A Road Trip To Centerville, Iowa

A week ago last Friday was cool, sunny and spring like - the perfect day to go for a day long outing. My husband and I picked up my aunt in Belle Plaine, Iowa and went on a two hour drive south of us to Centerville, Iowa to visit another aunt. We haven't made that trip nearly often enough in the last few years. Two hours passes fast when we're talking all the way. My husband has a running game with my aunt about who sees the first deer and turkeys along the road. He usually spots one first but my aunt is good at seeing them, too. We arrived in Centerville mid morning in time to try out an individual cup coffee pot my aunt received for Christmas. You're probably familiar with the kind. You insert a small container under a lid and coffee spews into your cup. That was my first experience with this invention. I must admit I like my old percolator better. There's no waiting. We have the coffee pot on a timer. By the time we get out of bed, twelve cups has perked. For lunch my aunt treated us at Manhattan Steak House with a cousin and her husband. It's an all you can eat buffet restaurant on the edge of the Centerville golf course. A large variety of good food to select from and for dessert soft serve ice cream with a variety of toppings, cakes and cookies. As much as I love the choices for the meal, I always save room for dessert. After lunch, we went for a drive south of Bloomfield on highway 63 to an Amish grocery store we've taken my aunts to for years. Times are changing for the Amish, but just a little slower than they do for the rest of us. The grocery store used to be in an old house moved to the spot and surrounded by a large house, a large barn and a harness shop. Across the road and up the hill is an Amish school. In all the rooms, I took note of the aged wallpaper and electric wiring hanging from the ceiling where a light bulb had been and wondered what kind of stories past families had to tell. On the main room wall behind the counter was a sign. No stealing allowed. God might not notice, but a Yoder will. Around the tables filled with groceries, young Amish woman might be pushing a much smaller size grocery cart with a toddler in it and then there was the rest of us. I'm always looking on the shelves to see what merchandise is different from where I usually shop. We call the large bags bulk shopping, but most Amish families are large. They need to buy in bulk. About seven years ago, we drove to the spot we expected to find the old house grocery store and right on by. The farm buildings were there but not the store so we thought we missed it. When we reached the Missouri line we knew we had traveled too far. We turned around and on the way back found the grocery store had been moved on the opposite side of the road from the farm buildings. Now the store is a large, tin building, usually used on farms to store machinery, with a cement floor. To the side of the store is a LP gas tank to run a generator. We knew we had the right place because of the grocery store sign. So here we were again after a few years absence. Inside are rows of items, many in bulk, and bins along the wall holding fruits and vegetables. Coolers were at the end of the bins. Looking at the woman in Amish dress behind the counter using an electric cash register let us know we for sure had the right place. When we were leaving, it must have been time for a change in shifts. A buggy drove up. A young woman and small boy came in the back door, leaving a young girl in the buggy. The clerk climbed in beside her and took the reins. As they rolled away, I thought what a perfect spot for a grocery store that serves people who still drive buggies. Traffic is brisk so customers might be just passing through or local farmers like the couple shopping while we were there, but for those that still use horses this store is a safer place to shop. A new building, a LP tank and generator to furnish electricity for the cash register and coolers is an improvement for sure, but no matter how many times we visit I don't expect to see the clerk using one of those new fangled one cup at a time coffee pots behind the counter very soon. We continued on our country drive back to Centerville and passed one farm where there was a gathering of children playing in the yard and women coming out of the house to leave. Put my mind to wondering if they had a quilting bee or what other project were they working on together. The children amuse themselves by playing outdoors. Some were gathered around a black pony. One girl hopped on the pony, ready to take her ride. Smaller children were playing in a large sandpile under a shade tree. No couch potatoes in that group. It's fun to hear my books get around further than I do. One of my cousins, Gene Foust, has a niece in a Cedar Rapids, Iowa Half Price book store. Recently she said she remembered seeing my name on books in her store. Gene is the very talented family artist. Look for his paintings online at Fine Art America. In this picture a cousin, Heather Graham, sent me she shows me she's reading one of my books on a relaxing day at the beach in Stump Pass State Park near Englewood, Florida. Amazon has made an improvement for indie authors and opened up a way to print books overseas. All I had to do was sign up and my books can now be bought easier in other countries. No custom fees and this means quicker shipping for the customers. Must work because I'm selling more books in the United Kingdom. For everyone in this country you can find my paperback books on Amazon, Smashwords and in my online bookstore at www.booksbyfaybookstore.weebly.com If you are looking for ebooks look in the Kindle store, Nook store or Smashwords. You can always catch up with my blog posts on my Amazon author page, Facebook, blogger or alerts on Twitter. My author site is at www.writersownwords.com/booksbyfay complete with descriptions of my contemporary Nurse Hal Among The Amish series and my historical mystery series Amazing Gracie Mysteries plus other genres I've written, book events and my blog.So buy one of my books and read it in an interesting place like Heather did. Send me a picture and I'll post it on my blog.

