Buffalo Snot and other western delicacies

 While researching South Dakota and Wyoming locations for "Western Justice" my wife and I ate in quite a few local cafes. Listening to the conversations around us helped me pick up on local jargon, issues, and a few great plots. Speaking to a waitress in a cafe a few miles from Jewel Cave National Monument, I explained I was writing a book set in the Black Hills. "Well, if you're writing about here, you should try some of the local food!" The waitress left without taking my order (my wife had already ordered a salad and iced tea before the waitress departed).

Looking around at the cow's skulls, mounted buffalo heads, deer antlers, lariats, saddles, boots, and other rusty ranch gear decorating the rough-sawn pine walls, I saw a blackboard with the daily specials. Seizing up, I tried to flag down the waitress. My wife was curious and asked, "What's wrong?"

Pointing at the blackboard, I said, "I think she's going to bring me a plate of Rocky Mountain oysters." That's a western euphemism for deep fried steer testicles. Unable to find out waitress, I settled in and prepared for the worst. While we waited, a pair of young boys, maybe ten or eleven years old, sat on stools at the bar. The bartender walked over and leaned on the bar. "Until you boys turn 21, or can ride a bull for eight seconds, you can't sit at the bar." Looking at my wife I smiled. That line will show up in a Fletcher mystery at some point.

A few minutes later, the waitress appeared with our platter of food. Bracing myself for the worst, the waitress served my wife, then set a burger and a dark beer in front of me. "The Rocky Mountain oysters come on a bun?" I asked. 

The waitress snorted a laugh. "We only have them in the spring, during the branding and castrating season. I got you a glass of Buffalo Snot and a Bison burger."

Pointing at the backboard, I asked, "But your board says Rocky Mountain oysters are the special."

A wicked smile came to her face. "We keep that up just for the tourists. Nobody ever orders the oysters, but I'm sure they all go home and tell their friends they ate in a restaurant that served them. On the other hand, you'll be able to tell your readers you drank a glass of Buffalo Snot. Enjoy your meal!"

I'm reporting that the Buffalo Snot (a dark beer from a local micro-brewery) and the Bison burger were both excellent.

For the record, I don't plan on driving back during the branding and castrating season. I avoid oysters of any variety.

Check out "Western Justice" at my BWL page or on Amazon.

Books We Love author page: https://bookswelove.net/hovey-dean/

On Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/.../Dean-L.-Hovey/author/B00J78JMLY

Best historical of 2023; read an excerpt, by Diane Scott Lewis

 

On Sale, only 4.99. To purchase, please click HERE

I'm so thrilled my WWII novel won best historical of 2023. I hope you enjoy the excerpt, which changes Norah's journey as she's trapped in France after the Germans invaded.

At the sound of a boot scraping over stone, Norah peeked around the tall rock. Her pulse spiked. The Commandant stood a couple of feet away, straight as a steel beam, arrogant, gazing out over the Atlantic. His Nazi uniform was a terrible mockery to the village of Saint Guénolé.

She’d thought herself secluded here. Why had she taken the chance? She hunkered down and should slip away, since she could be apprehended for spying on the German officer. Though that’s not why she was there. Loathing coated with fear rippled through her.

Almost frozen with inaction, she slid down a little more into the cove of the rocks’ shadows. She glanced at her drawing book. The sketch of the Atlantic Puffin, delicate in its lines traced in colored pencils. The orange legs and strong red and black beak on a body of black, pale gray, and a white underside shimmered on the page. In profile, its eye shone with life, and the puffin looked about to take flight.

A gust of wind tossed her hair into her face, a thick sweep of strawberry-blonde in the scent of brine from the sea.

Did she hear his boots scrape closer? What if he peered over the rocks? Swiping her tresses aside, she shrank deeper into a cleft and glared over the ocean, longing for her home in Yorkshire, angry and upset at being stranded. But she must pretend to be calm, in control.

The Southern Finistère coast, with its rugged, rocky outline, was a buttress against the forceful ocean waves that slapped the stone slope two yards below her toes. The dark indigo of the Bay of Biscay reflected a blue spring sky. Spray filtered through the air, a mist that refreshed her skin—except today. If she could only sneak to the north coast and be capable of swimming the channel.

Inching to the side, Norah crept, head down, out from the semi-circle of tall rocks on the opposite side from the Commandant. Thankful she wore trousers and not a skirt, plus sturdy Oxford shoes, she brushed off her backside. She hurried past the monolithic-like stones with golden lichen clinging to their bases, across an open area of grass and into the bushes then woods. Her pencils rattled in the canvas bag. Her legs grazed against the orange and yellow wildflowers.

A sentry or two always patrolled this area. She tried to remain inconspicuous, but more soldiers had arrived in the last few weeks. The Germans had started to build ports somewhere along here and a special one, heavily guarded, right below the village. She must be more careful.

