My book sale at Civil War Days in Belle Plaine, Iowa was very successful. Not only because I sold more books than I thought I would but received exposure that will lead to other book sales. I have an invitation to speak at a church group about my books. I've been invited to be a guest blogger on another blog. A local reporter stopped to chat. Perhaps I will get a brief mention in the newspaper. My Civil War book was a hit with reenactors from other states. Word of mouth may lead to more sales when those people get home. This was one event I will be very glad to repeat.
Pub. Sept 24
Sept 29 myentre
One thing leads to another
Last Thursday, I baked a raw apple cake to take to my mother in law's 89th birthday party. (We have two apple trees. My husband hunted and I gathered.) The birthday girl, Minnie, is a great example of the few of us left that are hunter/gatherers. Back in the days when people had to raise enough food in the summer to have enough to eat in the winter, they raised large gardens and canned or in later years froze the excess. Men hunted game to put meat on the table. My parents were newlyweds during the Great Depression and so was my husband's parents. Being a hunter/gatherer wasn't just a way of life, it was a matter of survival. I inherited the gene. (There has to be one, because my two brothers don't hunt or gather.)
Besides my parents, my role model is my mother-in-law. We have so much in common that we enjoy doing. Both of us are past the time when we need to be gatherers, but we do it because we like to. Minnie's front and back yard looks like a botanical garden. (Mine is rapidly becoming that way. My husband says some day my flowers will be taking over his hayfields. He goes out and pulls the black eyed susans before he makes hay.) Minnie has more flowers than grass - perennials, annuals and houseplants. When family visit, they have to take a tour down paths between flower beds. My flowers never look as lush and bloom a hardy as hers does, but she would be a good spokeswoman for Miracle Grow. Since we have chickens, sheep and goats, I do recycling. We feed the animals, and they provide fertilizer.
Three weeks before fall officially arrived, Minnie took in cuttings from her flowers and dug bulbs. Her garden that is larger than ours is almost cleaned off and in her compost pile. Minnie follows the signs and not the calendar. Tree leaves turned and fell. Birds flocked together to leave Iowa. She noted that and began her fall preparations. I take her lead seriously so in the last couple weeks I have potted the flowers I bring in for the winter. This is the time when flowers are their prettiest so I left the small pots inside the planters, hating to give in to cooler weather. When I hear the word frost, I'll carry the flowers upstairs to a spare bedroom with a southern exposure. In the next few days, I'll dig my flower bulbs, dry them and wait for that killing frost that will turn my colorful flowers brown. After the flowers dry, I harvest the seeds, put them in the freezer (Minnie's idea) and wait for spring.
That's one example in my life where one thing leads to another as the seasons change. Here's an example of one thing leads to another with my writing. When I signed up for the internet a few years ago, I researched about author promotions on the internet. I still search for new ideas. One thing I learned right away was that authors need a website. This was before I had a book published but dreamed that it might happen some day. So I hunted for a free website. (You'll find the word free appears in my vocabulary quite often. I'm not a gambler, and I haven't considered myself a sure thing yet.) I tried several and couldn't figure out how to submit to them. Finally, I found tripod and understood the easy instructions. I haven't had problems submitting to my website, but I hear that people have trouble finding it. Perhaps that's because it's free. http://www.booksbyfay.tripod.com
Every site I've registered on, I use booksbyfay to log in. I wanted a name that clued people into what I do. Now thanks to google search, I get about four pages when I put my name Fay Risner in the search box because of all the author/writer websites I've advertised my books on. Google uses a small portion of a submission from the websites announcing my books or events. I receive a Google alert by email that shows what has been posted.
I searched for a printer and found Create Space. That's why I sell my books on Amazon.
Publetariat.com a website for authors allows blogs about writing. After my blog about a book sale at Civil War Days, I received an email from publetariat. If I would email a paragraph about how successful the sale was they would put my Sept. 17 post on their front page. Title "reporting back after the sale". I could add a website I sell my books on. Friday I received an email that the blog entry is indeed up and running on the front page after I wrote about my successful weekend at Civil War Days as a teaching experience for other Independent book sellers. Here is the website - http://www.publetariat.com
Publetariat Editor's Note: This blog post, from Fay Risner, originally appeared on her Publetariat blog on 9/17/09. It's such a salient topic for indie authors, I asked Fay if we could reprint it as an article for the site and she graciously agreed. (Posted at the end of blog entry) Fay did so many things right, from being very well-practiced and prepared, to hitting her target demographic square in the middle, to highlighting her local community connections, and more. Read Fay's next blog post to see how well she did with her book sale event. Fay's books are available on Amazon. (Note this is the same post that I entered on Myentre.net site Sept. 17.)
I have four blogs. I copy and paste the same entry on each one. Hopefully, I attract the attention of many different readers. Awhile back a woman emailed me she had linked one of my blogs to a website she belongs to because she likes what she read and wanted others to read my blog. That means more readers that might get interested about my books. Good Reads website put the bookshelf containing my books next to my blog on blogger. Amazon decided to give each author a page and blog, hoping that buyers would want to read about their favorite authors.
A woman approached me at Civil War Days to invite me to be a guest blogger on her blog. She asks people who are writers or illustrators. I told her I'd be delighted. Another woman asked me to be a guest speaker for her church group "Golden Girls" to talk about my books. That should lead to book sales.
This year I changed companies to publish my latest book. With this company, I am the publisher and the company is the printer. I had to send for a sales tax form so Lightning Source Publishing will sell my books through Ingram. Now I am a business Booksbyfay Bookstore. To my delight, this has led to my introduction to My Entre.net where I've joined other small businesses and have been allowed to start a blog. Now my business logo is on their Businesses & Organizations board as someone to meet. That comes up in every members home page.
Sometimes I hear things and think I should remember that for future reference. About five years ago I was told a successful business man from Texas came back for a high school reunion in Belle Plaine. A former classmate said he brought each of them a signed copy of his new book. The 8th of August I had a high school reunion. I gave out 21 copies of my latest book "A Promise Is A Promise". Since then I've sold 11 other books to the classmates and one teacher which makes me break even with the cost of the books I gave away. I impressed my former classmates more than I could have imagined. One has a daughter he thinks has potential and from what I read on her website I believe he is right. At the reunion, he approached me for advice to give the daughter. She has been reluctant to try writing a book. I emailed him a very detailed long email which he forwarded to the daughter. She has been convinced to enroll in a writing and illustration class. I am thrilled.
Speaking of being a hunter/gather, I have apples to can today if I am to enjoy the fruits of my labor this winter. Have a good day.
Gotta Go,
booksbyfay
Fay Risner
http:buysellcommunity/booksbyfay.com
amazon/books
http://www.booksbyfay.tripod.com
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Civil War Days A Success
Friday, I sold two books to a reenactor. My thought might have been I should have skipped being there that day. My answer is no. First, I needed the practice, speaking on Ella Mayfield's behalf. The reenactors speak in first person. and the person had to be a real person during the Civil War. That was perfect since Ella Mayfield was living person during the war, and her story was true. (Ella Mayfield's Pawpaw Militia - A Civil War Saga In Vernon County Missouri) I didn't go into first person when I gave my presentation over and over, but I certainly had each prospective buyer's attention. Right away, I asked the man in charge if there were any other bushwhackers in the park. He yelled over to a group of Union soldiers, "Are there any bushwhackers here?" A soldier's reply was, "What's a bushwhacker?" My response to the man in charge was, "You have one here now. These reenactors are in serious need of an education, and I'm here to give them one."
Second, I developed a following of students that came back over the weekend to talk to me again. One girl brought her mother over to buy a book. If there is one thing I'm proud of, it's that my books can be read by any age. The story lines are wholesome, because that is the type of book I like to read myself.
I suspect on Friday it took the reenactors some time to get used to me. When they stopped to talk, I was in period dress, but I made it clear I wasn't just trying to sell books. I had a story of my own to tell and was well versed about my potion of the Civil War between Missouri and Kansas. What this story needed was a human aspect to it. They should hear about the hardships and killings that befell homesteaders in that area that had no control over a war that was happening around them.
Saturday and Sunday, the public came. I had a good location at the beginning of their tour, sandwiched between a photographer's tent full of 1800's costumes and the consession stand. The public had to walk by me, eat near me and get their pictures taken next to me. They couldn't miss my posters which made them curious enough to stop. Once they did, I gave a brief synopsis of each of my books and ended with the Civil War story.
Saturday at the end of the day, I and my son walked through the reenactors camp sites and talked to people. I wanted a feel for the passion these people have that makes them do the reenactments all summer. They shared so many stories with me over the weekend. I loved hearing their tales.
This was one of those one things that leads to another event. I was approached by a woman who is writing a book. She has a blog which she asks other people who write to guest blog on. Now I have an invitation to be a guest blogger. A woman from a small town nearby asked me to come speak and sell books at her church group "The Golden Girls" meeting. A newspaper reporter came to take pictures of the school children Friday. She stopped to talk to me. So I'm hopeful I might have a brief mention in her article.
At the end of Sunday, the reenactors had a First Person skit or contest. Someone told me about it at the time the event was happening. Afterward, a reenactor came by and told me he would like to see me enter next year. I was flattered to have been accepted as part of their group. That offer told me I must have done something right. The catch was the man said he wanted me to play Mary. I said Mary who? Mary Lincoln of course. But I would have to have a hoop skirt and fancy dress to be the first lady. I replied, "I thought Mary was crazy. Are you trying to tell me something?" He laughed as he said only that I would be good at the part. Since I'm already set up with my pioneer dress I told him I would rather stick to being a homesteader. I'm thinking an insightful look at Ella in front of a crowd might get me more sales. I can't wait to go back next year to be Ella all over again and see if the invatation goes even if I don't play Mary Lincoln.
