will have hardened against the silver beauty of Winter

And we will hunger after the days of Summer and flowers 

Thanks for sticking with me this far, and here's hoping Spring is right around the corner.

Until next month, stay well, stay safe

Christmas Memories by Nancy M Bell

 

To discover more about Storm and this Christmas tale as well as Nancy's other books click on the cover.

We always put the tree up on December 20th as that is my birthday. Mom and Dad never wanted to put the tree up earlier than that as we always had a real tree and they worried that it would dry out.

We had these really cool bubble lights that were all different colors but got really hot when you left them on too long. There was a fluffy white angel on top.

One Christmas Eve when we were still outside in the driveway just getting out of the car Wendy and I got a huge surprise.  There, coming down the Cooney’s driveway, who were our next door neighbors, was Santa Claus! 

 We both screamed and then bolted for the back door.  If Santa came while were still up and awake he wouldn’t leave us anything.  We tore through the back door into the kitchen and down the back hall to the bedroom.  With our wet snow boots and coats still on Wendy and I scrambled into bed and pulled the covers over our heads.  I had a harder time getting into bed as I had to climb up into the top bunk, but I made it.  Mom and Dad came in and tried to get us to take off our coats and boots and change into night clothes.  Wendy and I wouldn’t budge, we were pretending to be asleep so that Santa would leave our presents.  We were sure that he was coming to our house any moment because we KNEW he just next door and he hadn’t been to our house next.  He must have already been to Jo-anne and John Lee’s place because they lived on the other side of the Cooneys, so we had to be next.  Mom and Dad must have removed our boots after we were asleep because they were gone in the morning.  And Santa did leave our presents for us that year. 

Things changed in 1964, June was married and living on Homestead Ave with Butch and my brother Timmy was born in July.  So Christmas 1964 was a little different.  There was one more of us to track all over the city to visit my aunts.

Sometime in the 1960’s Aunt Gloria and Uncle Tommy and Cindy and Tammy-Lori moved to Toronto.  My Grandma and Grandpa Rafter moved from Constance Lake near Ottawa and bought a little store on Davis Lake, near Kinmount.  Every winter they would come to Toronto and stay with Aunt Gloria and Uncle Tommy, so now we had even more excitement and visiting on Christmas Eve.  We often went to Aunt Gloria and Uncle Tommy’s for New Year’s dinner.  The turkey dressing was always yucky, it had so much sage in it ( which Gramma Rafter LOVED) and sometimes sausage. Not my favorite part of the meal I’ll tell you.  There was always way too much to eat, tons of turkey and cranberries, mashed potatoes and gravy.

 Our Christmas dinner at home was always large.  June and Butch and their sons Geoff, Peter and Terry would come. My Aunt Frances and Uncle Jim came on Christmas afternoon early and brought their sausage dog with them.  The first dog I remember was Sandy who was quite portly and smelled like DOG.  He would bite my dad if he tried to discipline us in front of him.  We liked Sandy.  Sandy would also dance with us, running around while we pranced around laughing.  Aunt Frances always gave us Avon for Christmas and her packages were always decorated with cool stuff. Uncle Jim is my mother’s only brother and he has one daughter Marilyn who lives in the States.  There would also be My Gramma and Grampa Pritchard who lived with us, Wendy and me and Timmy.  Mom would pull the big table with all the leaves in it out into the middle of our small living room and the table would stretch from the front window to the door to the kitchen.  It was set with these cool plates that we only used at Christmas, all pale yellow ,blue and pink around the edges with white roses in the centre.  Mom used her good silverware that Dad bought her one year for Christmas and a tablecloth that never seemed to escape the cranberries or the gravy. Our small house was full of the smell of turkey and gravy and boiling potatoes.  There never seemed to be enough room but somehow everyone managed to get seated at the table and Dad would carve the turkey. Wendy and I would fight over the drumsticks, although in later times Timmy always got one.

 Dad had this movie camera that required a bar of really bright lights in order to film anything.  In most of film from those years we all look like moles that have wandered into the sunlight.  Our faces are red (the lights were hot) and our eyes all squinted shut. Timmy running around with his diapers drooping off his butt.  Wendy always made sure her hair was combed and she looked presentable before going upstairs. Me, not so much. 