As she pushed her way through gorse bushes and scratchy plants, sharply fragrant, she pondered the German officer’s reasons for standing at the cliff, which he did often—but never so close to her cove. Was he waiting for reinforcements by sea? Or coveting England across the channel? But that view was on the northern coast of this peninsula that stuck like a fat finger out into the Atlantic.

The Nazis’ bombing raids had already decimated so much in London in the Blitz. They’d also dropped bombs on York, but with minimal damage so far. Her country had been attacked by German planes from September ’40 to last month—the worst raid ever on London. She groaned. Now June, would it start again?

Since last year, Hitler planned an invasion of England, but he had failed to land any troops.

Her stomach clenched with more anger she needed to temper. She increased her stride, sucking in the fresh air. Rustling behind her, footsteps—too close. Someone panting then a hand grabbed her shoulder.

Norah flinched and swung around. A baby-faced soldier in Nazi greenish-gray scowled at her. “What are you doing here?” he demanded in heavily accented, terrible French, two of his teeth jagged like a weasel.

She straightened, chin high, the pad pressed to her stomach. Inside, she trembled. “I live nearby. I was enjoying a walk. I draw birds.” Her French was passable after the year entrenched with her cousin, and her schoolgirl lessons from a decade ago. Her arrival happened only five weeks before the Germans invaded France. A desperate year because of that and for anguished, personal reasons.

The young man pointed at her book and bag, then shouted over his shoulder in German.

Was he alerting his superior? “Please, I’ve done nothing wrong.” She had no desire to come face to face with the Commandant. “You can search me…if you want.” She cringed at that idea.

“I have no choice but to report you.” The soldier shouted again. The officer’s heavy footsteps thudded closer.

He burst through the bushes, tall and broad-shouldered, his expression stern. The two Germans spoke in their guttural language.

Norah wanted to collapse to the ground but refused to show intimidation. Her spine nearly crackled as she held it firm.

The Commandant confronted her, his blue eyes penetrating. “What is your purpose out here at the shore?” He had distinct cheekbones, a handsome face, his lips full; a man of about forty. An iron cross hung at his high collar. “You don’t care to take instruction from we Philistines. Civilians are restricted.”

“I apologize,” she tried to keep the revulsion from her tone, though his near-teasing words —or perhaps a taunt—put her off-balance even more, “I was out for a walk and…I used to walk by the shore. Before—” Before you damned Germans arrived.


Diane lives in Western Pennsylvania with her husband and one naughty dachshund.

New Year, New Dog...by Sheila Claydon

 Find my books here

There are animal characters in quite a few of my books, some wild, some domesticated. A horse, a dog and a lot of birds feature in Mending Jodie's Heart. It's not surprising really as we are a pet loving family. In the past there have been gerbils, hamsters, guinea pigs, dogs, cats, turtles, and the largest lop-eared rabbit ever. He was so tame that, as well as being house-trained, he used to join our dog on the rug in front of the fire whenever he got the chance. The dog, a sheltie/collie cross, appeared to sigh heavily whenever that happened. He put up with it though. Nowadays we only have a dog but our daughter, who lives nearby, has horses, dogs and a very naughty rag-doll cat as well as a 40 year old Reeves turtle that seems determined to live forever. So incorporating animal characters into my books is an inevitability. And now there is another one!

Somebody please play ball

This is Lilo (pronounced Leelo from the children's program Lilo and Stitch). Adorable and naughty in equal measure, she has a back story that is a book all of its own. The last puppy born in a litter of 8, she is far smaller than her brothers and sisters, definitely the runt of the litter, and to add to her woes one of her front feet is minus all its toes. On top of that she has a cough that ends in a spluttering retching sound that has us all waiting for the next breath.  Despite the missing toes and the cough, however, she is the most appealing little thing.  

When my son-in-law went looking for a replacement dog for a recently deceased and much loved 14 year old King Charles Cavalier spaniel (not that it is possible to actually replace a dog) he found Lilo. The rest of the litter had all been sold but because nobody had wanted a tiny, disabled dog with a cough, the owners were considering keeping her for breeding if she proved strong enough. Whether it was because he rescued her or whether it just her nature we'll never know, but she is the most joyous of dogs and everybody has fallen totally in love with her. The other dogs have accepted her too, and the cat. In fact she has very quickly stolen her way into everybody's heart.

The lack of toes doesn't impede her in any way either. She can already keep up with the older dogs, play ball and throw her toys around with abandon. She has a huge appetite too although I don't think she'll ever be very big. And she is the first in the queue for treats. Most amusing of all, because her back legs are slightly too long, she looks like a tiny and very appealing kangaroo when she sits on her haunches with her front legs in the air. 

The cough is almost better now as well and she has been given a clean bill of health by the vet despite her mild disability. 

Paisley, the older dog in the household, is a trained school dog with a job to do. She spent a year training and follows rules and directions to the nth degree, but despite that she seems to enjoy sharing space with Lilo, a dog who is unlikely to follow any rule any time soon, partly because of her appeal and partly because she so loves to be cuddled that the no furniture and no lap rules seem to have disappeared completely.  So, despite her inauspicious start, Lilo appears to have fallen on her (3) feet and has a very happy life ahead of her. We are looking forward to being part of it.