I Write Like - SUPRISE

I've heard the expression that every author finds his or her own voice after they've written for awhile. I've never been sure what my voice is though I've hoped it might become one that make readers think of me when they read a book I didn't write. I suspect it would be hard for any author to liken his own work to another. So if I had to choose an author that I write similar to I wouldn't know how to do it. That's why it was fun to try out a site G.H. Monroe told me about on Facebook in his Writers Depot section. The site is called I Write Like. There is a free test analyzer that tells the author which famous author their work is most like. I've come to the conclusion after several tries that the analyzer picks more by subject matter than writing style. Sounded like fun to try. I submitted a dramatic chapter of my latest Nurse Hal Among The Amish book - As Is Her Name So Is Redbird. In this chapter, a young Amish girl is accidentally shot while she is driving a buggy. The horse finds the way home, but the girl dies. I clicked the button, and the answer was J.D. Salinger. His only book was a hit with teenagers in the 1950s as I remember, but not well received by those that didn't care for foul language and promiscuous behavior. The choice of this author was not well received by me. I want my books to be known for the wholesome material in them which is totally the opposite of Catcher In The Rye. Thinking I should give the test another try, hoping for a result I'd like better, I picked a humorous chapter in the same book. Nurse Hal is asked by an Amish farmer to deliver lambs. His reasoning is the vet is too far away to get to his farm to save the lambs. This is an emergency. However, he misleads Nurse Hal, and she thinks she's going to be assisting the farmer's wife in a home birthing. Too late, she sees who Nancy is and feels she can't refuse helping the farmer. Which author did the test pick this time? David Foster Wallace best known for his book Infinite Jest. I'm not familiar with this author so I looked him up. The subject matters in his book didn't appear to be humorous such as drug addition. The subjects he wrote about I don't have the expertise to write. By now I'm thinking maybe there is another form of my work that might give me a better analysis answer. After all I've written several different genres. I put in the first chapter of my latest historical book - Tread Lightly Sibby. This introduction to the Ozark characters as the Civil War is ending begins with Sibby, a mother for the fourth time, rebelling against staying in bed much to the midwife's irate warnings. The story starts with a blizzard which Sibby's husband is out in. She is worried about his safety. Now the test picked an author that I was very happy with. Margaret Mitchell the author of Gone With The Wind. This was her only book and has been popular throughout the ages. It is my favorite. No matter how scheming and dishonest spoiled Scarlet O'Hara became I always rooted for her. She had large strikes against her - a woman in a man's world and the Civil War. She prevailed by telling herself hopefully there was always tomorrow. Scarlet made me believe her life would improve beyond that last page. Now I'm thinking it wasn't my writing but the fact that my book has a southern setting in the same era that triggered the test result. Maybe I should have quit now that I had a test result I liked, but I decided to continue. So I picked chapter four in my historical book Tread Lightly Sibby. Sibby's husband is commandeered to lead two deputy sheriffs and two horse thieves through a forest. He's with the deputies when they decide to scare the thieves and wind up hanging them. Brice goes home, resigned to keeping quiet. When the bodies are found dangling from trees, the fingers point at Brice, and he's found guilty of murder. The test result was an unlikely one according to me, but maybe not. That would be for the readers to decided I guess. It was Lewis Carroll, the author of Alice In Wonderland. I hadn't meant for that chapter to sound like fantasy. My take on the submission was scary and violent in very real, rough vigilante and lawless days after the Civil War. So now I wanted to see what answer another genre I've written might bring me. I picked chapter one and two from my historical mystery series Amazing Gracie Mysteries - Locked Rock, Iowa's Hatchet Murders. The chapters introduce the characters and their hesitation to like the newcomer to the retirement home they live in. My series is meant to be mystery stories with humor and set in the Midwest at the start of the 20th century. Now this time I was happy with the test pick - Mark Twain. Again one of my favorite authors. I loved his Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn books as a kid. We were both from Missouri and though we grew up in different times I can identify with Twain. My fictional town in Iowa and my characters might have triggered a likeness to Hannibal, Missouri in Twain's books. Okay now I'm expecting a different answer for chapters ten through eleven of the same book if the test answers are always going to change. The newcomer, from New York, thinks the best way to get an answer for a murder is to go to a seance and ask for the victim to come forward and tell the ladies who the killer is. It leads to a nervous situation for the elderly Locked Rock residents, unfamiliar with a seance. The seer is so good at her job she brings forth many dead people they remember before the victim appears. Who am I like this time? Again Mark Twain. It was then I remembered he wrote a ghost story about being stuck in a New York hotel with a ghost. I can see how my seance seemed like that. So now I decided to try a western - Small Feet's Many Moon Journey. I chose chapter two and three. As with most husbands on a trip, Stringbean Hooper gets lost when he takes his wife on a horseback vacation from their Montana ranch to California. They stray onto an Indian reservation and are captured in the middle of a Ghost Dance celebration. A friend who happens to be the white widow of an Indian brave dresses Stringbean and Theo like Indians in hopes of sneaking them out during the dance. Theo finds herself next to a young brave who thinks she'd make him a suitable squaw and that almost ends all hope of them escaping. Test result - Mark Twain. By then I was more than satisfied with writing my historical books like Mark Twain, but I wondered what would be the answer for my nonfiction book about my father's life when he had Alzheimer's disease - Hello Alzheimer's Good Bye Dad. I submitted chapter one which introduces my family and our learning about Alzheimer's. Result of test - again David Foster Wallace. Maybe because the serious subject matter was in tune with David Foster Wallace's book. Alzheimer's is a widely discussed fatal disease with no cure. I decided I should try again for an author pick for this book that I might like better. I submitted chapter 27 and 28 about my parents coping to live with Dad's failing health. He tries to plow with a push plow down their long garden rows and uproots beets and carrots. Both vegetables he dislikes. My mother was angry. She asked me to get him out of the garden before he did more damage. I defended this as an accident because of his failing eyesight and poor coordination. Mom declared Dad plowed up the two vegetables he didn't want her to feed him. Results for this one really surprised me - Stephenie Meyer - author of the Twilight series. I'm not fond of vampires so I haven't read her works. She must bring her characters to life as real people by the way teenagers go for the books and movies. Perhaps in that respect, we might be similar, but like I said I haven't read her work. This isn't the end of the testing for me. I'm pretty sure most authors improve as they work at writing. So when I finish each new book I'm going to submit a portion to see who I'm like next. Since the test works for blog posts I submitted this post. The author I'm most like now is H.P. Lovecraft. He wrote horror, fantasy and science fiction and died at a young age in 1937. I'll bet if he could submit to the I Write Like test the answer for him would not be me but Edgar Allen Poe. Hopefully, I bypass some of the authors I just mentioned with some of my next submissions. Though I haven't a favorite author choice for my next tests, I'd just like to be pleasantly surprised.