So much has changed since then. Places at the table hold different faces now, but the magic still holds us in hollow of its hand. Christmas Joy and Peace to you and yours, in this season and throughout the year.

 

 

First Times by Nancy M Bell

 

To learn more about Nancy's books click on the cover above.

First times and last times. If we knew we were going to do something for the last time, would we do anything differently? 

As I approach my 65th birthday- dear heavens how did I ever get that old?-  I start to remember all the firsts in my life. 

I remember the  first time I rode a horse a Bowmanville Zoo. I was very young, but I can still remember the feel of the horse moving under me, and see the sunlight through the trees on the brown earth between his ears. I remember the last time I rode. It was in 2006, a year to the day after my accident that effectively ended my riding career. It felt good and it felt right and I never thought it would be the last time I threw a leg over a horse. Actually, that day it was more like I crawled unto her back, but that's a moot point. Had I known it was the last time, would I have put up with the pain and ridden her longer, held onto that joy. Held unto that magical connection between horse and rider when it seems like I see through her eyes and we think together. 

I don't know. Perhaps some day I will have the joy of sitting on a horse again, I hold onto that thought, it helps balance me and keep my sane. 

I think every girl remembers her first kiss. That special step from childhood into young adulthood, although we don't realize it at the time. I remember the date of course. August 15th, 1970. It was the summer I'd just graduated from grade school and looking back it was the last summer of my childhood. We had a cottage on Davis Lake in Haliburton County in Ontario. My heart still goes there in memory to visit. There were four of us girls, my sister, Elaine my friend, and Abby who worked at the little store at the end of the lake. And of course there were four boys. Local brothers and their cousin who lived on the Buller Road. Doug was my first boyfriend, and the first boy I ever kissed. At the top of our cottage driveway, under the maples in the magic darkness that lies under the canopy of trees. I took the first step into womanhood, although that transition was still years away. I guess a corner of every girl's heart will always hold a special place for that boy who gave her that first kiss.

For me,  my first horse was a huge milestone in my life. Horses are, and always have been a huge part of who I am. Brandy was my first and even knowing how and when it would end, I wouldn't change a single thing. He was my rock and my safe place as I manouevered through the uncertain waters of being a teenager in the 1970's. 

So many firsts, and so many last times. The last time I spoke to my dad, the night before he died. The last time I saw his face. It's been 13 years and it still brings tears to my eyes. 

Life is a  journey, full of firsts and lasts, I guess the best we can do is ride the joy of the peaks and persevere through the valleys of uncertainty. November always seems to be a month of introspection for me. This year is no different. On November 11 I think of my grandfather who lived with us when I was young. Shaving and picking shrapnel out of his face and neck years after the war was ended. He taught me so much and most of all to honour all life. When I was really young he showed my how to catch a bee in a kleenex and set if free when it was trapped on the window pane frantically trying to get out. That memory has stuck with me my whole life.

Wishing you joy and peace as the days draw in and we wait to turn our faces to the light at Winter Solstice. The magic mid-winter night when the after the longest night that light pushes back the dark once more.

Until next month, be well, be happy. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

      

 

 

 

Time- where does it go? by Nancy M Bell

 

To find more of Nancy's work please click on the cover.

Time, where does it go? It feels like only yesterday I was sixteen and galloping through the Rouge Valley near Scarborough, Ontario. My world was filled with horses and the people associated with them. That time in my life is kind of like a golden halo, you know the old saying- the Good Old Days. Of course, life being what it is, there was good and bad in those days. But the constant thread running through it all was the horses and my passion for them. 

It wasn't until I was seventeen that I got my own horse, but I still remember those wonderful patient horses who made up the dude string at Rouge Hill Stables. Considered by some as old, or used up, or just a grade (the equine equivalent of mutt), but they patiently put up with packing non-riders up and down the big hill to gain access to the valley. They did their job without complaining day in and day out. I learned so much from those horses, in my mind's eye I can see them still.

And now, in December I will turn sixty-five. Officially a Senior. How the hell did that happen? My youngest will turn forty in February of 2022. I mean...are you kidding me? Where did all that time go- how did all those years slip by without me really noticing? I have been many things in my life, but through it all the constant has been my horses. Although many horses have made an impact on my life, there are a few that were truly horses of my heart. Brandy was the first horse that was mine, one that no one else could make a decision about. That's the problem with loving horses that don't belong to you, other people can make decisions that take that horse away from you. The second horse of my heart was Tags, a big chestnut quarter horse that looked more like a stocky thoroughbred (and acted like one as well) the third horse, the horse of my old age is Emily. She's twenty-one and still looks much younger. She's been mine since before she was born as I owned her momma. 