To sum it up, I had a very successful book sale at the Civil War Days in Belle Plaine, Iowa. The preparations I made to catch prospective buyers attention as they walked by my table paid off. From posters to period dress and my knowledge of the Civil War, I sparked attention and interest. The fact that I was the author of the books and signed them impressed the buyers. My Civil War book helped give me an introduction for being there and lead to people buying my other books. I was well pleased with this event and am looking forward to a repeat performance. My Civil War book turned out to be a hit with the reenactors as well. Word of mouth from one reenactor to another brought me many sales. Now those books will go back to Minnesota, Wisconsin and around Iowa. Hopefully, I should get more sales from the reenactors as well as other buyers I gave bookmarkers.
Now I have to bake a cake. This is my mother-in-law's 89 birthday. Tonight we're going to Belle Plaine and help her celebrate. Next entry I make, I'm going to do some bragging on her. She's the perfect mother-in-law. Every wife should be as lucky as I have been.
Gotta go,
booksbyfay
Fay Risner
http:www.buysellcommunity/booksbyfaystore.com
Second, I developed a following of students that came back over the weekend to talk to me again. One girl brought her mother over to buy a book. If there is one thing I'm proud of, it's that my books can be read by any age. The story lines are wholesome, because that is the type of book I like to read myself.
I suspect on Friday it took the reenactors some time to get used to me. When they stopped to talk, I was in period dress, but I made it clear I wasn't just trying to sell books. I had a story of my own to tell and was well versed about my potion of the Civil War between Missouri and Kansas. What this story needed was a human aspect to it. They should hear about the hardships and killings that befell homesteaders in that area that had no control over a war that was happening around them.
Saturday and Sunday, the public came. I had a good location at the beginning of their tour, sandwiched between a photographer's tent full of 1800's costumes and the consession stand. The public had to walk by me, eat near me and get their pictures taken next to me. They couldn't miss my posters which made them curious enough to stop. Once they did, I gave a brief synopsis of each of my books and ended with the Civil War story.
Saturday at the end of the day, I and my son walked through the reenactors camp sites and talked to people. I wanted a feel for the passion these people have that makes them do the reenactments all summer. They shared so many stories with me over the weekend. I loved hearing their tales.
This was one of those one things that leads to another event. I was approached by a woman who is writing a book. She has a blog which she asks other people who write to guest blog on. Now I have an invitation to be a guest blogger. A woman from a small town nearby asked me to come speak and sell books at her church group "The Golden Girls" meeting. A newspaper reporter came to take pictures of the school children Friday. She stopped to talk to me. So I'm hopeful I might have a brief mention in her article.
At the end of Sunday, the reenactors had a First Person skit or contest. Someone told me about it at the time the event was happening. Afterward, a reenactor came by and told me he would like to see me enter next year. I was flattered to have been accepted as part of their group. That offer told me I must have done something right. The catch was the man said he wanted me to play Mary. I said Mary who? Mary Lincoln of course. But I would have to have a hoop skirt and fancy dress to be the first lady. I replied, "I thought Mary was crazy. Are you trying to tell me something?" He laughed as he said only that I would be good at the part. Since I'm already set up with my pioneer dress I told him I would rather stick to being a homesteader. I'm thinking an insightful look at Ella in front of a crowd might get me more sales. I can't wait to go back next year to be Ella all over again and see if the invatation goes even if I don't play Mary Lincoln.
To sum it up, I had a very successful book sale at the Civil War Days in Belle Plaine, Iowa. The preparations I made to catch prospective buyers attention as they walked by my table paid off. From posters to period dress and my knowledge of the Civil War, I sparked attention and interest. The fact that I was the author of the books and signed them impressed the buyers. My Civil War book helped give me an introduction for being there and lead to people buying my other books. I was well pleased with this event and am looking forward to a repeat performance. My Civil War book turned out to be a hit with the reenactors as well. Word of mouth from one reenactor to another brought me many sales. Now those books will go back to Minnesota, Wisconsin and around Iowa. Hopefully, I should get more sales from the reenactors as well as other buyers I gave bookmarkers.
Now I have to bake a cake. This is my mother-in-law's 89 birthday. Tonight we're going to Belle Plaine and help her celebrate. Next entry I make, I'm going to do some bragging on her. She's the perfect mother-in-law. Every wife should be as lucky as I have been.
Gotta go,
booksbyfay
Fay Risner
http:www.buysellcommunity/booksbyfaystore.com
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
My Life's Hat Collection
Before I tell you about my weekend event, first things first. I'm not just an author who spends her time writing. We have a working acreage with a few animals. Last week I skipped right over the fact that it was third crop hay season. As most farmers can tell you, September is not a good hay drying month. Heavy dews this time of year don't dry off until noon. The days are cloudy part of the time when we need a Before hot sun to dry the hay. After many windy days most of the year, we suddenly get light winds. Finally, we thought we might be able to bale on Tuesday. My husband raked the windrows and we waited. Later that day, the one field, which is thick with clover, didn't dry well on the bottom side. My husband raked again. By now, he's hinting that the hay might not get dry enough to bale before Friday, my book sale event.
The other field is more grass than clover. That hay was dry. Since I'm retired, I drive the tractor, and my husband stacks the bales on the wagon I'm pulling behind the baler. (His idea not mine.) Years ago when I was much younger I baled hay, but after I went to work, my husband baled the hay and dropped it on the ground. Later, I drove the tractor while he walked along and stacked the bales on a lowboy trailer.
Now I'm nervous at best and always fearing the worst will happen since I only drive the tractor three times a summer when we make hay. It appeared I had worried for nothing when the baler sucked up the last windrow in that field. One bale had bounced off the wagon. Don't ask me why. That end of the baler is my husband's department. But I drove back across the field to pick the bale up. I stopped. My husband steps off the wagon to get the bale. Suddenly the tractor dies. White smoke boils out from under the tractor's front panel and rises around me. I yelled FIRE and jumped. Scrambling to get away, I tripped over a grass clump. My knees hit the hard ground for an instant, and I was up running.
At a safe distance away, I watched my husband run for the tractor. First he said, "You should have turned off the key." Then he said, "Are you all right?"
To which I replied, "Turning off the key didn't seem important as getting away since the smoking tractor that had already died, but thanks for asking how I am."
My husband couldn't figure out what caused the tractor's problem. We pulled it a mile away to a tractor mechanic/farmer who knew how to fix it. (Turned out to be burnt wiring.) I got to drive the pickup. My husband steered the dead tractor. His idea not mine, but I'm glad he thought of it.
The other field was dry enough to bale the next day. My husband hooked the baler to the loader tractor (which I can't handle at all) and dropped the bales on the ground. He picked them up later in the loader bucket, set them on a wagon parked in front of the hay conveyer. I dropped them on the conveyer while he stacked in the barn. So hay making is over for this year.
Ten years ago, a social worker called me from the hospital to discuss my dying father and my mother who wasn't coping with the situation. In fact, she was sure my father would get better and come home instead of entering the nursing home. The social worker wanted to know how I was handling this situation with my parents. I assured her I had faced the reality of what was ahead for my family. Still she insisted this had to be hard on me. I'm tough I told her. She replied that my mother had told her that. You will have to read my book to find out why Mom felt that way. "Hello Alzheimer's Good Bye Dad" ISBN 1438278276 Sold by me, on Amazon and at the Lemstone Christian Bookstore in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. The social worker went on to say we all wear many hats. I was a wife, mother, CNA and a daughter. At that moment, my daughter hat must be sitting heavy on my head. I have thought about and spoke about all those hats many times in my presentations. It seems we keep adding hats to our collections as our lives evolve. I now have a tractor driving hat, since last weekend, I have Ella Mayfield's bushwhacker bonnet.
Now about Civil War Days. My preparations were perfect. Both poster boards worked. People were comfortable buying from a local person when they saw the words Keystone Author. Others who knew me made the comment they didn't know I had written so many books or that I write books at all. So I received exposure in my area plus for miles around with reenactors that came from Minnesota, Wisconsin and around Iowa. All three days were beautiful; low wind, sunny, warm days. Since I was in period clothes, I asked if I could play first person like the reenactors. The man in charge said I could but the person had to be real. Wonderful! My Civil War book is full of real people.
I picked Ella Mayfield, lady bushwhacker which is the main character. I asked if there was any other bushwhackers in the park. The man in charge yells over to the shelter house to Union soldiers, "Are there any other bushwhackers here?" The reply was, "What's a bushwhacker?" After three days of non stop talking and pointing to my other poster board for visual effect, everyone that came to that park now knows who a Missouri bushwhacker was.
The first day was for schools. An outing away from the classroom is always fun. The students learned so much more than they will read about the Civil War in a history book. They were able to experience what gunpowder smells like and the loud explosive sound of a gun going off. A drummer boy beating for a march, a trumpet player playing revelry, an up close look and explanation about a cannon, a talk with Abe Lincoln and a look at army camp setups on the Union and Confederate sides. I enjoyed being on the side lines of all that. Also, I received as many interesting stories from the reenactors as I told about Ella. They each are a walking history book about their portion of the Civil War.
