Friday, June 9, 2017

Do you see them?

There has been a lot of media coverage lately about bees. How they are on the decline. If you like to eat anything the least bit healthy, you need bees. The collect the nectar and pollen from flowers. This is used to feed their colony. As they collect they pollinate. The nectar eventually turns into honey. 



I live in rural Ontario. Our property is bursting with flowers and trees. Enough trees, we rarely use our air conditioner. Even on the hottest days, we sleep with our windows open at night, allowing a beautiful breeze into our bedroom. 

Spring is beautiful around here. The trees and perennials are coming to life after the winter. We have a cherry tree on the property that the birds love. We were outside in mid May, doing some yard work. My husband was working a short distance from me, close to that tree. 
"Heather. Come here. Listen."
As I walked toward him, I heard the buzz. A small orchestra could have been suspended in the air. I looked up at the white blossom filled cherry tree. Honeybees surrounded every branch of the vibrant tree, buzzing around those blossoms. What a gorgeous sight, and sound. 
I just smiled.





The joys of living in rural Ontario. I buy my honey and honey products from a local bee keeper. I support our local famers and buy pure Canadian maple syrup from a 'Sugar Shake.' We can watch them tap the trees.
An interesting little fact. Bees don't sleep. They have a short life span, around thirty days. They work the entire time. Keep the bees alive and healthy. We need them. 


If you're able, buy wild flower seeds and plant them. The honeybees will thank you. 


Thursday, June 8, 2017

Home Town Inspiration by June Gadsby






HOME TOWN INSPIRATION:  It’s amazing how places and the people who reside in them inspire you as a writer. I haven’t lived in many places, but have travelled quite extensively and the countries I’ve visited invariably end up as the background to my stories. 



But there is one place that turns up more than most and that is the little mining town where I was born. Felling is perched high on the banks overlooking the River Tyne in north-east England. As a child, I would stare out over the wide valley below and wonder what kind of world was out there, and this memory inspired the beginning of my latest novel, “Rosa”. My world, at that time, was a small miner’s cottage, where my ancestors had lived since the street was built in 1901 over an old, disused pit. I lived there with my grandparents [my grandfather was one of a long line of miners], my mother, my aunt and, sometimes, her sailor husband, who was something of a rover, but such a character that you couldn’t help be fond of him. 

The street and part of my grandparent’s house sloped because of the ground sinking. It was condemned just before the second world war, but was still standing many years later. I was eleven when we moved into new housing a few miles away, but I paid a nostalgic visit to the town when I was in my thirties and there was my street – George Street – in process of being demolished. And the end wall that was visible was highly recognisable as the room at No. 15, in which I entered this world to the sound of the All-Clear siren. The floral wallpaper had never been changed.

My name is June, but I was born in January, so it was something of a joke, especially when Bing Crosby came out with the song: “It’s June in January”. And that’s how I became known. Our milkman used to greet me, singing ‘my’ song. I still get a tingle of nostalgia when I hear that song and think: “Oh, they’re playing my tune!”




Moving forward too many years, when my life took twists and turns that some people would find hard to believe, I was no longer living in the north-east of England, but in south-west France, where my husband and I have been for 26 years. No longer working full-time, looking after two of three step-children and two houses, I could now devote all my time to my passion of writing.  While doing some research for the book I was writing [When Tomorrow Comes], I came across a Facebook site for my birth town of Felling. Although much changed from the town I knew and for which I carried a warm spot in my heart, the Felling residents welcomed me with open arms. Some of them even remembered me from my school days.

Although advertising was not allowed, it soon came out that I was a published writer and the founder of the group, who has read all my books, christened me as “Felling’s own Catherine Cookson”.  Catherine, whom I knew personally, was born only a few miles from Felling and we had a lot in common.  It was quite an accolade, but I could never attain the same fame as she has and, I must say, that my books are quite different in many respects. However, she did inspire me to write my first saga, “Rosa” – originally titled “Where The Wind Blows” long before I was published.
Now, I have a growing band of readers from Felling and the surrounding areas, who are supporting me. Who would have thought that the working-class miner’s granddaughter would have her stories in print? My family, if they were still alive, wouldn’t. But I think I always knew that the dream of ‘June in January’ was just waiting to be realised – and it was, even though it took half a century to achieve.



RosaThe Jealous LandVoices of the Morning
Rosa
by June Gadsby
The Jealous Land
by June Gadsby
Voices of the Morning
by June Gadsby
When Tomorrow ComesThe Raging SpiritThe Ironmaster
When Tomorrow Comes
by June Gadsby
The Raging Spirit
by June Gadsby
The Ironmaster
by June Gadsby
To The Ends of the EarthGlory Girls: First Aid Nursing Yeomanry (FANYs)The Real Thing
To The Ends of the Earth
by June Gadsby
Glory Girls:FA...
by June Gadsby
The Real Thing
by June Gadsby


Tuesday, June 6, 2017

Ramblin' by Gail Roughton

Because evil never dies. It just--waits.