I know some men can keep track of events that happened in the past by what car they drove at that time, for me it's what horses were around me that brings back the memories clear and strong. In my heart I am still that sixteen year old kid riding horses in the moonlight through the blooming apple trees beneath Spy Glass Hill, wearing my heart on my sleeve and believing anything is possible if you just want it bad enough.

That idealistic outlook is a bit tattered by the passing years, but I guess I do still believe anything is possible if you just work at it and don't lose focus. The old lady I see in the mirror now can still startle me sometimes, who is she? And behind her eyes I can still find the golden halo of youthful optimism, and always the horses, teaching me courage and fortitude and reminding me patience is a virtue.

 Until next month, stay well, stay happy.

Some Pre-Release reviews for Chance's Way and A shout out to When Words Collide by Nancy M Bell

 

To learn more about The Alberta Adventures series and The Cornwall Adventures that proceeded it please click on the cover above.  

First, When Words Collide, that wonderful and very affordable writers festival has wrapped up for another year. This is the second year we've gathered online and all things considered it seems we are getting better at managing Zoom calls. The wonderful thing about WWC is that all the presenters and hosts and organizers volunteer their time and expertise which makes this amazing event accessible to everyone. Hopefully next year we can all meet in person again in Calgary. I sat on several panels and did a presentation on Character Development which was well attended. Thanks to everyone who tuned it and participated.

Now, for a bit of shameless self promotion. As you may or may not know reviews are so important to an author. Chance's Way releases on September 1, 2021 and I have been lucky enough to get a couple of pre-release reviews. So, just to whet your whistle, so to speak....

From KC Finn of Readers Favorite

Author Nancy M. Bell has crafted a great YA drama that will introduce readers to country life in Canada, with sweet romance and highly relatable protagonists. Chance’s journey was intelligently penned and well-balanced to give a heartfelt but not overdone approach to his big life turnaround. The issues surrounding his ne’er-do-well father were so interesting to explore, and you could really feel Chance’s family conflict coming through. I also enjoyed the presentation of Laurel immensely, and her dialogue and charm made me want to read the rest of the books in the Alberta Adventures series to see her personal journey too. Overall, I would recommend Chance’s Way to fans of the existing series and new readers seeking emotional tales of young people just setting out to carve a future for themselves despite their setbacks and adversities.   

Till next month, stay well, stay happy   

Chance's Way Releases in September 2021 by Nancy M Bell

 

To find more of Nancy's books click on the cover. 

I'm excited to announce that Chance's Way is releasing in September of 2021. This book three of the Alberta Adventures series. This series turned out to be a series about rescues. In book one, Wild Horse Rescue, Laurel and friends rescue some wild horses, in book two, Dead Dogs Talk, Laurel and friends work to rescue some dogs from a dog fighting ring. Book three turned out to be something a bit different. Fans of the series will be familiar with bad boy Chance Cullen. He turned a bit of a corner in Dead Dogs Talk, in book three Chance's Way he is struggling to come to terms with his past choices and see if he can find a better way to go forward. He is still hopelessly in love with Laurel Rowan but knows she won't have anything to do with him unless he can turn his life around. And not to mention that she has a long distance relationship going with Coll Hazel, who lives in Cornwall UK. 

Chance's Way is the story of Chance's search for his truth, learning about who he is and who he wants to become. He is supported by Laurel's dad, Colt Rowan, who has had his own issues with his parents, so he can sympathize with Chance's problems with his n'er do well father and hysterical mother.

This last book in the series wasn't meant to be about Chance's coming of age, but that's how it evolved. 

There's a good mix of rodeo and ranch life mixed into the story and those who live that life will relate to the events that unfold. Concussion and injury are part and parcel of the rodeo way of life. The dangers of concussion and repeated trauma are only starting to be addressed. The tragic loss of Ty Pozzobon in 2017 was a huge wake up call to the rodeo community with regards to the issue of brain related injuries in much the same way as Lane Frost's death at Cheyenne in 1989 brought about the use of flak jackets for bull riders. I touch briefly on these issues in Chance's Way. 