Chapter 1 Sibby Monroe swiped a brown curl out of her bright blue eyes. She was just plain bored. She didn't like staying in bed nine days after birthing. She'd done it before with her other three children, because Granny Pinkney always told her that was the rule. For the life of her, she couldn't figure out why she bothered to mind Granny. She wanted to get out of bed and go to the parlor to sit with her children. She heard the child like laughter. Some rough housing, too, until Granny Pinkney scolded the children to be quiet so they wouldn't wake up their ma and the new baby. Sibby smiled at the baby girl beside her as she ran her finger around the tiny face and over the downy, yellow fuzz on top her perfect little head. She whispered, "You are so lucky you weren't a boy, Dandelion Abigail. Your daddy would have named you Jefferson Davis for sure. Oh, I understand mind you, that it's a way to honor his hero. After all, the man was President for all of us that were on the side of the Confederacy. Matter a fact, that's how your brother got the name Robert Lee. Having that name tacked on him by his daddy don't mean a thing to Bobby Lee. He don't know who Robert E. Lee is, and he don't care one lick that your daddy served in the Confederate Army. That won't stop your daddy. Next boy I have will be Jefferson Davis. I can just about guarantee that." Even with all the quilts heaped on her, Sibby shivered, causing goose bumps to pop out on her arms and legs. The bedroom was getting colder by the minute. She snuggled deeper under the covers, but even that didn't help warm her up much. The few flakes of snow she'd seen speckle the window earlier had turned to a whiteout. The flakes fell fast and furiously. The wind howled mournfully as it whipped the snow against the house and plastered the window pane white. The intensity of the storm gave Sibby cause to worry. Right after dinner, Brice left for the post office in Houston, Missouri. He'd been gone a good long while. She hoped he made it home before dark. It must be hard to see where he was going right now. In the dark, he'd get lost for sure. With a blizzard going on outside it was no wonder the room was so cold. She didn't see why she should stay put in this frigid room when the parlor was toasty warm. She'd get up and sit by the heating stove. That's what she'd do. Before she brought the baby back to bed for the night, she'd have Brice start a fire in the bedroom fireplace to take the edge off. She slipped out of bed, took a step forward on the cold wood floor and wobbled backward. Her head was fuzzy, and her feet felt like they were full of nettles. She straightened up and took a deep breath, waiting for the weakness to pass. When she felt ready, she walked slowly over to the wall, pulled a dress and petticoat off a peg and quickly tossed the garments over her head. She ran the tortoiseshell brush that laid on the dresser through her flighty hair. With the baby in her arms, she peeked into the parlor. The time was right. Bobby Lee and Estelle had their noses stuck to the parlor window, watching the snow. Sibby tiptoed over by the heating stove and sat down in the rocker. The baby woke up and mewed like a newborn kitten. Bobby Lee and Estelle turned around. "Mama!" Eight years old Estelle said in alarm. "What are you doing up?" "Hi, Mama," Six years old Bobby Lee greeted. He saw nothing at all wrong with her joining them. Mildred, ten years old, looked up from the book she was reading and smiled. Sibby put a finger to her lips and hissed for them to hush up but too late the elderly midwife, Granny Pinkney, appeared in the kitchen door. "Serbina Ellen Monroe, you get right back in yer bed," ordered the wizen woman. She wore her gray hair in a heavy braid looped around and penned on top her head. Her blue cotton dress, dotted with small red roses, was made from the latest print on the flour sacks at the general store. "It's too cold in there, Granny. Besides, I was lonesome," pleaded Sibby as she unbuttoned her dress top so the baby could suckle. "It sounded like the younguns were having too much fun out here without me." With her hands on her hips, Granny marched over to stand beside Sibby, looking as if she wasn't used to being disobeyed. "I'll have no sass. You know better than this. It's just been a scant three days since I ketched that baby. You could be doing yerself a world of hurt getting up like this." "I won't stay up long. Promise. Sit and visit with me a spell," invited Sibby. "Bobby Lee, go in the bedroom and bring the cradle out by the stove so the covers will warm up. Estelle, bring Granny a chair." As the children scattered, Granny shook her head and grumbled, "I ain't helpless. I could get my own chair if there were a need." "Much obliged, Estelle." Sibby winked at her daughter. "Now sit with me, Granny. As soon as Brice gets home, he can start a fire in the bedroom fireplace to warm the room up. I'll go back to bed when it's tolerable in that room for the baby. I promise." "No telling when Brice will be getting home. The snow is mounting up in deep drifts. Most likely hard going for a horse and sled to travel through which is bound to slow him down. You cain't wait up that long," Granny fretted. The way her forehead wrinkled up Sibby knew she was worried about Brice, too. "Brice will make it. He always does," Sibby said. Her voice filled with confident pride when she spoke about her husband, but she had a fluttery feeling she best wait and see. "Good thing you wasn't planning on going home for a few days yet. Got any other babies to ketch right away?" "Not for a couple weeks. Mrs. Newcome is due about then." "Thank goodness, Granny, that you're able to help all of us. I don't know what women around here would do without you at birthing time," confided Sibby as she tugged a wrinkle out of the baby's belly band. "Nonsense. I ain't the only one that does it. Some women have their mamas to take care of them," Granny sputtered. "Maybe so, but then there's women like me that moved away from their mamas. Times like this I wished we lived in Tennessee close to my folks when I'm ready to have a baby." Sibby gave a homesick sigh. "Never thought of that when Brice said we should move to Missouri to start farming on free homesteaded land." "Same reason Most folks moved here away from their kin I reckon," agreed Granny. "Reckon you miss that big house of yer folks and all them colored servants some, too." "Nah, not anymore. When we were traveling in a covered wagon pulled by that team of oxen in rain and heat, I sure thought about my folks and what I left behind to marry Brice. Now I'm settled in a home of my own, and it's my folks I worry about. They have lost everything they had to the Yankees, including the plantation house and servants. If the bunch of us had known that war was going to tear this country in two like a rotted pitch fork handle snapping under a heavy load, maybe those politicians in Washington would have done something different," declared Sibby. "Don't reckon it was any easier during the war in Tennessee than it was here. I figure folks there had a rough time staying alive. Maybe a lot worse than we did. That's all almost behind us now. We're going to be all right as soon as this war is over. It may take a few years, but we'll put this land right again. You wait and see," vowed Granny. "It sure don't stop me from thinking about how close I came to losing Brice. That musket ball he took in the shoulder could have killed him. Thousand wonders he didn't get blood poisoning in that wound before he made it home." "Thank the Lord, he didn't. Now stop borrowing trouble," scolded Granny. "I'm just thankful Brice didn't want to turn around and