My son was a volunteer that helped the event run smoothly and with clean up when it was over. Something that big with so many people is not an easy undertaking to pull off. The good part about Duane being there was he watched for me to show up and helped me set up. At closing, he came along and helped me pack up which was a big help. He enjoyed watching me go into character and sell books. Before I left Sunday afternoon, he bought both of us a Civil War 2009 Belle Plaine shirt. He said we need to go to more reenactments. The shirts were for advertising. Reenactments wind down about now so we will see what next summer brings.
Thursday I'll tell you about Saturday and Sunday.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Preparing For A Book Sale
Friday the 18th Civil War Days begins in Belle Plaine, Iowa. I'm going to sell my books in the park on the fringes of North versus south battles. So am I ready?
I've watched the weather forecasts. Looks like perfect days for having a table full of books outside. To help the customers visually see what kind of books I write, I made place cards that states the genre to place by each pile of books. It would be a good thing if the wind wasn't too strong, or I will spend time chasing those place cards down. Also, the bookmarkers I printed that list my inventory and address for future reference.
I've been doing a mental list in my head this morning. It has taken a lot of preparation for this three day event. I've got an aluminum folding table left over from my craft sale days. (Those craft sales are where I learned some salesmanship.) An Indian blanket for a table cover, doesn't go along with the Civil War but in that century. Dressing in a pioneer dress and wearing a bonnet should give me some attention. (How did I come by a pioneer dress and bonnet? I revamped a dress and sewed the bonnet years ago when I volunteered at Ursher Ferry in Cedar Rapids. I was spinning in a one room log cabin as the woman who lived there. When visitors came in, I had to tell them about my life. It was fun to act the part.) I still have my money box from craft show days (a small fishing tackle box). It's perfect with a top divided shelf for change and the bottom for bills. I bought a mesh folding chair with a canopy top so I wouldn't have to sit in direct sunlight. Haven't had it out of the bag to see if I can set it up. Every time I buy something in a bag or box that needs put together, I've found it a struggle to put the object back in the bag. So guess I'll wing putting the chair together in the park after I have the table set up.
After some fall house cleaning, I found a four by four poster board upstairs to use for a sign to lean against the table. This advertisement shows that I am a local person. That might help get me some interest if not sales. So I printed large banners and tacked them to the poster board. The sign reads Keystone Author Fay Risner - Book Sale - Featuring - Ella Mayfield's Pawpaw Militia . On each side of the Book Sale line was a blank space so I put a picture of my book cover on one side and a Confederate Flag on the other. That definitely states which side of the war I'm on. Figured I might as well join. You can't hear it in my writing, but I have a southern accent. That would be a dead give away if I tried to join the Union forces. They might shoot me for a spy.
I have no idea where I am to set up. The man I talked to said I could be by a building where reenactors sell their wares. Guess someone will point me in the right direction.
Friday is the day the schools bring students to learn about the Civil War. I wanted to be a part of that education. Besides, a presentation will go along with my book. So I made up another poster board. While the reenactors will be talking military feats, I will be discussing Bushwhackers and Jayhawkers. A time line of the border war between Kansas territory and Missouri is on the poster. A large Missouri map dominates the board with stars for important places and Vernon County drawn in so the children can see where my history comes from.
I won't have anyone to watch my table and I don't know how far it will be to the concession stand. I baked an apple cake. That will be meals and snacks plus I'm taking a large container of ice tea.
My husband isn't so sure all this stuff will fit in my small car. Best be prepared. Today I pack the car just to see how is the best way to fit everything in. It will be good to have that much done. I'll have to get an early start to be set up before 9 a.m.
No matter what, this will be a fun experience going back in time amid the smell and explosions of gunpowder, war cries and crowd appreciation of the battles. Lincoln will give his Gettysburg Address, a church service will be held under the open sky and much more. I can't wait to get there.
I've watched the weather forecasts. Looks like perfect days for having a table full of books outside. To help the customers visually see what kind of books I write, I made place cards that states the genre to place by each pile of books. It would be a good thing if the wind wasn't too strong, or I will spend time chasing those place cards down. Also, the bookmarkers I printed that list my inventory and address for future reference.
I've been doing a mental list in my head this morning. It has taken a lot of preparation for this three day event. I've got an aluminum folding table left over from my craft sale days. (Those craft sales are where I learned some salesmanship.) An Indian blanket for a table cover, doesn't go along with the Civil War but in that century. Dressing in a pioneer dress and wearing a bonnet should give me some attention. (How did I come by a pioneer dress and bonnet? I revamped a dress and sewed the bonnet years ago when I volunteered at Ursher Ferry in Cedar Rapids. I was spinning in a one room log cabin as the woman who lived there. When visitors came in, I had to tell them about my life. It was fun to act the part.) I still have my money box from craft show days (a small fishing tackle box). It's perfect with a top divided shelf for change and the bottom for bills. I bought a mesh folding chair with a canopy top so I wouldn't have to sit in direct sunlight. Haven't had it out of the bag to see if I can set it up. Every time I buy something in a bag or box that needs put together, I've found it a struggle to put the object back in the bag. So guess I'll wing putting the chair together in the park after I have the table set up.
After some fall house cleaning, I found a four by four poster board upstairs to use for a sign to lean against the table. This advertisement shows that I am a local person. That might help get me some interest if not sales. So I printed large banners and tacked them to the poster board. The sign reads Keystone Author Fay Risner - Book Sale - Featuring - Ella Mayfield's Pawpaw Militia . On each side of the Book Sale line was a blank space so I put a picture of my book cover on one side and a Confederate Flag on the other. That definitely states which side of the war I'm on. Figured I might as well join. You can't hear it in my writing, but I have a southern accent. That would be a dead give away if I tried to join the Union forces. They might shoot me for a spy.
I have no idea where I am to set up. The man I talked to said I could be by a building where reenactors sell their wares. Guess someone will point me in the right direction.
Friday is the day the schools bring students to learn about the Civil War. I wanted to be a part of that education. Besides, a presentation will go along with my book. So I made up another poster board. While the reenactors will be talking military feats, I will be discussing Bushwhackers and Jayhawkers. A time line of the border war between Kansas territory and Missouri is on the poster. A large Missouri map dominates the board with stars for important places and Vernon County drawn in so the children can see where my history comes from.
I won't have anyone to watch my table and I don't know how far it will be to the concession stand. I baked an apple cake. That will be meals and snacks plus I'm taking a large container of ice tea.
My husband isn't so sure all this stuff will fit in my small car. Best be prepared. Today I pack the car just to see how is the best way to fit everything in. It will be good to have that much done. I'll have to get an early start to be set up before 9 a.m.
No matter what, this will be a fun experience going back in time amid the smell and explosions of gunpowder, war cries and crowd appreciation of the battles. Lincoln will give his Gettysburg Address, a church service will be held under the open sky and much more. I can't wait to get there.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
"Hello Alzheimer's Good Bye Dad" excerpt
Today I'm going to give you an excerpt from my book about my father. Hello Alzheimer's Good Bye Dad" ISBN 1438278276 is sold through me, Amazon, and at the Lemstone Christian Bookstore in Collins Road Plaza across from Linndale Mall in Cedar Rapids, Iowa.
You might be surprised at how many people with Alzheimer's are driving. In my father's case, I knew he shouldn't be on the road even though he was able to get his driver's license renewed.
Like so many families, what I had to do didn't stop me from feeling quilty for depriving my father. My heart was feeling sorry for my father, the man he once was and not the man with deminished capacity he had become.
The Friday Dad had to go back to see the license examiner I was scheduled to work at 2 P.M. I took Dad to town when the office opened at noon. He passed the examiner's eye test this time with the doctor's okay and his new glasses, but he still had to drive. There was a semi test scheduled ahead of Dad, and he had to wait. Afraid this would make me late for work, I took Dad with me down to Harold's parents and asked to use the phone. Harold was off work with a bout of tendinitis. I called to see if he was up to coming in to wait with Dad until he took his driving test. Harold came, and I left for work in our car. Really I was glad to get out of there. I didn't want to be there when Dad was told he couldn't drive anymore. I knew it would break his heart to hear that.
When I got home from work that night I was in for a surprise. Harold told me that Dad had gotten his driver's license renewed. I couldn't believe it. The lady who rode with Dad came back just a little shaken up, sat down by Harold, and asked him if he had ridden with Dad recently. Harold told her no, because we always took them where they needed to go so Dad hadn't had to drive lately. She said he was not very good at driving, but she would renew his license for a year with a 15 mile radius on it so Dad could only drive to Keystone or Belle Plaine. Harold said Dad seemed content with that. At least, he had his driver's license. Fine, but we still had to worry that he'd take the car, and we knew it wasn't safe for him to drive so Mom continued to keep the keys hid in her purse. When Dad asked for them, she told him Duane or I had the keys, and he could have them when we brought them back. That seem to be all right with him at the moment.
When Mom mentioned that Dad had been looking for the keys, I asked him where he wanted to go, and he said, "No where right now." He never wanted to go anywhere, and I knew that. At least not with Mom and me. I started asking him if he'd like to go with us when we went shopping just to keep him realizing that he had a way to go if he wanted it. I imagine that he looked for the keys to the car when we were gone just like he hunted for his pipes when Mom hid them, because he still wanted to drive himself somewhere just like he always had.
Often, Dad walked down to the garage to check to see if the car was there, spent time sitting behind the wheel, or looking under the hood. He was always anxious about his most important possession. Maybe he was afraid the "bunch up north" was going to take his car like they took his guns.
