Wednesday, November 29, 2023
Legend of Sleepy Hollow--Redux
Thursday, July 29, 2021
For Kathy
For Kathy
Fireflies rise, cool sparks
Glow against the black tree silhouettes.
With a glass of Malbec at hand and a phone,
We're off again, sharing visions of the Revolutionary War,
Whether those characters should wear coats of red or blue or green,
Criminals, heroes & villains alike
Standing on the backs of strong women
And slaves—
Wild, Wild East of history, both genuine and fake,
Where, beneath trees older than Genesis,
The First People still told of Thunderbird and the Three Sisters, legends of
Earth Turtle and Beaver, of Brave Muskrat and Trickster Crow.
After a summer supper, calling from the porch,
“How ya Doin’?” she jokes and I laugh at her puns,
Baseball mutters in the background, and
She shares today's vision of a fox, how it paused and
Stared from the green slope of the lawn, down toward the on-again-off again creek.
We discuss fireflies and how,
When we were children,
So much was different;
We mourn a natural world lost, a place with Monarchs and tadpoles.
Sometimes she shares memories:
Our 60's: hers of Baez, Civil Rights, of plays and performances,
Of academia, of camping at Woodstock--her friends had never expected THAT--
And her Mom and baby days, birth stories and death stories, so poignant.
I learned about her research and dreams,
Her quest for recognition a.k.a., The Same Old Writer’s Blues,
Of Revelations at reenactment nighttime campfires, under a country night sky,
Full of stars dancing,
About working for her father, of jumping into the 'Net in the 90's, and of
Friends and treasure troves of history found in virtual space--
As well as how to cook a duck and create a holy Passover supper.
Together we nodded, two gray women, agreeing about
The complex knots that tie families everywhere.
Tonight I watch fireflies rise in hazy twilight,
And once more I’ll miss your rambles through Past and Present,
My Dear Friend,
Your husky voice in my ear, your laughter and sophistication, your wit,
A delight for all too brief a time.
~~Juliet Waldron
7/21/21
Monday, October 7, 2019
Tombstones Tell A Story by Eileen O'Finlan
One side of pillar honoring Revolutionary soldiers buried here |
American Soldiers believed buried in Old First Church burying grounds |
Hessian (Brunswick) Soldiers believed buried in Old First Church Burying Ground |
David Redding - Executed Loyalist |
Details regarding Redding's Execution |
Grave site of Robert Frost and Family Members |
Mom and my cousin, Patty, reflect near the birch tree at Robert Frost's Grave |
Frost's Poem "In A Disused Graveyard" |
Grave Marker of William Halford Maguire |
Monday, February 29, 2016
The Schuyler Sisters
That's not the foreground of my stories. The girls are. They drew my interest particularly because I'm deprived--an only child. I've had to research the experience of siblings. As I read about the life that these girls lived, I realized that Margaret, Elizabeth and Angelica literally grew up together. Dutch ladies they were, but you could almost call them "Irish triplets", these same sex sibs born bam-bam-bam in 1756, 1757, and 1758. How could they not be emotionally entwined?
Back to the fairy tale idea. As it happened, these Schuyler girls each grew up and each one married a handsome prince.
There were plenty of hands—labor both slave and free—and plenty of fuel, for the menfolk are busy chopping down the great northeastern boreal forest, consuming it for building and energy, for shipping and industry. She might not have dirtied her hands scrubbing the floors, but she’d know how it should be done, and she wouldn’t hesitate to explain it to you while you worked on your knees before her. She wasn’t retiring, although she probably wasn’t taller than five feet. Nothing shy about this lady within the confines of her home; she was a Leo and a Schuyler, too, after all.
Theirs is a delightful family/historical story, three women living through such a profound transition. I only wonder that it hasn't been retold more. It's been an honor and a delight to attempt to try.
Saturday, March 29, 2014
ANGELICA'S DIARY, A character Blog
http://amzn.com/B0098CSH5Q
Originally published as Independent Heart.
I still can't believe what I saw from Aunt Letitia's parlor window last night. The whole City, south of her house, was aflame. We were afraid, and the servants stood before the door with muskets. So much smoke blowing! We were coughing, and the whole sky turned red, while crowds carrying pitiful bundles of their possessions ran and wept, driving their poor cows and horses down the street! I hadn't believed that General Washington could be driven out of New York and that the British would rule here again, but that's what has come to pass.
My Aunt believes that American sympathizers set fire to the City, that the occupying British troops were not responsible. This morning it still burns, and we've heard that more than half of the buildings have fallen. Auntie and I had hot words on the subject at breakfast, but after what I've seen and heard already of this war, I confess I am truly not certain of what to believe.
It's unimaginable, what my Uncle Ten Broeck has written of, the things happening up and down our once peaceful valley. There has been looting and burning, the cruel maiming of horses and cattle carried out by those who must have little but evil in their hearts. Everywhere, my Uncle says, men settle old scores with their neighbors, while hiding their shocking crimes behind the names of "Loyalist" or "Patriot."
Oh, why did I ever come to the City? I was tired of Arent's pursuit, but that seems so petty now. Arent is a kind man who is in love with me, but how can I ever marry anyone? I fear I will always be in love with my darling long-lost 'Bram!
New York is become a dangerous place, exactly as my Uncle feared. I've been a great fool, traveling in the midst of this war! All I want is to go home, to sail up the river back to Kingston, but I am trapped behind the lines of the enemy. My Aunt Letitia says that I--and my inheritance--are far safer here, that because my Uncle Jacob is a patriot and defies the British, he will be hanged and his lands forfeit to the Crown. It is better, she says, that I "not be involved in his folly and ruin."
She has gone back to her old plan for me, wants me to marry "a respectable English officer" and "leave forever this barbaric place". She doesn't seem to understand that I am an American, bred in this land and to the bone. Even though General Washington has been defeated, I still believe that in the end--somehow, some way--our Cause will triumph, and that one day we on this continent shall enjoy the blessings of true liberty and peace.
http://amzn.com/B0098CSH5Q
Angel's Flight is the sister book to her award winning Genesee.
~Juliet Waldron~
See all my living, breathing historical novels at:
http://www.julietwaldron.com
And at Books We Love:
http://bookswelove.net/julietwaldron.php
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
The Great Apple Hunt
Moving again, into Pennsylvania, I hoped to find better apples, but at first, I couldn’t locate them. People here liked Lodi, for they come early, but about all they are good for is a mild, soupy sauce. No, the early greens are not favorites—and don’t even mention the awful saw-dust-look-but-don't eat supermarket Red “Delicious”! The antique varieties our grandparents knew had been destroyed by subdivisions and marketing. I’ve lived in PA for 30 years now, and that once world-famous Pennsylvania export, the York Imperial--of "Treasure Island" fame--has never crossed my seeker’s path.
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