Wednesday, October 4, 2023

Just A Phase by Julie Christen



“It’s just a phase.” 
I heard this a few times growing up. 
“Lots of little girls go through a horse-crazy phase.”

For a time, I believed it must be true. But the vision of being around horses always tickled the back of my mind like an itch I couldn't scratch. The gentle motion rocking me back and forth, the warm breath on my palm after snuffling up a treat, and a shaggy forelock over soft, soulful eyes. It all stayed.

       I never grew out of my horse “phase.”

       At 53 years young, I try to remember when, exactly, my love affair began. My memory isn’t sharp enough to put a time stamp on it, but when my dad found these 1974 photos from his slide collection, I realized it started when I was very, very young.

At four years old, on a family camping trip to Theodore Roosevelt National Park, I was flung up onto a trail horse behind my mom and away we went. No helmets, signed waivers or mounting docks. Just the two of us on a gentle horse. Though the details of that particular ride have faded, I know with certainty that I was not afraid, but comfortable, like sitting on a sofa as we watched the countryside go by. I remember reaching my hand back to pat the soft rump over and over as we ambled along a winding trail. I remember not wanting to get down when it was over. And when it was over, I remember watching my horse through the fence rails until we had to drive away.


I also know that on this trip, my family marveled at a wild herd of horses roaming free. The herd clustered together, tails swishing, foraging to their heart's content on native grasses. We watched them with awe. And even though the park would eventually decide they weren’t “pretty enough” for the tourists, and plan to eliminate them in order to introduce more domesticated-looking horses, we thought they were beautiful. Maybe we were a different kind of tourist.

The Kuntz brothers would be saving those wild horses soon. I love that I hold this connection with them.

            My mother had grown up with horses. I would ask her to tell me again about those she had as a little girl growing up in tiny Sheldon, ND. How Grandpa Frank bought a pony named Patsy and a big Palomino named Sparky. How she rode to school. How the ride going out was always much slower than the ride coming home. She would tell me about riding with her cousins to a trickling spring, the perfect spot for lazy summer afternoons and tossing chokecherries to the fish.

            So many of her memories made some of my favorite scenes come to life in Nokota Voices.

            I am amazed at how life has a way of taking off down the road, and before you know it, you’re leaning hard on your knees, huffing and puffing, looking back. Then you wonder, “How did I get here?”

Now I sip my morning coffee and look out at my horses and donkey grazing in the dewy morning hours. Who would ever have guessed that three of those would be Nokota horses – possibly descendants of those same wild ones we marveled at on our family vacation so long ago.

It wasn’t “just a phase.” It’s a reality.

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Tuesday, October 3, 2023

Tales of the 2023 Wine Country Writers' Festival by Diane Bator

 

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One of the fun things I found when I planned to move to Alberta, was the Wine Country Writers' Festival in Penticton, BC. A bit of a drive but after driving across Canada earlier this year, what was another 10 hours? Besides, I had free accommodations, so why not take advantage?

I drove across the Crowsnest Pass through so much fantastic scenery it was hard to keep my eyes on the road. Frank Slide, was only one of the amazing views.



I took a couple days to do some sightseeing and buy wine. Then headed to Penticton Lakeside Resort early Saturday morning September 23. 



What a full, amazing day! I finally met the amazing organizers - Faye Arcand and Jim Jackson. Sessions ran from 10am right up until 6pm. I went from session to session and took all kinds of notes:  The Business of Art, Creating Well-Rounded Characters with Disabilities, Query Quest, Writing Books Kids and Teens want to Read, Establishing a Connected Writing Practice, Writing a Memoir, and Getting Creative Building Your Creative Business. Whew! And those were just the ones I went to. There was a wide variety to choose from for sure. I even met an author from Airdrie--Alissa Blondin--that I look forward to hanging out with one day soon!

THE HOODED MERGANSER


Dinner was fun. Sat with my friend Layton and a couple other ladies, Tatiana and Heather. Nice to chat about books and the sessions we'd attended. When they handed everyone a little stack of books as a gift, we learned our new friend Heather had a story in the 2022 Wine Country Writers' Festival Anthology. Layton and I both got her to sign our copies! 


It was pretty late by the time I got back to my lodgings, but I was right back there for Sunday morning's activities. After a really interesting Coffee Chat featuring Brian Thomas Isaac, we rolled into a fun Keynote Speech by Suzy Vadori, who got everyone revved up to get back to our writing once more.

I wasn't going to do any of the publisher or agent pitches, not since I'm a part of BWL! But I decided to pitch to an agent just for the fun of it. I had a story that I'd been working on, so why not? How disappointing the agent was a no-show. 