The next year in October when it came time to renew Dad's driver license, he had bronchitis. His memory had slipped a little more so he didn't remember about his license, and I thought that was a good thing. We'd let it expire and not say anything. After all, he wasn't going to get his car keys back so we could just let him forget about the time going by to renew his driver's license. Wrong! One day, Mom wasn't in the house, and the phone rang. Dad rarely ever answered the phone, because he hated talking on the it. Usually he'd say he didn't hear well enough, and later on, he either slept though the rings or moved too slow to get to the phone before the caller hung up. Once in a rare while, he'd answer when I called. He'd talk okay to me, but he'd never deliver my messages to Mom. He always forgot.
This was one call he didn't forget for a long time. It was the Iowa Department of Transportation calling to tell him that his driver license had expired, and he needed to send in his license by mail.
Dad took the call hard. He couldn't understand how the government could take away his license when he had been a perfect driver. It didn't matter that he never drove anymore, but this was just one more thing taken away from him. Mom said he sat down and cried. I never saw my dad cry. Since then I have seen people with Alzheimer's disease cry for what seems like no reason at all, and I think of my dad. Maybe these people don't remember the reason why they are crying, but they had a reason, too.
Gotta Go. Getting ready to make hay today.
booksbyfay
Fay Risner
You might be surprised at how many people with Alzheimer's are driving. In my father's case, I knew he shouldn't be on the road even though he was able to get his driver's license renewed.
Like so many families, what I had to do didn't stop me from feeling quilty for depriving my father. My heart was feeling sorry for my father, the man he once was and not the man with deminished capacity he had become.
The Friday Dad had to go back to see the license examiner I was scheduled to work at 2 P.M. I took Dad to town when the office opened at noon. He passed the examiner's eye test this time with the doctor's okay and his new glasses, but he still had to drive. There was a semi test scheduled ahead of Dad, and he had to wait. Afraid this would make me late for work, I took Dad with me down to Harold's parents and asked to use the phone. Harold was off work with a bout of tendinitis. I called to see if he was up to coming in to wait with Dad until he took his driving test. Harold came, and I left for work in our car. Really I was glad to get out of there. I didn't want to be there when Dad was told he couldn't drive anymore. I knew it would break his heart to hear that.
When I got home from work that night I was in for a surprise. Harold told me that Dad had gotten his driver's license renewed. I couldn't believe it. The lady who rode with Dad came back just a little shaken up, sat down by Harold, and asked him if he had ridden with Dad recently. Harold told her no, because we always took them where they needed to go so Dad hadn't had to drive lately. She said he was not very good at driving, but she would renew his license for a year with a 15 mile radius on it so Dad could only drive to Keystone or Belle Plaine. Harold said Dad seemed content with that. At least, he had his driver's license. Fine, but we still had to worry that he'd take the car, and we knew it wasn't safe for him to drive so Mom continued to keep the keys hid in her purse. When Dad asked for them, she told him Duane or I had the keys, and he could have them when we brought them back. That seem to be all right with him at the moment.
When Mom mentioned that Dad had been looking for the keys, I asked him where he wanted to go, and he said, "No where right now." He never wanted to go anywhere, and I knew that. At least not with Mom and me. I started asking him if he'd like to go with us when we went shopping just to keep him realizing that he had a way to go if he wanted it. I imagine that he looked for the keys to the car when we were gone just like he hunted for his pipes when Mom hid them, because he still wanted to drive himself somewhere just like he always had.
Often, Dad walked down to the garage to check to see if the car was there, spent time sitting behind the wheel, or looking under the hood. He was always anxious about his most important possession. Maybe he was afraid the "bunch up north" was going to take his car like they took his guns.
The next year in October when it came time to renew Dad's driver license, he had bronchitis. His memory had slipped a little more so he didn't remember about his license, and I thought that was a good thing. We'd let it expire and not say anything. After all, he wasn't going to get his car keys back so we could just let him forget about the time going by to renew his driver's license. Wrong! One day, Mom wasn't in the house, and the phone rang. Dad rarely ever answered the phone, because he hated talking on the it. Usually he'd say he didn't hear well enough, and later on, he either slept though the rings or moved too slow to get to the phone before the caller hung up. Once in a rare while, he'd answer when I called. He'd talk okay to me, but he'd never deliver my messages to Mom. He always forgot.
This was one call he didn't forget for a long time. It was the Iowa Department of Transportation calling to tell him that his driver license had expired, and he needed to send in his license by mail.
Dad took the call hard. He couldn't understand how the government could take away his license when he had been a perfect driver. It didn't matter that he never drove anymore, but this was just one more thing taken away from him. Mom said he sat down and cried. I never saw my dad cry. Since then I have seen people with Alzheimer's disease cry for what seems like no reason at all, and I think of my dad. Maybe these people don't remember the reason why they are crying, but they had a reason, too.
Gotta Go. Getting ready to make hay today.
booksbyfay
Fay Risner
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
My Children Are More Precious Than Gold
This is the first Chapter of my children book - My Children Are More Precious Than Gold ISBN 1438240953
sold on www.Amazon/books.com
http:www.buysellcommunity/booksbyfaystore.com
Chapter 1
The Brown Woolen Scarf
Bess Bishop Thompson drove her car as close as she could get to the rubble. She climbed out, leaning heavily on her can. She had to pick her way carefully through the shaggy grass and waist high weeds.
Ahead of her was a termit infested wood pile that used to be the Bishop family log cabin. The rock fireplace, covered with wild honeysuckle and moss, stood in the middle of the rubble, a monument to long gone days and memories. Bess plopped down on a tree stump, the remains of the yard's mulberry shade tree.
She shivered when the northernly breeze hit her. She pulled her shawl thighter around herself and rubbed away the goosebumps on her arms. She should get back in the car where it was warmer, but a melancholy urge tugged at her to stay put longer. She hadn't come all this way to leave so quickly.
The trees, in full dress on the ridge, were vibrant colors of red, oranges and yellows. Bess remembered that vivid sight so well. Just one of the reasons she loved living on that ridge. Moments, memories and sounds flickered through her mind like the reel of film at a movie threater.
She could hear the laughter of her brothers and sisters coming from within the cabin heap. Her mother calling loud and clear for the younguns to behave. Her father's baritone voice, reading a story to them by the fireplace.
It was just as well in 1903 that she and her family didn't know how the year was going to play out. Not that every moment of the twelve months were that bad, but the way January started out should have been a warning to the Bishops if they had been paying attention to bad omens.
Sitting by what was left of her childhood home near Riner, Virgina in the Blue Ride Mountains, Bess closed her eyes to see the mental picture of days gone by. She listened to the sounds of that long ago January blizzard in her head. It was a winter morning. Bess shivered as she listened to the north wind's mighty roar. With a sound akin to the wail of a prowling panther, the wind announced a snowstorm's approach to the hollow before it pounced on the log cabin.
By noon, a constant tapping of sleet mixed with wet snow drumed on the cabin's tin roof. By lunch time, Jacob and Nannie Bishop and the other ten children realized as Bess did that the blizzard had arrived on their portion of the ridge. Six years old Dillard gulped down the last bite from a stewed rabbit leg, and tossed the bone on his blue and white enameled plate. He slid off the handmade, wooden, ladder back chair and ran to the only window in the combination kitchen and living room. Standing on tiptoes, he flattened his nose against the pane. His blonde hair, curled like tightly coiled springs, created Os on the frosty glass where he pressed his forehead to peek through a clear slit near the top of the window.
He stared beyond the ripples of drifting snow banked on the porch. The white mounds grew larger each time he looked. Antsy to get out of the cabin, Dillard daydreamed of playing in the snow. His imagination saw fierce snowball fights and making snowmen in the front yard with his brothers and sisters when the storm finally ceased. Bored, he declared, "Still snowen." Glumly, he watched the haze of snowflakes swirl across the yard.
"We know that without ya tellen us, Dillard," Veder snapped at him, ready for a fight. She didn't like being housebound in the winter anymore than he did.
"Cass, Bess, and Alma, stack the dishes, and I'll heet the water," ordered Nannie, leaning her wide hips against the kitchen counter for a moment.
Ten year old Bess, who resembled her mother in many ways, studied Nannie. She noted the fact that her mother paused to rest at the counter. Nannie looked tired, and that worried Bess. She wondered if any of the other children had noticed their mother didn't look well. With all the work Nannie did for her large family, it was no wonder she'd be tired. It appeared to be too much for her of late. Bess meant to say something to Cass when they were alone. Born in between the older boys, Cass, twenty years old, worked along side her mother. Mama told her things so Cass would know if Mama wasn't feeling well. Picking up the blue and white granite plates, Bess scraped the rabbit bones and scraps of food all on one plate for the coon hounds to chew on later and stacked the rest.
Alma did her part by walking around the table to gather up all the silverware then carried it to the work counter.
Holding the long handled, aluminum dipper to one side with her thumb, Nannie tipped the wooden bucket to pour water into a large, tin dishpan. Carrying the pan carefully so she wouldn't spill the water, she placed it on one of the circle lids on the wood cookstove's hot, black surface.
"The rest of ya younguns, let's get out of the way. I'm goen to sit next to the fire fer a spell." Jacob eased his short, stocky frame into his rocking chair close to the crackling, red-yellow flames that danced over the logs in the large, rock fireplace. Combing his fingers through his thick, dark brown hair to flattened it, he leaned forward, extending his calloused palms toward the fire's warmth. The younger children rushed to position themselves near to him on the floor, squealing and shoving to move each other out of the way.