I hope you enjoy Chance's journey. Below are some scenes from life on the Canadian prairies where the Alberta Adventures take place.

Till next month, stay well, stay happy.

Cool Water by Nancy M Bell

 

Chance's Way releases in September 2021. To find out more about Nancy's work please click on the cover. 

Water. It's something most people take for granted. Not me. I grew up in a house with a shallow well, every August it would go dry for a short period. There is nothing more heart stopping than turning on the tap and nothing comes out. The number of things we use water for without realizing it is mind blowing. Everything from washing dishes, to showers, to flushing the toilet...the list is endless.

Maybe I'm weird, but every time I  turn on the tap and water comes out give up a silent thanks to the earth who shares her life blood with me. In the shower I offer up a silent prayer of thanks for the luxury of having clean water pour over me, washing more than bodily dirt away. What would happen if the rivers ceased to flow? The lakes dry up into windblown plains? 

The sound of running taps or the pump kicking in and out will still wake me up from a sound sleep. Such are the lessons we learn in childhood. I currently live on a farm that depends on well water and I husband it carefully. I think of well water as 'living water' it is straight from the depths of the earth, cold enough to freeze my hands after a few minutes. It isn't treated or 'civilized' or 'purified' it is just what is meant to be....water. Life giving, life sustaining water.  

This summer is one of the driest and hottest we've had in many years here in southern Alberta. It's only June 28th and the grass is dry and brittle under my bare feet, the pavement hot enough to produce burns on unwary feet of humans and animals. The wide but shallow slough in the pasture is dark brown mud right now, the water gone from the surface but still lurking below waiting for a good rain to bring it back into the light.  

So, the next time you turn on a tap and water gushes forth, give a prayer of thanks and appreciate the bounty provided by nature. Fresh water is not a commodity to be traded or made money off of, regardless of what some think.  Fresh water is a give from the gods and goddesses, or God if you prefer. Not to be taken for granted and not to be taken lightly. Just for second imagine life without water...

Until next month, stay safe.  

Is it Spring yet in Alberta, Canada? by Nancy M Bell

 

To find out more about Nancy's books please click on the cover above.

This is the brand new cover for the last book in The Alberta Adventures series. I really love it, it's Chance right down to the cocky grin. Who doesn't love a bull rider (as long he's not dating your daughter LOL)

So....Springtime in Alberta. It can never quite make up it's mind. One day it will be +16 Celcius and the next it is snowing to beat the band. Hard on my delphiniums who are eternal optimists and always start to push up green shoots as soon as the earth warms even a bit. 

So far this year, we've had some nice warm weather, and then a cold front dips down from the north and BAM- wind, and snow, and sleet, and rain

The pansies tolerate the cold so well I always put them out first. The geraniums, not so much. They come inside to hide until the weather turns again. The flowering plum in the front is working hard to put on a show, but we had some chilly weather and I'm afraid some of the buds got nipped. Hence the old adage to 'nip something in the bud' meaning to stop something before it manifests. 

I'm hoping to have a full garden, but it will depend on what weather we get in June. In the past, it has offered up a hard frost, hail and even snow, so we'll see.

The Saskatoon bushes are blooming, so hopefully I will get some berries before the birds do this year. The Rhubarb is begging to be thinned out already, it doesn't seem to mind the snow either. 

Ian Tyson got it right when he wrote the song Springtime in Alberta. 

On another note, Chance's Way is coming along. Look for it to release in September 2021.

Wishing you all happy gardening and praying for a Covid free summer.

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Covid Tired by Nancy M Bell

To learn more about Nancy and her books click on the flyer above.

I'm Covid tired, are you? I really, really want to go somewhere, do something, but nope, can't. Infection numbers are rising like crazy in Alberta. So....I have turned my frustrations to good use. Chance's Way, which I blogged about last month, is coming along. The above flyer is a mock up, the final cover will have Chance in place of Laurel, but this gives you an idea of the concept.

It's kinda cool to see all the covers in the Laurel series together. Particularly, the two Arabella covers. For those unfamiliar with the series, Laurel's Gramma Bella, while she's not in the Cornwall Adventures until the last book, has set a number of things in motion before the first book in the series. Arabella's Secret  series explores how some things came to be and how Gramma Bella ended up in southern Alberta married to a rancher instead of staying close to home in Cornwall.