Some small amount of attention, more than normal anyway, has been focused on my little ol' home town of Macon, Georgia this past week.  Macon's never going to give Hollywood or Nashville or New York an inferiority complex, but in its own humble way, it's made a few small contributions to the world of entertainment. If you take a ramble through the city's trivia facts, you'll find the Fifth Street Bridge's formal name, The Otis Redding Bridge, is entirely appropriate seein' as how (Sittin' on) The Dock of the Bay was inspired by said bridge and the hours Otis Redding spent fishing from it. Or so the story goes in Macon, anyway. He got a hand up from another Macon native by the name of Little Richard.  Lena Horne lived in Macon during a few years of her childhood. Jason Aldean was born and raised in Macon, and shot the video of Gonna Know We Were Here in downtown Macon and at his alma mater, Windsor Academy, using Windsor Academy students as his extras. Bet those kids are never goin' to forget that, don't you?

It's been a popular movie location over the past ten to fifteen years, and its vintage Minor League Ballpark, Luther Williams Field, helped with that for at least three movies, same being The Bingo Long Traveling All-Stars and Motor Kings, Trouble with the Curve (okay, it wasn't big box office but it was Clint Eastwood, baby) and 42. It's very fitting Hollywood loves that ballpark, because it's figured in Major League Baseball history in its own right as the home of the Macon Peaches, farm team for the Cincinnati Reds. As such, it launched Pete Rose, Tony Perez, Lee May and Tommy Helms into the Majors. The Atlanta Braves organization took over and the park became home to the Macon Braves farm team, launching the careers of Chipper Jones, Andruw Jones, Rafael Furcal, Tony Graffannio, John Smoltz and Marcus Giles. But the Park hasn't been the only draw for Hollywood and we've hosted quite a few other movies, including John Huston's Wise Blood, The Rose and the Jackal (notable for featuring Christopher Reeves before his accident), The Need for Speed and The Fifth Wave. 

But more than anything, Macon was the hub of Southern Rock during the 1970's  and Phil Walden's Capricorn Records operated on Cotton Avenue, recording albums by several Southern Rock bands like Wet Willie and The Marshall Tucker Band. But the band who became legend in Macon, Georgia was, hands down, The Allman Brothers Band.

Duane Allman died in a motorcycle crash on Hillcrest Avenue in 1971, and was buried in Rose Hill Cemetery, a Macon historical landmark of some note.  Less than thirteen months later, and within three blocks of the spot where Duane Allman died, the band's bassist Berry Oakley died in another motorcycle crash. He was buried beside Duane Allman in Rose Hill Cemetery. Now, I never personally attended, mind you, and so claim no personal knowledge, but stories are there were quite a few parties held at those graves in Rose Hill by some of band's fans. The band kept going until 1979, but trust me, the legends never died. Especially in Macon. 

And this past week, with the death of Gregg Allman at age 69 of liver cancer, the press descended on Macon, Georgia and Rose Hill Cemetery, where Gregg Allman was buried beside his brother. The funeral and burial were private but a pretty big crowd gathered on the hill overlooking the Allman graves to watch. And of course there were complaints among the hard-core Allman Brothers fans that Gregg's ex-wife Cher, in attendance at the funeral, took too much attention away from Gregg. (Duh! After all, Cher is Cher, people!) Be that as it may, the lyrics of the band's songs will always be part of the back beat of the memories that play in my mind whenever I think of my late teens and early twenties. "Got one morrre silver dollarrrr...but I'm not gonna let them catch me, no, not gonna let 'em catch...the midnight... riderrrrrr...." , "Lord, I was born a ramblin' mannnn...tryin' to make a livin' and doin'... the best I can...."  Happy rambles, guys. Happy rambles. And many midnight rides. To paraphrase the song, Rose Hill's got a hell of a band. 

I also have a special place in my heart for Rose Hill Cemetery. It opened in 1840 and was designed by Simri Rose for the express purpose of being a place to visit and gather for the people of Macon.  And seein' as how it's a cemetery, it also fed the imaginations of quite a few kids throughout the years. I don't know if one particular urban legend concerning Rose Hill is even an urban legend. It well might have been just a campfire story spun by my own admittedly peculiar group of friends.  I mean, we used to read palms and cast horoscopes. Be that as it may, one story we used to scare each other with involved a body buried in Rose Hill with a stake through the heart. So it follows as the night the day that when I got this crazy idea for a short satire involving a vampire about to be evicted from his mausoleum, I immediately set same in Rose Hill Cemetery.  Somewhere along the way, that short satire turned into a Southern Gothic family saga spanning a century in time. It ceased to be funny and damn sure ceased to be short, but the location of my vampire's mausoleum never changed. Well, the name did, my fictional cemetery became Rose Arbor Cemetery 'cause I didn't want to ruffle any historical society feathers.  But the inspiration? Oh, no, that remained the same. And in fact, the historical Rose Hill Cemetery holds semi-annual guided rambles through the grounds. They call them, appropriately enough, "Rose Hill Rambles". 

So if the mood should strike you and you'd like to ramble through Rose Hill, er, excuse me, Rose Arbor Cemetery under the moonlight some dark night, it's right there waiting for you, right inside the pages of The Color of Seven.  Where evil never dies. It just--waits.


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