"Younguns, ifen you don't have anything better to do, that Christmas tree needs took down. It's turnen brown and droppen needles all over the place," suggested Nannie. She figured it was best to keep her restless younguns busy so they wouldn't be squabbling with each other.
"It's sticky, Mama. Do we have to take every thing offen it?" Lillie's light, brown pigtails stretched down the back of her faded, blue dress when the plump, eight year old frowned up at the tall, cedar tree standing in the corner of the room.
"Leave the popcorn strings on it fer the birds. They'll be glad fer feed in weather like this, but take off all the tinsel and the star. Stick em back in the Christmas box fer next year," instructed Nannie while she spread a Red Rooster feed sack, dish towel over the bowls of leftover fried potatoes, turnips and green beans she'd placed on one end of the long, wooden table. "Well fer once supper won't take too long to fix with all these leftovers," she said to Bess. It wasn't hard to hear the sound of relief that filled her mother's voice, because she wouldn't have to spend a lot of time cooking the next meal.
Surrounding the cedar tree, Lillie, Veder, and three year old Lydia, stood on tiptoes with arms stretched up, gingerly pinching off all the silver tinsel that they could reach without getting stuck by the tree's needles. Twenty two year old Sid, eighteen year old Tom, and sixteen year old Don, picked off the tinsel higher on the tree, and thirteen year old Lue, being the tallest, stretched his lanky frame on tiptoes to lift off the gold foil star atop the tree.
"The tree's cleaned off, Pap," Don announced, dropping the last piece of tinsel from his chubby fingers into the wooden box marked, "Christmas".
"Good! Reckon I'll drag it off when I go check the cows."
"Snow's still comen down good, Pap," Dillard forecasted from his post at the window.
Feeling a cold dampness ooze into the soles of his heavy woolen socks, Dillard looked down and frowned. A trail of water trickled along the wall from the line of tallow slicked shoes that sat beneath the row of winter coats and pooled under his feet. No one had overshoes or boots in those days so animal fat scraps were rendered by heating them until the lard melted out. Tallow was spread on the one pair of shoes that Pap made each of them. That coating kept the shoes water proof and softer.
Joining the others by the fireplace, Dillard sat down, turning his feet to the fire. He wrinkled his nose at the odor of wet wool as the heat seeped through the socks to warm his feet.
"Don't worry about me. I'll find my way. I always do," Jacob assured Dillard as he stood and stretched. "Anyway I reckon the cows will bunch up on the back side of the pasture hill so I won't have too far to go." Jacob put on his coat, hat, and boots then reached for a brown, woolen scarf hanging on his coat nail. "Besides, I'll be plenty warm in my new scarf that Bess knitted me for Christmas."
At the mention of her name, Bess turned from the dish pan to look at her father. He smiled and winked at her. Bess winked back with a twinkle in her dark eyes. Her round face showed appreciation of the fact that he liked the scarf she'd knitted for him. She watched him wrap the extra long scarf twice around his neck, and over his head, then throw the ends over his shoulders to trail down the back of his heavy, brown coat.
The other children held their hands over their mouths and snickered at Jacob's remark. They remembered him opening Bess's gift. He pulled out the scarf -- and pulled -- and pulled. Bess's proud expectations had turned to consternation when the other children giggled at the scarf's extra long length, but Jacob, blue eyes twinkling, looked serious as he thanked Bess for his warm gift.
When Bess told her mother waht she watned to make her father for a gift, Nannie gave Bess a choice of colors for the wool. Then Nannie helped Bess dye the wool. Soaking the fibers in black walnut hulls would make brown, hazelbark made black coloring and polkberries made purple. Bess chose brown. After Nannie spun the wool fibers, Bess knitted every moment when Pap wasn't near to see what she was making.
Jacob knew the effort it took to knit this gift. To silence the children before they hurt Bess feelings, he sternly reminded the children how hard Bess worked on his scarf. Also, he added that he liked his Christmas gift the length it was.
A blast of bitterly, cold wind rushed through the open door and swept across the room to the fireplace, causing red flames to shoot up and flicker wildly back and forth. Dragging the tree behind him onto the porch as quickly as he could, Jacob yelled above the roar of the wind before he shut the door, "I reckon to be back in about an hour."
Going to the wooden, steamer trunk, covered with more scars then paint from years of use, that set in the large room's far corner, Tom, a skinny young man, lifted the heavy, rounded lid. "I'm goen to get out the games. Who wants the checkers, and who wants the dominoes?"
"I'll take the checkers, and Lue can play me first," Sid suggested, sitting down Indian fashion opposite Lue on the floor. He expected to win at the game. He usually beat everyone in the family except their father.
Tom spilled the dominoes onto the floor, and Don plopped down across from him. Settling down near his brothers to watch, Dillard hoped that the winner of one of the games would let him play.
When the dishes were done, Nannie pulled her spinning wheel away from the wall next to the stairway door. She dragged it and a gunny sack of carded wool over near the fireplace where the lighting was better. Settling her ample frame on the stool, she smoothed the wrinkles out of her apron and tucked a stray wisp of gray streaked brown hair into the bun on the top of her head. Then she began to pedal while she fed a few fluffy, white, wool fibers through her fingers to the whirling machine.
Spinning relaxed her. Maybe because it was hypnotic to watch the wheel turning while thoughts rambled around in her head or maybe since she was always tried sitting down to spin was a good excuse to get off her feet. Which ever it was, Nannie didn't have time to sit and do nothing, but she could sit down to spin without feeling quilty.
Clink, clink came from near the fireplace where Cass, Bess, and Alma sat. The older girl, Cass, patiently showed her younger sisters how to knit some of the curves to make the heel in the socks. Then the fast, flying knitting needles the girls held changed the wool yarn Nannie spun into various sizes of socks, and later on they'd knit gloves and scarves for the family. The girls learned to knit at nine years old. First, they'd knit their own socks, gloves and scarves then knit for other members of the family.
The younger girls -- Lillie, Lydia and Veder came scurrying down from the cold upstairs bedrooms with their new rag dolls and plopped down in a circle near the fire.
For a while, the spinning wheel's whir, the knitting needles clank, the checkers thunks were the only noises in the cabin. The wind howling and the windows rattling kept them reminded of the snowstorm raging outside. Soon Bess grew tired of listening to the storm. It reminded her that Pap was out there somewhere in the cold. She needed something else to think about. "Mama, tell us what it was like in the winter when you were a little girl. Did yer Pap have to go out on days like this and check his cattle?"
"Papa has always been a hard worker like yer Pap, but we had workers called slaves that did most of the work, cause my father owned a lot of land back then. They called it a plantation. We lived in a big white house with six columns and when I and my brothers and sisters were small we had a nanny that helped our mother look after our needs."
"Were ya rich, Mama?" asked Bess.
"If we were, I didn't realize it at the time, but I suppose we had as much as most folks before the war." A far away look passed over Nannie's face. She let go with a long drawn out sigh. "After the war between the states, everyone had a much different life. Papa lost everything but that small piece of land he and Mama live on now. It being next to the Little River was a blessing. Papa built the grist mill and has made a good living ever since."
"It's been a while since Pap left. Shouldn't he be back by now?" Sid asked his mother as he jumped Lue's last checker. He listened to the gale force winds whip around the house and worried about his father being out in the storm.
"Yip," agreed Lue. "I think his hour must have been up a long time ago, Mama."
"Supposen we should go see what's keepen him?" Don, uncomfortable on the hard floor, wanted any excuse to stop the domino game, because he was losing.
"Just wait a bit. Ya have to go out in this awful weather soon enough to do chores. Maybe yer pap will be back by then." Nannie spoke calmly though her forehead wrinkled with worry creases.
More time passed, the storm moved on. Beyond the cabin was quiet. Still Jacob wasn't back. "Mama, we better go hunt fer Pap. He should have been back afore now," Sid insisted as he looked out the window. "The storm's let up, and still no sign of him comen down the pasture hill."
"Spect yer right. Don and Lue, you all go hunt fer Pap. Sid, you and Tom go start the chores. They need to be done. It'll be dark soon."
"Sure, Mama," the boys cried in unison as they rushed for the row of coats.
Reaching for his coat, Lue's hand caught on something on Jacob's empty nail. "What's this here?"
"Yarn," said Don.
"Sure enough is. Ain't this the color of Pap's scarf?" Lue ran his fingers along the yarn to where it was caught under the door. "Pap must have caught his scarf on the nail, and it's comen undone." Lue opened the door, and lifted up on the brown yarn to pop it from under the snow drift on the porch. Untwisting the end that was hooked on Jacob's coat nail, Lue rolled the yarn into a ball. "Don, let's follow this here string. Maybe it'll lead us to Pap."
."That could be hopeless. As long as Pap's scarf is, he could have gone the whole length of the Blue Ridge Mountains afore that scarf would come undone enough that he'd notice it's missen." Don giggled as he stepped out on the porch behind Lue.
Wood smoke hung heavily in the air, caught in a down draft created by the north wind coming over the roof. Lue and Don walked through the smoky, snow drifted yard, down the lane, and up the pasture hill. Once in a while the overcast sky spit a few lacy flakes at them as a last reminder of the storm.
They trod toward the blue gray horizon. The only sound breaking the silence was the rhythmic crunch underfoot as the boys struggled through the deep snow. Rolling the ball of icy yarn while he walked, Lue gently pulled to lift it from under the snow so he wouldn't break it. This yarn was the only trace of Jacob, because the blowing snow had long ago filled his tracks.