I'm still working on Chance's story as he grapples with his demons and struggles with the financial difficulties of keeping the family ranch going. His pride won't let him ask for help, but the boy is floundering. Colt Rowan watches with concern, but doesn't want to stick his nose in where it might not be wanted. Laurel and Chance seem to be mending the rifts in their relationship, at least as far as friendship is concerned. Her heart is still with Coll in Cornwall, but that's a long way away. 

Stay tuned for more updates next month!

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The Alberta Adventures Chance's Story by Nancy M Bell

 

To learn more about Nancy's work please click on the cover.

I am currently working on the last book in the Alberta Adventures. So far the series has dealt with rescues of one sort or another.  This last novel is about Laurel's friend Chance Cullen. He's been a part of all the stories so far and I think he deserves his own story since I've dragged him through hell and back again. In Chance's Way (working title) he struggles with his demons and coming to terms with the sort of man his father is. Here is the first bit of the Chapter One. As you can see, Chance has more than a few things to come to terms with, including his seemingly unrequited love for Laurel Rowan.

Chance Cullen stood on the high school steps, having just turned in his graduation robes. He glanced at the certificate in his hands and sighed. What difference does a high school diploma mean when I don’t even know what I want to do? The parking lot was awash in colour, the girls in their fancy dresses flitted from group to group like a flock of butterflies. The thought brought a wry smile to his lips. The after grad was out at the Rowan ranch, unbidden his gaze sought out Laurel Rowan, long corn silk blonde hair twisted into some crazy up do, his sister called it. The blue of her dress was the exact colour of her eyes, not that he was likely to get close enough to her to compare the two.

Jamming his wide brimmed hat on his head Chance wended his way through the throng of students, parents and grandparents, and probably most of Pincher Creek besides. He was stopped a couple of times by friends wishing him well, but finally reached the sanctuary of his truck. Tossing his diploma onto the passenger seat, he slid into the driver’s seat. His hand hesitated in the process of starting the engine and he leaned his forearms on the steering wheel, resting his chin on them.

Without meaning to, he searched for Laurel in the crowd. With unerring accuracy, his Laurel-dar, as he liked to call it, found her standing with his sister Carly. Laurel’s parents were with the two girls and Chance’s own mother. Anna Rowan’s hair was the same spun silk colour as her daughter and Colt Rowan towered over both of them. Sally Cullen clutched at Carly’s arm and glanced toward Chance’s truck, attempting to pull her daughter away. Chance grinned, it looked like Carly was standing her ground. No doubt Mom was going to make another attempt at forcing the family together. He straightened up and grimaced. He wouldn’t be surprised if Mom hadn’t streamed the whole graduation ceremony to Dad up in prison at Bowden. Bitterness twisted his gut, like that man cared about anything but himself.

He started the truck and backed out of the spot, pretending not to see his mother making her way toward him, he turned out of the school and headed out of town. His phone buzzed in his dress shirt pocket, he pulled it free and dumped it beside the diploma on the passenger seat without checking the caller ID. There was no one he wanted to talk to right now. He drove north out of town, past the hundreds of power windmills sprouting from the rolling prairie hills. God, he hated those things. They marred the stark beauty of the land and the constant noise drove him crazy. Chance chose north on purpose. It was the opposite direction from the Rowan’s. After what happened last November, getting Laurel in danger with those bastards from the dog fight organization, Chance couldn’t look Colt Rowan in the eye, let along his wife. Mr. Rowan said he’d forgiven him, but Chance still struggled with guilt. He slammed his palm on the wheel. Dammit, dammit all to hell! The last thing in the world he ever wanted was to put Laurel in any danger.

Why did I ever listen to Dad? How did I ever convince myself that getting involved with those guys was a good idea? How fucking stupid am I? And what happened to those dogs…

Chance pulled to the side of the gravel road and rubbed at his blurred eyes. Those images would never leave him. Christ, he had nightmares every time he closed his eyes. Willing himself to force the memory of the savaged dogs and the high-pitched screams of terror drowned out and silenced by the harsh growls of the victorious dogs. Chance put his hands over his ears which only served to intensify the chaos in his mind. Flinging the door open he stumbled out into the June sunshine, rounding the front of the cab he collapsed in the tall grass at the edge of the ditch. Burying his head between his knees Chance let the emotions locked down for so long escape. It was more than he could do to hold them in check any longer. Physical pain accompanied the roar of emotions that swept through him carried on his sobbing breath. The images and sounds raging through his head were more real than the gravel biting into his hands where he clutched the ground beside him. Anything to feel anchored to something.