go right back into the fighting again like some men did. My brother, Talford, is still out there somewhere. Not a word from him in months. I don't know if he's alive or ----." She bit her lower lip. She couldn't bring herself to say the word as she looked at her sleeping baby. She buttoned her dress top with one hand while she slowly rose from the rocker. Sibby laid the baby back into the cradle near the pot bellied stove and pulled the little blankets up over her. Ignoring Granny's tongue clicking, Sibby walked over and peered out the parlor window at the three feet drift banked around the house. The snow had stopped now. A brisk wind whipped over the drifts, picking up a swirl of flakes and scattering the snow through the air which caused a thick haze. It was early December 1864. Dark came quickly this time of year and was almost upon them. How close to home was Brice? That's what Sibby wished she knew. Disturbed by the children's loud voices, the baby whimpered. Bobby Lee and Estelle were arguing. Those two needed something to do to keep them from fighting. Otherwise, the baby wouldn't stay asleep. She walked slowly across the room and eased back into the rocker, frowning from her older two children to her baby. "I've sit long enough. If I ain't going to change yer mind about getting in bed, I ought to get busy. Got work to do in the kitchen," Granny said, patting Sibby's arm. "Much obliged for the talk. Bobby Lee, watch out that window for your father, and let me know when he comes,"Sibby ordered, hoping that kept her feisty son busy for a few minutes. "Yes, Mama," the boy said. With his shock of black hair and dark eyes, it pleased Sibby that he looked like a miniature version of his father. The argument forgotten, Bobby Lee skipped across the room to stand at the window. "Estelle, would you please rock the cradle for me. The baby is having trouble getting back to sleep." Sibby considered this daughter a combination of her and Brice with her brown hair and dark eyes. She was a pretty child. Heaven help the boys whose hearts she broke when she grew up. A glance at Mildred, the very likeness of herself, brought a smile to Sibby's face. That brown haired, blue eyed child was curled up on the settee, reading. Sibby never had to worry about doling out a chore to keep her busy. Give her one of her father's books and like her father, that girl stayed with it until she finished reading it. "Mildred, maybe you should lay that book aside and see if Granny Pinkney could use some help in the kitchen." "Sure, Mama," Mildred replied with a frown at being interrupted. Sibby leaned her head back against the rocker, suddenly feeling done in. She sat up and tried to look perky when she caught Granny standing in the kitchen doorway staring at her. "You a sight! That's for certain, Missy. You get yourself back in your bed before we have to carry you there," scolded Granny, shaking an arthritic finger at her. "I reckon it wouldn't hurt to lay down until Brice comes home, but I'm leaving the baby in here where it's warm," said Sibby as she rose from the rocker. The bed was icy cold when she slid between the covers. She'd just warmed up her hole in the feather tick when Granny called, "Sibby, company's coming." "Is it Brice?" Granny stuck her head in the doorway. "No, it's Abby and Shelton Harris on their sled. Just wanted to let you know. Now you let them say their howdies and shoo them for home. You hear? You ain't spry enough for long winded company." "Yes, ma'am," Sibby said obediently. "Go open the door for them, will you please?" Granny gave a loud harrumph as she disappeared. Sibby's cousin and best friend, Abigail Harris, was a delight with her chirpy voice and flitting movements. She reminded Sibby of a happy, brown wren, making a nest in the spring. Shelton Harris was just Shelt, a happy go lucky fellow known to be a little on the irresponsible side. The total opposite of her dependable Brice, but Abby thought the world of her husband. That was all Sibby cared about. Abigail was happy with Shelt. As soon as Sibby heard the elderly woman walk away, she climbed out of bed and slipped into the parlor. Granny let the Harrises in and turned around to show them to the bedroom. The old woman froze in her tracks when she saw Sibby in her rocker. With a frown, she said, "This is the hardest woman to keep down I ever did see. I'd swear she was in her bed resting." "Hey, Abby and Shelt, come over by the fire and warm up," Sibby greeted. "I'd have thought everybody would be home where it's safe. What brings you out on such a terrible day?" Shelt grinned. "We hear tell we have a new neighbor on the ridge. Figured to come introduce ourselves." "How did you hear that?" Sibby asked. "Brice stopped by on his way to town," Abby explained as she hovered over the cradle. "Can I hold her?" "You can," Sibby said proudly. Shelt looked over Abby's shoulder as she unwrapped the blanket. "Say ain't she a dandy. What did you name her?" "We're going to call her just what you said. Dandy. Her real name is Dandelion, and I gave her the middle name Abigail for you, Abby," Sibby said softly. "Oh my. I'm right proud," Abby said, tearing up. Shelt scratched his head, looking serious. "I'd a never figured to give a baby such a name." Abby looked at him crossly. "You don't like that this baby has my name?" "Oh no, I know better than to say such a thing in my wife's present. That would get me in big trouble. I've always reckoned Abigail is a fine name but ain't dandelion a weed?" Sibby laughed heartedly. "A weed that makes a pretty yellow flower. Look at that babe's topknot. See all that bright yellow hair the color of a dandelion." "Shelt, when Sibby's right, she's right. Welcome to the neighborhood, Dandy," Abby said softly. Granny edged up beside Abby. "This woman needs to be in bed." Once, she'd had her say she marched back to the kitchen. "Why are you out here?" Abby asked. "We could have come in the bedroom to visit." "That room is so cold I was getting chill blaines. I brought the baby out here by the fire. I want Brice to light a fire in the fireplace for me when he gets home to warm the room up. After that, I'll feel better about being in there," Sibby excused. "Granny is blowed up like a toad. I best make that fire while I'm here, before she has a real fit. Won't take long and Abby can help you back into bed. Don't do to get Granny's dander up if she's going to be around for awhile," Shelt warned. He said softly behind his hand, "I hear she can be right mean when she's mad." Sibby and Abby giggles ceased when they saw the old woman standing in the kitchen doorway, listening to them. Fiery sparks lit up Granny's faded brown eyes. After the old woman was out of sight, Sibby brightened up and whispered, "Are you two going to be here for Christmas this year?" "What about Granny?" Shelt asked, nodding toward the kitchen. "Don't worry. I'll ask her to come," Sibby said innocently. "You know what Shelt meant," Abby said in a hushed voice. "You just had a baby. Ain't Christmas too soon to be having company?" "Sibby said. "The children will be disappointed if we don't have our Christmas party. Speaking of which, where are your kids?" "Our younguns had a fit when we told them they had to stay home, but it was such nasty weather, we didn't think they needed to be out," Abby said. "If you have your mind set on asking everyone for Christmas again this year, I'm coming over early to help out." "I'd love that," Sibby said. "Now, Shelt, before you take off on me if you'd like to built that fire for me in the bedroom I'd just let you so I can get back in bed after Brice gets home." "Yes, ma'am. I'm going to do that very thing right now," Shelt replied.