At the base of the hill's backside, the boys found the Christmas tree laying where Jacob had dropped it. A flock of sparrows fluttered off the branches and flew away, disturbed from their popcorn feast by the boys approach.
Lue cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled, "Pap, Pap!"
The echo, P-A-A-P, P-A-A-P, bounced back at them from the distant ridge. Over the wind's eerie moan, it whistled through the frosted, white pines and the leafless trees blanketed in snow.
"Look! There's the cows over yonder by the creek." Lue pointed in that direction. He felt the cold air sting the tip of his chilled, blue finger, sticking out of the hole in his wool glove. "Maybe Pap's over there."
"Maybe he went to see if the creek's froze over. He'd have to break the ice so the cattle could drink ifen it was," Don puffed, sending small clouds of steam floating away in front of his face.
At the top of the knoll, the boys spotted at the same time a brown hump moving in the snow some distance from them. "Pap!" Lue and Don yelled together as they staggered along through the deep snow. Lue had stopped rolling the yarn and stuck the ball in his coat pocket. The rest of the yarn trailed behind him, leaving a small groove in the snow as it popped to the surface.
The boys heard a groan escaped Jacob's blue lips when they reached his snow covered form. "Pap, what happened," Lue panted, dropping to his knees beside his father. "What's wrong with ya?"
Jacob's face contorted with pain as he struggled to speak. "I -- I tripped on an icy rock hidden in the snow. I -- I think I broke my leg."
"Hold on. We'll get ya home," Lue assured him. "Don, break off some branches on that old, snaggled tree over yonder to make a splint. I'll roll up the rest of this yarn."
"Why bother with that yarn now?" Don puzzled. "We found Pap."
"We need it to hold a splint on his broken leg. Now hurry up afore Pap freezes to death." Hearing his father's teeth chattering behind his trembling, blue lips, Lue knew they had to work fast.
Don laid the sticks down around Jacob's leg, and gently lifted it. Jacob moaned softly as the movement caused his pain to increase. As fast as he could, Lue ran the yarn ball around and up and down the splint to hold the sticks tightly to the leg until the ball was gone.
"Pap, we're ready to start toten ya home now. Don, hep me lift him." Lue lifted under Jacob's arms. Don picked up his father's legs. Jacob, pain searing through him, cried out and fainted. "He's better off not feelin' this," Lue comment, struggling to keep his balance in the snow. "He's heavy to tote in this deep snow so we're not gonen to be able to move fast."
Soon exhausted, the boys gently laid the unconscious man down in the snow, then sat down beside him to rest. "Kin we make it home with Pap afore dark?" panted Don.
"Sure we kin. Just rest a minute." Lue had to be optimistic for Don's sake even though he knew it'd be dark soon.
"I don't know. I'm pooped."
"I sure do wish we had a cart to carry Pap," Lue wished, trying to get his brother on another subject besides himself.
Moo -- oo! Just then the jersey cow, Daisy, greeted them as she climbed the hill on her way to the barn for the nightly milking. A creature of habit, instinct told her where the cow path was even when it lay buried beneath the snow.
"Don!" Lue grabbed his brother's arm. "There's our cart comen now."
"Ya've gone crazy from the cold. That's Daisy."
"I know that. Stop her, and we'll put Pap on her."
"Think we kin?"
"Sure. She lets the younguns ride her to the barn all the time, don't she?"
"Yep, but Pap is heavier than the younguns, and he cain't sit up."
"So we'll hold him on. Go catch her."
Don met the family's tawny colored milk cow, and walked along side her toward Lue and Pap. Calmly, she watched him with her large, dark brown eyes while she tromped up the hill. As soon as the cow and Don were even with Jacob, he put his arms around her neck to stop her. "Lue, undo what's left of that scarf around Pap's neck and hand it to me. I'll put it around Daisy's neck to hep hold her."
"Here it is." Lue tossed Don the scarf. "Now hold on to Daisy."
He put his hands under Jacob's arms, straining to lift his father's limp body. Don, with his free hand, grabbed the seat of Jacob's pants to help boost him, but Daisy's ice covered, broad back was slick and so were Jacob's snow covered clothes. Add to that the fact that their fingers were numb from the cold. The boys couldn't keep their grip on the heavy man's clothes. Jacob slid head first over the other side of the cow, sinking into the deep snow. Fluffy flakes billowed around him, dusting him with a new layer of snow. He lay in a motionless, frosted heap with his brown yarn, splinted leg sticking up in the air like a fence post.
"Don, ya shouldn't have pushed so hard," Lue accused running around the cow.
"Me push hard! I only had one hand to use. I'm holden the cow with the other one. Ya was supposed to hold onto Pap!" Don argued in his defense, trying to hold Daisy still when she sidestepped to see what had happened beside her.
Once again, Lue lifted Pap. Don grabbed hold of the seat of his pants, and together, they boosted him slowly onto Daisy's back. With a better grip this time, Lue held his father in place.
"Don, get Daisy moven."
"Come on, Daisy. Head fer the barn," Don coaxed, tugging on the scarf around the cow's neck.
The dusky, afternoon light rapidly faded into night. Standing in the barn door, Sid and Tom strained to see through the twilight, watching for Daisy when they saw their brothers wading the snow on the pasture hill, leading the milk cow. When they were close enough for Sid and Tom to make out that Daisy had a burden on her back, the boys burst from the barn door to meet Lue and Don.
Don led the cow close to the porch and held her as Sid helped Lue remove Jacob. Tom held the door open while the boys carried their father in and laid him by the fireplace. Cass and Bess hurried to the cookstove to get Lue and Don a cup of coffee while the cold boys dropped down close to the fire, sticking their numb hands toward the fire.. Alma and Veder scurried off to bring quilts to cover them to stop their shivering. Nannie knelt down beside Jacob to see what she needed to do for him.
"We'll need to set his leg afore he wakes up, Mama. It's broke," Lue said as he wrapped his cold fingers around the steaming cup Bess handed him. "He tripped on a rock up in the pasture."
"Boys, after I get this splint cut away, hep me get his pants offen him."
Sid and Tom removed Jacob's jeans, then Nannie rolled his long john leg up to inspect the white indented spot on his right leg shin. "Sid, Tom, Lue and Don hold him still while I pull on his leg to set it. I got to get this done afore his leg starts to swell now that he's in here where its warm," Nannie instructed.
The boys took a tight grip on each side of Jacob, and with a pained expression on their faces, they turned their heads away so they wouldn't have to watch. Nannie jerked hard on the leg. A grating crunch sounded as bone ground against bone when it popped back into place.
"Dillard, bring me some of the longer pieces of kindling from the wood box. Alma, get some strips of cloth out of the medicine box. Sid and Tom get back at those chores now. Might as well get 'em over with," Nannie ordered.
"We's about done cept fer milken Daisy, Mama. She's still standen in the yard. I'll take her to the barn," said Sid, putting on his coat.
With Cass and Bess holding Jacob's leg between the sticks, Nannie wrapped the cloth strips tightly around the kindling. "Now, younguns, get busy rubben Pap's hands and feet. He may have frostbite. Lue and Don, ya two ought to get back over by the fire and warm up. Ya look most froze to death."
Just then Jacob groaned softly. The family stopped what they were doing and quickly gathered around him He opened his eyes and turned his head from side to side as he focused on the concerned faces leaning over him.
"Lay still, Pap. Ya're home now," Lue assured him.
"How ya feelen?" asked Don.
"My leg throbs somethen awful. I know it's broke and should hurt, but fer some reason, I have one heck of a headache, too," he said, rubbing the top of his head.
Nannie caught the look that passed between Lue and Don, but she decided this was no time to find out what they knew about Pap's headache. It could be he hit his head when he fell and just didn't remember it, but she made a mental note that later she should get the boys alone and find out the details of Jacob's rescue.
"The boys found ya and brought ya home, Jacob. Yer goen to be okay so jest rest easy." Nannie stroked her husband's shoulder, relieved that Jacob seemed to be alert.
"Thank ye, boys," Jacob whispered weakly. "I don't know how ya found me so fast, but I'm glad that ya did afore I froze to death."
"It was easy," Lue said with a grinned. "The scarf Bess made led us to ya."
"My scarf?"
For proof, Don held the much shorter, brown scarf up for Jacob to see. Bess's Christmas gift had loops showing all along one end with a piece of yarn dangling ready to release a new row.
A weak smile spread across Jacob's face. "I hope all of ya hold Bess's gift in a new light after this."
"Yep, we sure do. It helped keep ya warm, and saved yer life, too," Don said.
Wanting to contribute something to the scarf's praise, Dillard piped up with, "It sure made a great lead rope for Daisy."
Everyone burst out laughing. Bess looked over at her mother who was watching her for a reaction, because she knew how sensitive Bess had been about that scarf. Nannie shouldn't have worried. Bess laughed right along with everyone else. She could see the humor of their milk cow wearing Pap's brown woolen scarf around her neck.
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Chapter 1
The Brown Woolen Scarf
Bess Bishop Thompson drove her car as close as she could get to the rubble. She climbed out, leaning heavily on her can. She had to pick her way carefully through the shaggy grass and waist high weeds.
Ahead of her was a termit infested wood pile that used to be the Bishop family log cabin. The rock fireplace, covered with wild honeysuckle and moss, stood in the middle of the rubble, a monument to long gone days and memories. Bess plopped down on a tree stump, the remains of the yard's mulberry shade tree.