The sun was almost touching the horizon when the visions finally released Chance. He took a shaky breathe and scrubbed his hands over his face, grit from the road scraping his cheeks. The pain was welcome and immediate, serving to ground him in present and chase the last vestiges of the memories away. “Christ, when is this going to stop? I don’t know how much more of it I can take.” He shook his head, removed his hat and ran fingers through his damp hair. Glancing at the sun, he shoved himself to his feet. “Gotta get home and check the stock,” he muttered. Harvey Good Smoke would be at the Rowan’s party, along with his wife. They were so proud of Joey and Chance guessed they had good reason to be. Grimacing, he shoved his hat back on his head and climbed into the still open truck door.

The engine was slow to catch and Chance cursed himself for leaving the door open and running the battery down. How long was I out there sitting on the side of the road like a dead coyote? The truck finally rumbled to life, the phone on the far seat ringing at the same time. Chance closed his eyes and fought the urge to throw the thing out on the road and drive over it a time or two. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes and picked up the phone. The caller cut off before he could decide if he wanted to answer it or not. Seven new voicemails, ten texts. Scrolling through, he ignored the call from his father. Waste of skin. Likewise, he skipped the voicemails from his mother, four of them. There were two from Carly, he grinned. She must have been desperate, his sister much preferred texting. Checking those, his grin widened, five were from Carly. A small jolt of adrenalin shot through him, the last one was from Laurel. His hand trembled as it hovered over the keys. What could he say to her, hell, what should he say to her? While he procrastinated, the phone vibrated in his hands. What the hell? Colt Rowan! Why is he calling me? Deliberating the wisdom of answering the call, Chance’s head shot up and he slammed the truck door shut. Slouching down in the seat he pulled his hat lower over his forehead. The last thing he needed right now was company.

The approaching pickup slewed to a stop beside him, the driver leaping out and wrenching Chance’s door open before he realized what was happening.

“You been drinking?” Joey Good Smoke demanded, knocking Chance’s hat off his head.

“No,” he snarled in reply. “And why the hell do you care if I was?” Chance jammed his hat back on.

“Are you kidding me? Your sister is in hysterics thinking you’ve gone and done something stupid, the Rowan’s had to call the doctor to settle your mother down.”

“They should know better than to worry about me,” Chance muttered, refusing to look at Joey.

“Yeah, they should. But for some reason they still love you. Damned if I can figure out why, the way you act.” Joey kicked the gravel in disgust. He pulled his cell out of his pocket and punched a finger on the first contact that came up.

Chance tried to shut his door, but Joey blocked it with his hip.

Whoever he was calling finally picked up. “Yeah, I found him.” A long silence. “Looks like hell, but he don’t smell like he’s been drinking.” Joey glanced at the passenger side of the cab. “No empties I can see.” Another silence. “Range Road Eleven, out near the Castle Valley campsite.” Joey pushed his hat back a bit and glared at Chance. “I’ll try,” he said.

“You’ll try what, Joey?” Chance demanded, attempting to wrest the door shut again. “You reporting to Carly?”

Joey shook his head. “Colt. He’s worried about you and he’s on his way. He told me to tell you to stay here.”

“Like hell!” Chance threw the truck into gear.

“I wouldn’t,” Joey warned him. “The cops are looking for you too. You might as well sit here and face the music.”

Chance swallowed against the dizziness that made his head float and his vision blur. “I ain’t done nothin’ wrong. Why’re the cops involved?’ He wiped a shaky hand across his mouth. “I don’t need this, for fuck’s sake.”

“Blame your mom, she was so worked up she called the RCMP before anybody could stop her.” Joey slammed a fist against the box of the truck. “Why couldn’t you just answer your God damned phone? You looking for sympathy or something? Poor Chance, all alone on grad day when we should all be celebrating. Poor misunderstood Chance. You make me sick! If it wasn’t for Carly, I swear…” Joey stepped back and slammed Chance’s door, sending a quiver through the vehicle. “You know what? Go ahead, go drive off the coulee, go drive into the river. Take your pity party somewhere else. I’ll tell Colt I couldn’t stop your from leaving. ” Joey stomped back to his truck and reversed so he was parked behind Chance.