I hope you have enjoyed a peek at my latest book "Tread Lightly Sibby". You'll find the story in paperback on Amazon. The ebooks are in the kindle and nook stores. Take a look at my online bookstore for a signed paperback and check out all the other books I have for sale.

Memorial Day Memories Sells

Decoration Day is coming up. The day brings up memories for me other than of fun vacations. This time we took my husband's 91 year old mother with us to the cemetery to place flowers, and I took pictures of the event.


Awhile back I wrote a story about my family recollections of the day and sold it to Good Old Days Magazine. I thought this might be a good time to share it with you. I've been fortunate to write short stories that fit this magazine. Old pictures are what jog my memories. I look through my mother's black and white pictures and some of my own until a story idea comes to me.



1950's Memorial Day Memories

Just before Memorial Day, my husband, Harold, and I drive to the country cemetery near Keystone, Iowa. It doesn't take long to put flowers on my parents graves and Harold's father's grave and drive 7 miles home. The first time I took Mom to put flowers in Dad's vase in 1999, she gave me orders when this duty fell to me I should always put red roses in Dad's vase, because that was his favorite flower. Any spring flowers on her side would do. Doing that for her each year brings back memories about decorating graves when I was a kid.

Memorial Day used to be called Decoration Day. My family didn't think of the day as a summer holiday. We seldom went anywhere with cows to milk twice a day. The day was just what the name implied. A day to decorate graves. For my parents, my brother, John, and me that became an all day process. My parents didn't have to hunt for the graves. They visited the spots for years and probably helped carry many of those people to their rest. The reason it took all day was we met up with other people doing the same thing. My parents started a conversation and visited awhile. These might have been people my parents knew from way back or just strangers. People weren't in such a hurry back then. They took the time to visit.