But that wasn't the end of my day! I'd brought a book with me that I'd bought months earlier because I found out the author was going to be there. It took until the last minute of the last day, but I tracked him down! And, yes, it is research material!

  
We were done by 1pm.
I wandered in the sunshine, bought pad thai from a great food truck, and let the thoughts swirl through my head. I'd heard so much information and made so many notes that I could read over later to refresh my memory. Back at my home for the weekend, I did some writing and plotting before it was time to head home Monday.


I stopped to take this photo mostly because I needed a break! When I posted it on social media, my friend Terrie Moran, who writes for the Murder She Wrote series, asked if she could use it to help promote her upcoming book "Murder Backstage" which comes out in 2024 and takes place in Edmonton. It will appear on the Murder She Wrote Book Club page!


Last but not least, I wanted to leave you with a little serenity. This is Lundbreck Falls here in Alberta. I hadn't been here since my kids were little but since I was driving past, it was a great spot to stop!

Hope you enjoyed the quick version of the Wine Country Writers' Festival. I have a feeling I'll be attending again next year. The sessions, attendees, and scenery were definitely inspiring!

Have a beautiful day,
Diane Bator
https://bookswelove.net/bator-diane/
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Monday, October 2, 2023

Discovering the donair by donalee Moulton



In my book Hung Out to Die the main character, an American transplanted to Nova Scotia, discovers the delicious joy of the donair. Many people have never heard of this juicy, meat-filled, garlicky concoction, but it is the official food of Halifax. Popular history says the donair – spicy meat wrapped in a pita and embraced with lots of sweet sauce – was invented in Halifax in the 1970s where it rapidly became a must-have menu item for late-night partiers, snackers, and food aficionados.

As my main character, Riel Brava, discovers, the donair can be a little difficult to eat. There is an art to juggling a stuffed pita while licking sauce off your face and adjusting foil wrap to get more donair in your mouth.

The recipe below avoids that dilemma. It’s an appetizer compliments of the Dairy Farmers of Canada. I have adapted the recipe slightly.

Donair Dip

Ingredients

1lb (450g) lean ground beef

1 tsp (5 ml) dried oregano

1 block (250 g) cream cheese

1 cup (250 ml) shredded old cheddar cheese (or cheese of your choice)

2 tsp (10 ml) paprika

2 tsp (10 ml) garlic powder

2 tsp (10 ml) onion powder

1/2 tsp (2,5 ml) salt

1/2 tsp (2,5 ml) black pepper

1 cup (250 ml) donair sauce (see below)

1/2 diced tomato (optional)

1/2 diced onion (optional)

 

Donair Sauce

1 can (300 ml) sweetened condensed milk

1/3 cup (80 ml) white vinegar

1 tsp (5 ml) garlic powder

Add all ingredients in a bowl and combine.

 

Preparation

Preheat oven to 350 °F (180 °C).

Cook the ground beef and the spices together, mix well in a frying pan.

Drain off excess grease.

Mix the softened cream cheese, cheese and Donair sauce together.

Place ground beef mixture on the bottom of 9”x9” cooking dish (or equivalent).

Add the cheese and Donair sauce mixture on top of the ground beef mix.

Bake for 20 minutes.

Top with diced veggies after removing from oven (optional).

Serve hot or cold with tortilla chips or baked pita slices.

 

About Hung Out to Die

Meet Riel Brava. Attractive. Razor-sharp. Ambitious. And something much more.

Riel, raised in Santa Barbara, California, has been transplanted to Nova Scotia where he is CEO of the Canadian Cannabis Corporation. It’s business as usual until Riel finds his world hanging by a thread. Actually, several threads. It doesn’t take the police long to determine all is not as it appears – and that includes Riel himself.

Pulled into a world not of his making, Riel resists the hunt to catch a killer. Resistance is futile. Detective Lin Raynes draws the reluctant CEO into the investigation, and the seeds of an unexpected and unusual friendship are sown. Raynes and Riel concoct a scheme to draw a confession out of the killer, but that plan is never put into place. Instead, Riel finds himself on the butt end of a rifle in the ribs and a long drive to the middle of Nowhere, Nova Scotia.


                                                              Hung Out to Die

 

 

Saturday, September 30, 2023

Visiting the Past by Eden Monroe

 


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When I was given the opportunity to represent New Brunswick in the exciting Canadian Historical Mysteries project, I was of course thrilled. I happily accepted. But write a mystery? I suppose it’s not much of a lane change from suspense, so sure, I was immediately up for it.