She shivered when the northernly breeze hit her. She pulled her shawl thighter around herself and rubbed away the goosebumps on her arms. She should get back in the car where it was warmer, but a melancholy urge tugged at her to stay put longer. She hadn't come all this way to leave so quickly.
The trees, in full dress on the ridge, were vibrant colors of red, oranges and yellows. Bess remembered that vivid sight so well. Just one of the reasons she loved living on that ridge. Moments, memories and sounds flickered through her mind like the reel of film at a movie threater.
She could hear the laughter of her brothers and sisters coming from within the cabin heap. Her mother calling loud and clear for the younguns to behave. Her father's baritone voice, reading a story to them by the fireplace.
It was just as well in 1903 that she and her family didn't know how the year was going to play out. Not that every moment of the twelve months were that bad, but the way January started out should have been a warning to the Bishops if they had been paying attention to bad omens.
Sitting by what was left of her childhood home near Riner, Virgina in the Blue Ride Mountains, Bess closed her eyes to see the mental picture of days gone by. She listened to the sounds of that long ago January blizzard in her head. It was a winter morning. Bess shivered as she listened to the north wind's mighty roar. With a sound akin to the wail of a prowling panther, the wind announced a snowstorm's approach to the hollow before it pounced on the log cabin.
By noon, a constant tapping of sleet mixed with wet snow drumed on the cabin's tin roof. By lunch time, Jacob and Nannie Bishop and the other ten children realized as Bess did that the blizzard had arrived on their portion of the ridge. Six years old Dillard gulped down the last bite from a stewed rabbit leg, and tossed the bone on his blue and white enameled plate. He slid off the handmade, wooden, ladder back chair and ran to the only window in the combination kitchen and living room. Standing on tiptoes, he flattened his nose against the pane. His blonde hair, curled like tightly coiled springs, created Os on the frosty glass where he pressed his forehead to peek through a clear slit near the top of the window.
He stared beyond the ripples of drifting snow banked on the porch. The white mounds grew larger each time he looked. Antsy to get out of the cabin, Dillard daydreamed of playing in the snow. His imagination saw fierce snowball fights and making snowmen in the front yard with his brothers and sisters when the storm finally ceased. Bored, he declared, "Still snowen." Glumly, he watched the haze of snowflakes swirl across the yard.
"We know that without ya tellen us, Dillard," Veder snapped at him, ready for a fight. She didn't like being housebound in the winter anymore than he did.
"Cass, Bess, and Alma, stack the dishes, and I'll heet the water," ordered Nannie, leaning her wide hips against the kitchen counter for a moment.
Ten year old Bess, who resembled her mother in many ways, studied Nannie. She noted the fact that her mother paused to rest at the counter. Nannie looked tired, and that worried Bess. She wondered if any of the other children had noticed their mother didn't look well. With all the work Nannie did for her large family, it was no wonder she'd be tired. It appeared to be too much for her of late. Bess meant to say something to Cass when they were alone. Born in between the older boys, Cass, twenty years old, worked along side her mother. Mama told her things so Cass would know if Mama wasn't feeling well. Picking up the blue and white granite plates, Bess scraped the rabbit bones and scraps of food all on one plate for the coon hounds to chew on later and stacked the rest.
Alma did her part by walking around the table to gather up all the silverware then carried it to the work counter.
Holding the long handled, aluminum dipper to one side with her thumb, Nannie tipped the wooden bucket to pour water into a large, tin dishpan. Carrying the pan carefully so she wouldn't spill the water, she placed it on one of the circle lids on the wood cookstove's hot, black surface.
"The rest of ya younguns, let's get out of the way. I'm goen to sit next to the fire fer a spell." Jacob eased his short, stocky frame into his rocking chair close to the crackling, red-yellow flames that danced over the logs in the large, rock fireplace. Combing his fingers through his thick, dark brown hair to flattened it, he leaned forward, extending his calloused palms toward the fire's warmth. The younger children rushed to position themselves near to him on the floor, squealing and shoving to move each other out of the way.
"Younguns, ifen you don't have anything better to do, that Christmas tree needs took down. It's turnen brown and droppen needles all over the place," suggested Nannie. She figured it was best to keep her restless younguns busy so they wouldn't be squabbling with each other.
"It's sticky, Mama. Do we have to take every thing offen it?" Lillie's light, brown pigtails stretched down the back of her faded, blue dress when the plump, eight year old frowned up at the tall, cedar tree standing in the corner of the room.
"Leave the popcorn strings on it fer the birds. They'll be glad fer feed in weather like this, but take off all the tinsel and the star. Stick em back in the Christmas box fer next year," instructed Nannie while she spread a Red Rooster feed sack, dish towel over the bowls of leftover fried potatoes, turnips and green beans she'd placed on one end of the long, wooden table. "Well fer once supper won't take too long to fix with all these leftovers," she said to Bess. It wasn't hard to hear the sound of relief that filled her mother's voice, because she wouldn't have to spend a lot of time cooking the next meal.
Surrounding the cedar tree, Lillie, Veder, and three year old Lydia, stood on tiptoes with arms stretched up, gingerly pinching off all the silver tinsel that they could reach without getting stuck by the tree's needles. Twenty two year old Sid, eighteen year old Tom, and sixteen year old Don, picked off the tinsel higher on the tree, and thirteen year old Lue, being the tallest, stretched his lanky frame on tiptoes to lift off the gold foil star atop the tree.
"The tree's cleaned off, Pap," Don announced, dropping the last piece of tinsel from his chubby fingers into the wooden box marked, "Christmas".
"Good! Reckon I'll drag it off when I go check the cows."
"Snow's still comen down good, Pap," Dillard forecasted from his post at the window.
Feeling a cold dampness ooze into the soles of his heavy woolen socks, Dillard looked down and frowned. A trail of water trickled along the wall from the line of tallow slicked shoes that sat beneath the row of winter coats and pooled under his feet. No one had overshoes or boots in those days so animal fat scraps were rendered by heating them until the lard melted out. Tallow was spread on the one pair of shoes that Pap made each of them. That coating kept the shoes water proof and softer.
Joining the others by the fireplace, Dillard sat down, turning his feet to the fire. He wrinkled his nose at the odor of wet wool as the heat seeped through the socks to warm his feet.
"Don't worry about me. I'll find my way. I always do," Jacob assured Dillard as he stood and stretched. "Anyway I reckon the cows will bunch up on the back side of the pasture hill so I won't have too far to go." Jacob put on his coat, hat, and boots then reached for a brown, woolen scarf hanging on his coat nail. "Besides, I'll be plenty warm in my new scarf that Bess knitted me for Christmas."
At the mention of her name, Bess turned from the dish pan to look at her father. He smiled and winked at her. Bess winked back with a twinkle in her dark eyes. Her round face showed appreciation of the fact that he liked the scarf she'd knitted for him. She watched him wrap the extra long scarf twice around his neck, and over his head, then throw the ends over his shoulders to trail down the back of his heavy, brown coat.
The other children held their hands over their mouths and snickered at Jacob's remark. They remembered him opening Bess's gift. He pulled out the scarf -- and pulled -- and pulled. Bess's proud expectations had turned to consternation when the other children giggled at the scarf's extra long length, but Jacob, blue eyes twinkling, looked serious as he thanked Bess for his warm gift.
When Bess told her mother waht she watned to make her father for a gift, Nannie gave Bess a choice of colors for the wool. Then Nannie helped Bess dye the wool. Soaking the fibers in black walnut hulls would make brown, hazelbark made black coloring and polkberries made purple. Bess chose brown. After Nannie spun the wool fibers, Bess knitted every moment when Pap wasn't near to see what she was making.
Jacob knew the effort it took to knit this gift. To silence the children before they hurt Bess feelings, he sternly reminded the children how hard Bess worked on his scarf. Also, he added that he liked his Christmas gift the length it was.
A blast of bitterly, cold wind rushed through the open door and swept across the room to the fireplace, causing red flames to shoot up and flicker wildly back and forth. Dragging the tree behind him onto the porch as quickly as he could, Jacob yelled above the roar of the wind before he shut the door, "I reckon to be back in about an hour."
Going to the wooden, steamer trunk, covered with more scars then paint from years of use, that set in the large room's far corner, Tom, a skinny young man, lifted the heavy, rounded lid. "I'm goen to get out the games. Who wants the checkers, and who wants the dominoes?"
"I'll take the checkers, and Lue can play me first," Sid suggested, sitting down Indian fashion opposite Lue on the floor. He expected to win at the game. He usually beat everyone in the family except their father.
Tom spilled the dominoes onto the floor, and Don plopped down across from him. Settling down near his brothers to watch, Dillard hoped that the winner of one of the games would let him play.
When the dishes were done, Nannie pulled her spinning wheel away from the wall next to the stairway door. She dragged it and a gunny sack of carded wool over near the fireplace where the lighting was better. Settling her ample frame on the stool, she smoothed the wrinkles out of her apron and tucked a stray wisp of gray streaked brown hair into the bun on the top of her head. Then she began to pedal while she fed a few fluffy, white, wool fibers through her fingers to the whirling machine.
Spinning relaxed her. Maybe because it was hypnotic to watch the wheel turning while thoughts rambled around in her head or maybe since she was always tried sitting down to spin was a good excuse to get off her feet. Which ever it was, Nannie didn't have time to sit and do nothing, but she could sit down to spin without feeling quilty.