We lived on an 80 acre farm near Schell City, Missouri. My parents, Bill and Sylvia Bullock, supplemented their income by making and selling flower baskets to take to the cemeteries. So after school for a couple months, John and I made carnations from Kleenex. We put two tissues together, folded them up accordion style, tied a wire around the middle and cut off the folded end. Carefully, we separated each ply and pulled the tissues to the middle. After school, John and I wanted to play, but Mom insisted we make a certain number of flowers first.

Mom put together crepe paper roses. She cut petals and stretched them around a wire which she secured with green crepe paper wound down the stem. She used her scissors blade to run over the top of each petal to curl it. To weather proof the roses, Mom melted paraffin in a pan and dunked the flowers. This was the same hot wax Mom poured over jelly to seal the jars so the jelly wouldn't mold while stored in the root cellar.

Dad cut sticks and used finishing nails to build log cabin style baskets in different sizes. Mom did the flower arranging. The baskets hung by the handles on nails Dad hammered in the back porch wall. Word got around. Two of our teachers, Dorothy Felthoff and Edna Thomas, stopped to buy baskets as well as many other people.

By Decoration Day, we still had unsold baskets. The day dawned sticky hot in the Ozarks. At least, I don't remember a rainy Decoration Day. John and I had baskets wedged between us in our 35 Chevy's back seat and around our feet. The country roads leading to the cemeteries consisted of natural rock and potholes. With the windows cranked down to let air in the un-airconditioned car, red dust settled on everything in the car.

Mom fixed bologna sandwiches, potato chips and snowballs for dessert, thermos of coffee and Kool-aid. Bologna tasted better in the fifties. The slices were cut off a large, red wrapper covered roll and sold by the pound. She put our lunch in a cardboard box on the front seat between Dad and her.

My parents pulled weeds and tall grass away from some graves. John and I scattered like a covey of quail, looking at old tombstones. Dad always cautioned us, "Don't step on the graves." Out of respect sure but since the wooden coffins deteriorated long ago, he said we might find ourselves sinking along with collapsing soil into the graves. Mom's worry was poisonous snakes like copperheads and rattlers lurking in the shaggy grass. "Watch where you step," she admonished at each cemetery for fear we'd forgotten her previous warnings. Believe me when I tell you, we were more apt to forget Mom's warning than Dad's. To this day, we still watch where we step in the cemeteries.

Our first stop, Montevallo Cemetery, began our family tree lesson. The timber lined road led down a steep embankment to a shallow creek. That's where Dad stopped the car. In the summer, Mill creek was mostly mud which made it easy to walk across. After a short walk through a hayfield, we were at the cemetery. My brother and I were always fascinated by a cement platform, with two white metal chairs and a table on it, over a Montevallo banker/ Notary Public and his wife's grave. Back in those days, no one ever brought furniture to a cemetery. Years later, I hated to hear the furniture had been stolen.

There was a family connection with this banker. Dad's father's brother had a violent disagreement with him in the early 1900's about Dad's grandmother's farm land. Dad's Uncle Preston went to prison for attempted murder.

Amid Confederate soldiers and bushwhackers, my father's two grandfathers, Union soldiers, were laid to rest along side their wives and offspring. One homesteader grandfather, Hiram Taylor, returned to farm after the war. The other a homesteader as well, Charles Bullock, was a druggist after the war. Back in the day when plants, gathered from the timber, were turned into potions and compounds, he built a successful hardware/drug store in Montevallo. This civic minded grandfather was on the school board. He believed his children should have a good education.

Next to Charles and his wife, Harriet, was Dad's father, William (Button) Bullock, who had a reputation for being a partier like his brother, Preston. Button became a druggist after his schooling to be a doctor at St. Louis Medical College was cut short by Charles's death in 1895. Button took over the hardware/drug store from Harriet. He died at age 50 in 1924. In all fairness, a hereditary heart condition was the cause of death but this fun loving man's life style may have hastened his demise. Our musically talented Grandpa didn't miss a summer celebration, and most towns had one. He played the trumpet in Montevallo Order of Modern Woodmen of American lodge's band during the parades.

Button's wife, Addie, had to care for my dad and four other children. When the telephone came along, she cleaned out her fancy parlor and had a switch board installed to become Montevallo's first telephone exchange. Family friend, Eldon Steward, Eldorado Springs, Mo., told me when he was in the army he called home to talk to his mother. The reception was so bad Addie had to relay every word of the conversation. When Addie died in 1968, it was her wish to dig Grandpa Button up and bury them both in the Nevada cemetery. She said the Montevallo cemetery was too far back in the sticks to suit her. She refused to be buried there so Grandpa had to be moved.

Not far down the road, we visited Mom's two baby sisters graves, died 1919 and 1929, at Olive Branch Cemetery. The church sits close by where Mom's mother, Veder Bright, walked with her children to church. In that church one of Mom's brothers, Everett Bright, Nevada, Mo., married his childhood sweetheart, Lois Nichols, who lived close by.

Located east of Montevallo is Walnut Grove cemetery. We'd visit the grave of Isabel Taylor, a Black American. A slave before the Civil War, she was a neighbor to my parents and older brother, Billy, in the late thirties. Isabel walked with a limp, because her owner beat her with a single tree brace.