I’d never written historical fiction, but once I tried it on for size that too fit like a glove. After much thought I chose the 1920’s for Who Buried Sarah, a historically active time in Canada with prohibition in full swing and the relative free for all that characterized the roaring twenties. The story for the most part takes place in 1927, and much of it is set in the quiet little southern New Brunswick hamlet of Gondola Point, located next door to the village of Rothesay – also a focal point in the book. My mother spent most of her formative years in that area. My father lived in Gondola Point at one time too, and it was while selling strawberries door to door that he met my mother, so the setting is in salute to both of them.

The historically rich city of Saint John also figures prominently in Who buried Sarah. I certainly couldn’t overlook the sumptuous offerings of the oldest incorporated city in Canada, an old port enclave with a tale to tell about the shenanigans of the colourful Prohibition era.

The 1920’s were a transformative time in many ways, including acting as the catalyst for what was known at the time as the modern woman - the fiercely independent and adventurous flappers. And while that movement might have sprung to life in the United States, it was hugely influential around the world, including New Brunswick, and women here also experienced the impact of those spirited times.

Sarah Estey, one of the main characters in Who Buried Sarah and indeed the unfortunate cadaver, not only saw herself as a modern woman, but was also keenly influenced by the flapper look, incorporating it into the design of her wedding dress. It would forever be the dress Sarah would have worn to marry the handsome and wealthy Connor McLagen had she lived to walk down the aisle.

Had she done so, she would have been a vision in impeccably stylized ivory silk exquisitely embellished with intricate beading and fine embroidery, her platinum blonde hair adorned with an elegant headpiece. From the glitter of rhinestones to the lustre of seed pearls, there was a wide variety of bridal veils in vogue in 1927.



I thoroughly enjoyed stepping back in time to tell this story, embracing the characters’ moods, hopes and dreams – really not so different from the people of today. I loved the fashion and finery of the 1920’s - the elegance of a bygone era, but there were storytelling challenges. One was the obvious lack of household conveniences such as modern forms of conveyance, so moving my characters from place to place was at times a bit challenging given that the story took place in more than one location. Thankfully though automobiles were beginning to make their way into the lives of everyday New Brunswickers by the late 1920’s, as were telephones, an important communication device that we now take for granted.

It was fun to write a story set almost a hundred years ago and of course there was a significant amount of research required, but it was an exercise as valuable as it was entertaining.

The following is a brief excerpt from Who Buried Sarah, focusing in this instance on the reception given by the affluent McLagens on the occasion of the engagement of their son to the vivacious Sarah Estey. Held at the prestigious Royal Hotel located in the heart of downtown Saint John, it was an important social event and fashionably attended:

“It was the McLagens of course who were giving this elaborate engagement party on behalf of their son, because appearances must be maintained despite Connor’s inflexibility. The event was being held in the dining room of the prestigious Royal Hotel on King Street, in its stately prime after being rebuilt following the great fire of 1877. That massive conflagration was the worst in Canadian history, claiming upwards of twenty thousand lives and razing a good portion of the port city of Saint John. That included the Royal Hotel located on Prince William Street at the time of the fire. However, the city had risen from the ashes in defiant splendour, with many architectural masterpieces erected in the years that followed.

The Hotel was a gracious host. Following the toast, delicious pineapple upside down cake was served for dessert, still the dessert of choice in 1926. Guests chatted over coffee until Pritchard McLagen brought the dinner to a close in his usual forthright manner.

“Now everyone we’ve had our celebration,” he boomed, pushing his considerable bulk to a standing position, “and I thank you for being here with us. Good evening to you all.”

Taking the broad hint, there was a corresponding scraping of chairs on the polished parquet floor as guests rose obediently to their feet. Ladies’ wraps were subsequently fetched and gentlemen’s headgear retrieved. The majority of those present were friends and business associates of the McLagens and appropriately fawning. They were still in high spirits as they made their way out of the hotel and spilled onto the sidewalk. Many opted for a stroll in King’s Square, Saint John’s garden spot just a short distance up the hill at the top of King Street. The Square was at its loveliest on this unusually balmy late September evening, its abundance of formal gardens still resplendent in their showy summer colours, pigeons billing and cooing at the pedestrians’ feet. The City Cornet Band struck up yet another lively tune on the upper deck of the two-story bandstand that straddled the silver dance of the Square’s central fountain. The bandstand with its filigree metal framework and copper roof topped with a cornet, had been a gift to the city from the band itself in 1909 as a tribute to King Edward VII.”

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Friday, September 29, 2023

About the Mi'qmak






 


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 The First Nations' tribes of the St. Lawrence River Valley once were many. Not all shared the same language group or lifeways. Different tribes of Iroquois as well as the many members of the Algonquin/Huron group shared the abundant resources of the powerful river. Among these, probably some the first to encounter the European invasion in the 1600's were the Mi'qmak who lived around the St. Lawrence Bay area as well as in New Foundland, Prince Edward Island, Nova Scotia, and the Gaspe' Peninsula.  Their language belonged to the Algonquin family of languages, and, historically, they were members of the Alongonquin Abenaki Confederation, a league formed in opposition to the Iroquois. Later, the Mi'kmaq would be drawn into colonial wars between the British and French colonizers as well. 