Waiting for her master

Cuddling up to the next best thing to a human

Sharing a bed, any bed, is just what I do!

• I am trying to stay awake but it's hard

Snowy Days? A Good Book and Hot Cocoa by Helen Henderson

Fire and Amulet by Helen Henderson
Click the title for purchase information

Thankfully snow is scarce and inches and inches (or feet) don't fall with any regularity in my current neck of the woods. A quick swipe clears the dusting of snow off of cars. With a little sun and warmer temperatures (average temperature for January is 51 degrees F,) the sun melts quickly. Ice storms are a different story. They can close businesses and schools for a week. Wondering why snow is on my mind when the temperature is supposed to be 51? The answer is that for the past week the temperatures have not been normal. Last night it was zero degrees overnight and the high temperature during the day was only 20 degrees F. Any snow the sun melted flash froze overnight.

I thought I would share memories of snow days before we relocated to the so-called "warmer climes" of the south. Although throwing snow onto a pile that towers above your head gets old very quickly. The day went thus.

• Clear a path from the back door to the cars.
  
• Clear the car and get out the step ladder to clear off the business van.
  
• Shovel a car width path to where the snowplow went down the street
  (The plow didn't always go curb to curb, but one swipe down the middle.)
• 
  Remove the huge (several feet tall) frozen pile of snow/ice the snowplow pushed across the driveway. This usually has to be done at least twice. One day I was so tired that when the plow came down the street the fourth time that morning and pushed all the snow into our drive, I stood at the end of the driveway. He moved over and didn't push all the snow into our driveway.
  
• Shovel the front steps and create a path from the plowed zone to the mailbox.
• Clear a path from the street to the elderly neighbors' front door so ambulance and EMS can get in if need be.
• Drive to the next town and clear parents' sidewalk, steps, driveway and car.
• Return home and if sun hasn't melted the snow off the slate sidewalk, clear it.
• Collapse for a few hours with hot cocoa to remove the chill.
• Cook dinner? I don't think so. There's just enough energy to walk down the block to the local diner. 

Sometimes things change, sometimes not so much. In an earlier part of my life as a newlywed we lived in the Snow Belt of upstate New York,.

• There was no driving to the next town. Instead there was shoveling snow off the roof.
  
• Clearing was not just a short driveway, it was a common road between two houses that went from the main street to the carriage road in back, and the parking area behind the house.
• Perhaps the worst part was having to remove the car battery each night and bring it into the house. Otherwise it would freeze solid and require hours inside to become functional again.

There was another similarity between life in the two northern climes. After shoveling, eating dinner out. One was the local dinner where you ate dinner with the snow plow drivers and police officers who stopped in while  to get warm and have a break. The other place was the local restaurant and bar.
 

As a final thought, a retro visit back to 1962.

To all those still living up north or elsewhere who are faced with piles of snow or cold, icy days, think of the warm sunny days of summer, have a hot cocoa, and open a good book. Oh, the book cover at the top of the page shows another way of getting rid of snow. Just ask Trelleir to transform and flame it.

Click on the title to purchase Fire and Amulet.

 ~Until next month, stay safe and read.   Helen

Helen Henderson lives in western Tennessee with her husband. While she doesn’t have any pets in residence at the moment, she often visits a husky who have adopted her as one the pack. Find out more about her and her novels on her BWL author page.

January ~ The Month with Two Faces

 

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

January, named for the Roman god Janus, he of two faces. One looking forward and one looking backward. January is the start of a new calendar year and we look forward to the coming year with expectation. As I grow older it, January is also a time for introspection and looking backward at the year that just passed and indeed, even further back at the long line of years stretching behind me. A time to remember those who have made the crossing into the Shining Realms. A time to give thanks for the joy and successes and a time to appreciate the trials and tribulations that have helped mold me into the person I am today. 

January is a time for planning and shedding thoughts and patterns that no longer serve us. And also, a time of welcoming back the strengthening sun. Each sunrise comes a little earlier, each sunset a little later. I watch the sun's journey as it slips ever so slightly toward the north, gaining a tiny bit each day. The sun, the moon, are constants. They make their seasonal journey through the heavens shepherded by the constellations. The Big Bear in her various identities - the Big Bear, the Big Dipper, the Ploughshare and a dozen other names, Orion with his hounds at his heels and his belt shining even in the deep dark nights of November and December. Constants that remind us we are part of the great All That Is, while also reminding us that humankind is a very small insignificant entity in the majesty that is the all encompassing space that surrounds our small galaxy.

On another note, looking forward now. Airdrie Public Library is hosting my book launch for Laurel's Choice on January 24th, 2024 from 6:30 to 7:30 MST. I hope anyone who is close enough can come out and say hi. It should be fun and there might be a surprise or two. 

Until next month. Stay well, stay happy