After the Civil War, "New" Montevallo was built. "Old" Montevallo had been burnt by the Wisconsin 3rd Calvary Regiment. The new hotel needed a cook so the owner hired Isabel and moved her to town. She outlived the hotel, became a nanny until the family's three boys grew up then the great grandmother of the boys moved in with Isabel to live out their lives together. Isabel had the distinction of being the only Black in town. She was affectionately known by all as Aunt Isabel. In 1943, 95 year old Aunt Isabel fainted on the wood cookstove. She was badly burnt. Montevallo citizens took turns sitting by her bedside, including my parents, day and night until she died. Her grave lays under a cedar tree, surrounded by a square of cement blocks. Not far from her is the grave of the man who hired her as a cook. He paid for her burial.

Next, we went to Virgil City Cemetery. All that's left of the town is an old shed. We visited Mom's great grandparents. Her parents sent her to live with John and Alvina Bright on their farm north of Montevallo when she was sixteen. She stayed two years to care for them. Mom missed every day contact with her family, but she loved her great grandparents. Great Grandma passed away in 1932. Great Grandpa moved in with Mom's grandparents, ending Mom's caregiving. In those days, families took care of their elderly relatives until they died.

Mom remembered her Great Grandfather as a gentle soul. Rheumatism caused him a lot of pain so he often had Mom rub a homemade liniment on his joints. Great Grandma, Alvina, had the title Blind Grandma tacked on her. So family lore goes, Alvina went blind one day when she stepped out of the outhouse. No one could give me a good reason why. So going blind went into the list of reasons why I worried about using our outhouse along with dive bombing mud dobbers, stepping or sitting on a black snake and the mean rooster laying in wait for me to come out.

Next stop was Moore Cemetery in Nevada to Luther and Flora Belle Bright's graves. Mom's grandmother, Flora Belle Bright, was known as Indian Grandma by the grownups in the family. Her heritage wasn't a matter for discussion with other people though they may have suspected. She was young when Mom's Grandpa Luther, a farmer, brought her home from Kansas. They became a well respected couple in Montevallo. Getting away from the farm for an all day drive sounded like fun when we started, but as the day dragged on and the cemeteries rolled by, John and I wanted to nap between stops. We'd curl up in the back seat until Dad looked in the rearview mirror. He'd say, "Stay awake." or "Sit up." He feared the old exhaust system was leaking into the car, and we might not ever wake up if he let us alone. By that time, we were tired, sweaty, cranky and asking often, "Can we go home now?"

Before Mom passed away, my husband and I took her back to Missouri. For me and her, this was a going back in time trip as we traveled to all the back roads cemeteries again. This time I took a camera. We owned a camera in the fifties but we didn't think about taking pictures of our outings in those days. For Mom's last trip, we bought plenty of silk flowers so she could decorate graves just like in the fifties.

She even put out extra decorations at Olive Branch Cemetery. Eldon Steward's grandparents, George and Bessie Hiestand are buried by their baby next to Mom's two sisters. The Heistands were life long friends of my grandparents and parents. After all of us moved to Iowa, the Hiestands took flowers for the Bright babies when they decorated their baby's grave. This one time, Mom returned the favor.

After ten years of taking care of my father who had Alzheimer's, Mom enjoyed the journey home to connect with the past which held pleasant memories for our whole family. Because I took her to all those cemeteries again, I hope she came back to Iowa with the peace of mind that she taught her children a life lesson years ago that would stick with them. Remember and honor those that came and went before you, because they had a hand in shaping who you are. And just as important, she wanted me to remember to always put out red roses for Dad and for her any spring flowers would do.

Happy Memorial Day!

Author Fay Risner Gets Great Book Review



Happy Mother's Day to all mothers and grandmothers. We celebrated the evening with my husband's 91 year old mother and his siblings and their families, having pieces of several cakes, ice cream and strawberries from my garden.

Saturday, I used the time to reflect on how much I miss my mother who passed away ten years ago while I baked a cake. Her specialty was Angel Food Cake made from scratch. For decades, everyone in the family had a decorated cake for their birthday and other relatives asked my mother to make wedding cakes for them. I didn't feel like I could live up to her great cakes so I didn't try to make one while she was alive. However when we have an abundance of eggs, it seems natural to want to bake a cake just like my mother. Alas, it has taken me several tries to master getting a successful cake. The steps to putting the cake together is precise and takes time. Brought back memories of my mother scolding my brother and me ahead of time to not slam the door on our way outside because it would make her cake fall. She always seemed anxious to get us to leave the house so she could concentrate on a perfect cake. Now I can see why. If the way my cake disappeared on a table with three others I think the Mother's Day cake must have been a good one. I came home with two small slices left.



Mother Nature provided a nice day now that our two weeks of rainy season is behind us. Looks like we're starting summer which is going to be perfect for a visit by three of my cousins who live in Nevada, Missouri. I am so looking forward to their visit. As children we spent a lot of weekends together on my parents farm. We have lots of reminiscing to do when they get here.



Since we've had a warmer winter and spring in Iowa, we are a month ahead with plant growth. My flowers have bloom early, the trees are leafed out and my husband has already mowed the hay for the first time. So making hay is on the schedule for this week. That is one hot, itchy job I don't look forward to.