As they were among the first indigenous people who encountered Europeans, between 1500 and 1600 it has been estimated that half their population died from newly introduced diseases, such as measles, mumps, diptheria and, of course, that great killer, smallpox. The first explorer they met was probably John Cabot, an Italian exploring for the English, who described them as fierce and warlike. Even earlier, they had even encountered European fishermen--Basque, Portuguese, French, and English--who had discovered the piscean bonanza of the Grand Banks, rich with Cod and whales.    

Originally, the Mi'kmaq were seasonal nomads, who called themselves "Lnu" (the People), people of the Red Earth. In the spring and summer they could be found on the coasts as they followed spawning events. Even as early as March, smelt were running in the thawing rivers, and later came the herring. Then they found waterfowl eggs and waterfowl themselves, birds busy nesting. 

There were always shellfish along the coasts and other kinds of fish, which they caught in loosely woven baskets, and by the use of ad hoc stone weirs built in the rivers. Here, they speared the fish they'd trapped. They also caught salmon, sturgeon, and even lobster and squid, out in the ocean using large sea-worthy canoes (5.5 to 8.5 meters) with a bark exterior and a cedar wood frame. These canoes were able to sail to the shoals around the islands and, in historic times, there are reports of the entire families traveling island to island in them. Lastly, in autumn, eels ran, providing a finale to their fishing season. They dried what they caught, pounded the flesh to flake and packed that in caches for winter.

Fine craftsmen before first contact, originally they made tools of stone and bone--hooks and arrow points and spear-heads--as well as many different size needles and awls for piercing hide and bark. They women were experts at basket making, these constructed of bark and decorated with porcupine quills, dyed in red and yellow (ochre), charcoal and ground shells. Those four colors, red, yellow, black and white, were also used in face paint and body decoration. They used wood to create spoons and kettles, these last heated by the addition of hot stones as well as finely made grass baskets.

In the autumn and winter, they would retreat inland, away from the gales of the coast, to hunt moose, elk, deer and caribou. Later, their efforts would focus on beaver, as the European fur trade had a lust for beaver pelts for men's hats. In colonial times, with both white men and red, hunting beaver, those clever creatures were nearly pushed to extinction. The Mi'qmak also hunted foxes, lynx, marten, and anything else which sported a beautiful winter fur coat. 

The Mi'qmak word for their homes, "wikuom" became our generic "wig-wam." These were oval, built of bent branches covered with bark and hides, easy to set up as they went from place to place. They loved to tell stories and these--elaborate creation stories of Creator "Mntu" who made everything, including the first Glooscap, his grandmother, as well as legends, hunters' and warriors' tales, stories that were particular to the band. The "Puoin" was a healer or shamen, also an interpreter of dreams. Interpreting dreams was often nightly pastime, because, long before Freud, they believed in the importance of their dreams. They often made important decisions based on what they believed were messages in their dreams, advice from their personal or tribal totemic figures or other interested spirits who watched over the lives of individuals.

The Mi'qmak were accustomed to living out-of-doors and did so, despite the weather, in even a time now called "the little ice age,"  unlike the Iroquois and Algonquin, who lived in palisaded villages in long houses. They considered settled living to be weakening. 

They also scorned growing crops as their neighbors did. Digging in the ground was not what real men did! Their social organization has been described as loose extended kinship groups, each group advised by a sagamore, a man who gained his position through his experience and reputation as a successful hunter, not by any exercise of power. The district chiefs were called Orsaqmaw and these men formed a great council by which the different groups of Mi'qmak negotiated among themselves about hunting territory, personal disputes and war-making. Decisions were made by consensus, which took time, reasoned debate and considerable debate.   


* Information gathered at various Canadian Heritage sites, particularly the Heritage sites of NewFoundland and Labrador.

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Tomorrow is Indigenous Childrens' Remembrance Day in the US and in Canada, a day in which we remember the removal and indoctrination of First Nations' Children in official "boarding schools." These "schools" existed (supposedly) to "Kill the Indian and save the man," but the reality, we know was far diffierent, perhaps akin to the way the Chinese now abduct Tibetan and Uyghur children, hoping to turn them into small copies of the Han who are the ruling group in China. Sadly, we in the West provided the model, which the Chinese, with their attention to detail and modern psychological techniques have now "perfected."

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Juliet Waldron~~ all my books are listed here @ 

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