“Fuck you,” Chance snarled and took his foot off the brake, releasing the clutch at the same time. The pickup rolled forward, the tires catching in the deep gravel at the side of the road. Chance tipped his hat back and pounded his fist against the sudden tightness in his chest. “Not now,” he muttered, hitting the gas. He clung to the wheel, driving more from instinct than anything else, while the road and hills snaked around him. Chance fought the constriction in his chest as it rose to his throat and pulled his lips back from teeth. Hang on, just hang on, almost home.

Finally, the familiar ranch gate loomed in front of him and Chance turned into the lane, barely avoiding driving off the edge of the cattle guard. He jammed his foot on the gas when the barns and shed rose up in front of him. The pickup slewed to a stop by the grain bins. On somewhat safe ground, fairly certain he was alone, Chance released the death grip on the steering wheel and leaned his forehead on it. Fighting for breath, he tried to slow the rapid breathing tearing at his lungs and twisting his gut. Sweat ran down his back, he threw his hat onto the passenger seat, leaned out the door to hurl his guts up. Make is stop or let me die. God, make it stop. What the hell is going on. God make it stop. Jumbled thoughts bumped and crowded each other in his mind.

After what seemed forever, Chance opened his eyes and raised his head. Moonlight cascaded into the cab, reflecting off the silver grain bins beside him. Raking a hand through his hair, Chance grabbed his hat and stepped out of the truck. His good shirt stuck to his back and his best boots had stains on them. He couldn’t remember how that happened. Bending over with his hands on his knees, Chance drew deep breaths into his lungs, his ribs and back protesting as he did so.

“Christ, I feel like I got dumped and stomped on. What the hell was …whatever that was? Am I going nuts or something?” He straightened up and shook his head, instantly regretting the movement. The cell buzzed from inside the truck. Wearily, he reached in and snagged it from the passenger floorboards. Carly. Chance cleared his throat and took the call.

“Yeah, Carly, what’s up?” He tried to sound normal.

“What’s up? What’s up?” Carly’s voice could have been heard by the coyotes two sections over. Chance held the phone away from his ear until the shrill sounds died down a bit.

“Carly, shut up and let me get a word in, would ya? I just didn’t feel like going out to the Rowan’s.”

“Why not, you’re part of the grad class, you were invited, and you were welcome. You know that—”

“I couldn’t…Colt…and Mrs. Rowan…after what happened with Laurel…I just couldn’t…”

“Well, you could have told someone, you could have answered your phone, your texts. Damn it, Chance! How much fun do you think I had dealing with Mom and her hysterics. Got herself so worked up she was sure you’d done something stupid.”

“I’m sorry about that Carly. I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”

“Don’t you ever think before you act? It wasn’t just me, Joey and Mister Rowan and bunch of the guys and their dads went looking for you. Then Joey finally finds you and you run off again. Idiot! Where the hell are you now?” Carly demanded, still on a roll.

Chance sighed and rubbed a hand gingerly over his sore ribs. “Tell them to call off the search, I’m at the ranch and getting ready to do chores. Tell Harvey he doesn’t have to worry about night check.”

“That’s big of you.” Sarcasm dripped off his sister’s voice.

“Look, I said I’m sorry. I’m telling you I just couldn’t do it, face everyone. Them looking sideways at me and whispering under their breath…”

“You’re imagining a lot of that, Chance. The Rowan’s are over it, Laurel’s worried about you. She wanted to go look too, but they talked her out of it.”

“Ya see! Colt wouldn’t want Laurie to find me, be alone with me, not after what happened with the dogs last fall…”

“Get over yourself, Chance! For God’s sake, you’re starting to sound like Dad. Coming up with excuses and blaming other people for your stupidity.”

“Fuck off, Carly. I’m not like Dad,” Chance growled.

“Aren’t you?” Carly snarled and ended the call.

Chance stared at the blank screen for a moment. Carly never hung up on him. Ever. “She must be really pissed.” He shoved the phone in his back pocket and headed to the house to change his clothes.  

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