In this post, I want to share with you how one reader feels about my Nurse Hal Among The Amish series. One of the things I love about being able to communicate by email with book buyers is I ask them to let me know what they think of my books. That feedback is so important to me. Keeps me on the right track with story lines that please the readers. I've been lucky that they respond with the nicest and very helpful suggestions. If you are just learning about my book business I must tell you I sell the books I write from my home as well as online at my bookstore http://www.booksbyfaybookstoreweebly.com . The books I sell at home I can sign which is a reason for customers to contact me personally. Besides that I've loved the one on one with the buyers from all around the country. We've gotten to know each other and chat quite often through emails in between book releases.



Recently, I received this detailed review about my latest book As Is Her Name So Is Redbird which is the fourth in the Nurse Hal Among The Amish series. The readers says:



You can write another Hal story at any time now. I finished the newest one this afternoon. Annie's shooting being accidental was a surprise twist. And I thought surely Eli and Mary Mast would receive Beth to raise since they lost their own baby girl. (That would have been a nice touch to the story and perhaps a predictable one. I didn't consider giving the baby away, because I thought the Lapp family was attached to her, and she was a reminder of Annie who they loved like a daughter and missed. Now Nurse Hal will be raising two daughters which are like having a set of twins. This might lead to some hectic and funny stories in the future. Buy my books and find out.)



I really love Tom Turkey, so please don't kill him off as he's such fun. I loved the book, and I expected Stella would say no to Annie joining the Amish church.



Another thing I really appreciate about the Nurse Hal books is they are properly Old Order Amish with the outhouses and heating the water and heating with wood. I'm glad you didn't give Hal a gas cooking stove but kept the wood one. Please don't get rid of it!!! The one thing I don't like about the Old Order Amish fiction that other authors write is that you can't tell much difference between those Amish and Englishers as they have very modern appliances run by gas or propane and have indoor plumbing. Keep up the good work and keep Nurse Hal and her family very old-fashioned! I would guess some of Nurse Hal's life is based on your own.



My reply is, Yes, I'd say some of the farm scenes are from my experiences. It's easy to write about farm life since I've spent my life in the country with a few head of a variety of livestock most of the time such as cattle, horses, hogs, sheep, goats, rabbits, turkey, chickens, ducks and more. From time to time, strange or funny events happened while I've been caring for these animals and birds so you see it's easy to come up with moments in my Nurse Hal books that make the readers laugh.



I agree with the reader about liking the old fashion Amish. Years ago when I was first married my husband and I went to visit his grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins in Arkansas. They still used the wood cookstoves and had outhouses. Of course, my parents had just barely put in a bathroom in our Iowa home so I was not long from the outhouse experience, but my mom had a gas cookstove for some time. I was small enough when the change in cookstoves came about that I just barely remember the wood stove. So when we ate with the Arkansas relatives I found I loved the flavor of biscuits, eggs and bacon as well as all the other slow cooked from scratch dishes the cooks prepared. Part of the appeal of those vacations were feeling like I'd gone back in time to a slower paced world that brought back memories of my childhood. Although the cooks were glad for to move into new homes with modern kitchens and bathroom, I missed that once a year visit back into the past.



When I first started my Nurse Hal Among the Amish series I did think about making the Lapp kitchen modern for Nurse Hal, but as long as she has Emma doing much of the cooking getting a gas cookstove got put on the back burner so to speak. That's one of the things that has surprised me about being an author is the way the stories rule my thinking. I might be headed one direction and find myself taking the story another way. In this case, it's a good thing I didn't let John Lapp buy a gas cookstove.



If you readers really like the books you're reading remember how helpful and important to the author it is when you leave a good review for the others to see. It helps the author's book sales.



Have a good week.



Author Fay Risner's Latest Book Released

My latest book is a historical post Civil War story set in Texas County, Mo. This book tells the story of Serbina Monroe Harris known as Sibby by her family and friends. The story takes place from the end of the Civil War to the end of her life. The ebook can be found in Kindle and Nook Stores and in paperback on Amazon and in my bookstore http://www.booksbyfaybookstore.weebly.com Just look for Tread Lightly Sibby by Fay Risner. The cover picture holds special meaning for me. The wedding picture is my grandparents - Addie and William Bullock in July 1902. They are such a good looking couple I couldn't resist using them for Sibby and Brice Monroe.
Here is the synopsis on the back cover of the book.
Serbina Ellen Monroe had high hopes at the end of the Civil War for life to be better than it had been during the last four strife filled years. Her husband, Brice, came home from the war wounded, but he had fully recovered. His gristmill and sawmill were busy. Sibby looked forward to the day when lawless renegades in the area were replaced with law abiding citizens. She wanted Texas County, Missouri to be a safe place for her children to grow up. A place where folks lived side by side without being labeled as a Federalist or Confederate sympathizer. Suddenly, Sibby finds her world shattered. Two lawmen, escorting two horse thieves, back to Springfield talk Brice into traveling through the wilderness grove with them. Two weeks later when a young boy finds the thieves dangling from the end of ropes in the grove, Brice is the only one around to point the finger at. He says he's innocent, but he knows he won't be able to find an unbiased jury. There are men in Texas County that have their own reasons for wanting Brice Monroe out of the way. His only alternative is to run as far from Texas County, Missouri as he can get.



I have an Aunt and Uncle in Texas County and have enjoyed many vacations in that area. It just seemed like the perfect place to set this story. Mark Twain National forest runs north of Huston. Roads run between the timbered hills and rocky bluffs in roller coaster fashion. Deer and turkey graze in pastures with cattle.



Soon I'll post the first chapter of Tread Lightly Sibby so you can see what the book is like. Have a good week where ever you are.