Clink, clink came from near the fireplace where Cass, Bess, and Alma sat. The older girl, Cass, patiently showed her younger sisters how to knit some of the curves to make the heel in the socks. Then the fast, flying knitting needles the girls held changed the wool yarn Nannie spun into various sizes of socks, and later on they'd knit gloves and scarves for the family. The girls learned to knit at nine years old. First, they'd knit their own socks, gloves and scarves then knit for other members of the family.
The younger girls -- Lillie, Lydia and Veder came scurrying down from the cold upstairs bedrooms with their new rag dolls and plopped down in a circle near the fire.
For a while, the spinning wheel's whir, the knitting needles clank, the checkers thunks were the only noises in the cabin. The wind howling and the windows rattling kept them reminded of the snowstorm raging outside. Soon Bess grew tired of listening to the storm. It reminded her that Pap was out there somewhere in the cold. She needed something else to think about. "Mama, tell us what it was like in the winter when you were a little girl. Did yer Pap have to go out on days like this and check his cattle?"
"Papa has always been a hard worker like yer Pap, but we had workers called slaves that did most of the work, cause my father owned a lot of land back then. They called it a plantation. We lived in a big white house with six columns and when I and my brothers and sisters were small we had a nanny that helped our mother look after our needs."
"Were ya rich, Mama?" asked Bess.
"If we were, I didn't realize it at the time, but I suppose we had as much as most folks before the war." A far away look passed over Nannie's face. She let go with a long drawn out sigh. "After the war between the states, everyone had a much different life. Papa lost everything but that small piece of land he and Mama live on now. It being next to the Little River was a blessing. Papa built the grist mill and has made a good living ever since."
"It's been a while since Pap left. Shouldn't he be back by now?" Sid asked his mother as he jumped Lue's last checker. He listened to the gale force winds whip around the house and worried about his father being out in the storm.
"Yip," agreed Lue. "I think his hour must have been up a long time ago, Mama."
"Supposen we should go see what's keepen him?" Don, uncomfortable on the hard floor, wanted any excuse to stop the domino game, because he was losing.
"Just wait a bit. Ya have to go out in this awful weather soon enough to do chores. Maybe yer pap will be back by then." Nannie spoke calmly though her forehead wrinkled with worry creases.
More time passed, the storm moved on. Beyond the cabin was quiet. Still Jacob wasn't back. "Mama, we better go hunt fer Pap. He should have been back afore now," Sid insisted as he looked out the window. "The storm's let up, and still no sign of him comen down the pasture hill."
"Spect yer right. Don and Lue, you all go hunt fer Pap. Sid, you and Tom go start the chores. They need to be done. It'll be dark soon."
"Sure, Mama," the boys cried in unison as they rushed for the row of coats.
Reaching for his coat, Lue's hand caught on something on Jacob's empty nail. "What's this here?"
"Yarn," said Don.
"Sure enough is. Ain't this the color of Pap's scarf?" Lue ran his fingers along the yarn to where it was caught under the door. "Pap must have caught his scarf on the nail, and it's comen undone." Lue opened the door, and lifted up on the brown yarn to pop it from under the snow drift on the porch. Untwisting the end that was hooked on Jacob's coat nail, Lue rolled the yarn into a ball. "Don, let's follow this here string. Maybe it'll lead us to Pap."
."That could be hopeless. As long as Pap's scarf is, he could have gone the whole length of the Blue Ridge Mountains afore that scarf would come undone enough that he'd notice it's missen." Don giggled as he stepped out on the porch behind Lue.
Wood smoke hung heavily in the air, caught in a down draft created by the north wind coming over the roof. Lue and Don walked through the smoky, snow drifted yard, down the lane, and up the pasture hill. Once in a while the overcast sky spit a few lacy flakes at them as a last reminder of the storm.
They trod toward the blue gray horizon. The only sound breaking the silence was the rhythmic crunch underfoot as the boys struggled through the deep snow. Rolling the ball of icy yarn while he walked, Lue gently pulled to lift it from under the snow so he wouldn't break it. This yarn was the only trace of Jacob, because the blowing snow had long ago filled his tracks.
At the base of the hill's backside, the boys found the Christmas tree laying where Jacob had dropped it. A flock of sparrows fluttered off the branches and flew away, disturbed from their popcorn feast by the boys approach.
Lue cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled, "Pap, Pap!"
The echo, P-A-A-P, P-A-A-P, bounced back at them from the distant ridge. Over the wind's eerie moan, it whistled through the frosted, white pines and the leafless trees blanketed in snow.
"Look! There's the cows over yonder by the creek." Lue pointed in that direction. He felt the cold air sting the tip of his chilled, blue finger, sticking out of the hole in his wool glove. "Maybe Pap's over there."
"Maybe he went to see if the creek's froze over. He'd have to break the ice so the cattle could drink ifen it was," Don puffed, sending small clouds of steam floating away in front of his face.
At the top of the knoll, the boys spotted at the same time a brown hump moving in the snow some distance from them. "Pap!" Lue and Don yelled together as they staggered along through the deep snow. Lue had stopped rolling the yarn and stuck the ball in his coat pocket. The rest of the yarn trailed behind him, leaving a small groove in the snow as it popped to the surface.
The boys heard a groan escaped Jacob's blue lips when they reached his snow covered form. "Pap, what happened," Lue panted, dropping to his knees beside his father. "What's wrong with ya?"
Jacob's face contorted with pain as he struggled to speak. "I -- I tripped on an icy rock hidden in the snow. I -- I think I broke my leg."
"Hold on. We'll get ya home," Lue assured him. "Don, break off some branches on that old, snaggled tree over yonder to make a splint. I'll roll up the rest of this yarn."
"Why bother with that yarn now?" Don puzzled. "We found Pap."
"We need it to hold a splint on his broken leg. Now hurry up afore Pap freezes to death." Hearing his father's teeth chattering behind his trembling, blue lips, Lue knew they had to work fast.
Don laid the sticks down around Jacob's leg, and gently lifted it. Jacob moaned softly as the movement caused his pain to increase. As fast as he could, Lue ran the yarn ball around and up and down the splint to hold the sticks tightly to the leg until the ball was gone.
"Pap, we're ready to start toten ya home now. Don, hep me lift him." Lue lifted under Jacob's arms. Don picked up his father's legs. Jacob, pain searing through him, cried out and fainted. "He's better off not feelin' this," Lue comment, struggling to keep his balance in the snow. "He's heavy to tote in this deep snow so we're not gonen to be able to move fast."
Soon exhausted, the boys gently laid the unconscious man down in the snow, then sat down beside him to rest. "Kin we make it home with Pap afore dark?" panted Don.
"Sure we kin. Just rest a minute." Lue had to be optimistic for Don's sake even though he knew it'd be dark soon.
"I don't know. I'm pooped."
"I sure do wish we had a cart to carry Pap," Lue wished, trying to get his brother on another subject besides himself.
Moo -- oo! Just then the jersey cow, Daisy, greeted them as she climbed the hill on her way to the barn for the nightly milking. A creature of habit, instinct told her where the cow path was even when it lay buried beneath the snow.
"Don!" Lue grabbed his brother's arm. "There's our cart comen now."
"Ya've gone crazy from the cold. That's Daisy."
"I know that. Stop her, and we'll put Pap on her."
"Think we kin?"
"Sure. She lets the younguns ride her to the barn all the time, don't she?"
"Yep, but Pap is heavier than the younguns, and he cain't sit up."
"So we'll hold him on. Go catch her."
Don met the family's tawny colored milk cow, and walked along side her toward Lue and Pap. Calmly, she watched him with her large, dark brown eyes while she tromped up the hill. As soon as the cow and Don were even with Jacob, he put his arms around her neck to stop her. "Lue, undo what's left of that scarf around Pap's neck and hand it to me. I'll put it around Daisy's neck to hep hold her."
"Here it is." Lue tossed Don the scarf. "Now hold on to Daisy."
He put his hands under Jacob's arms, straining to lift his father's limp body. Don, with his free hand, grabbed the seat of Jacob's pants to help boost him, but Daisy's ice covered, broad back was slick and so were Jacob's snow covered clothes. Add to that the fact that their fingers were numb from the cold. The boys couldn't keep their grip on the heavy man's clothes. Jacob slid head first over the other side of the cow, sinking into the deep snow. Fluffy flakes billowed around him, dusting him with a new layer of snow. He lay in a motionless, frosted heap with his brown yarn, splinted leg sticking up in the air like a fence post.
"Don, ya shouldn't have pushed so hard," Lue accused running around the cow.
"Me push hard! I only had one hand to use. I'm holden the cow with the other one. Ya was supposed to hold onto Pap!" Don argued in his defense, trying to hold Daisy still when she sidestepped to see what had happened beside her.
Once again, Lue lifted Pap. Don grabbed hold of the seat of his pants, and together, they boosted him slowly onto Daisy's back. With a better grip this time, Lue held his father in place.
"Don, get Daisy moven."
"Come on, Daisy. Head fer the barn," Don coaxed, tugging on the scarf around the cow's neck.
The dusky, afternoon light rapidly faded into night. Standing in the barn door, Sid and Tom strained to see through the twilight, watching for Daisy when they saw their brothers wading the snow on the pasture hill, leading the milk cow. When they were close enough for Sid and Tom to make out that Daisy had a burden on her back, the boys burst from the barn door to meet Lue and Don.
Don led the cow close to the porch and held her as Sid helped Lue remove Jacob. Tom held the door open while the boys carried their father in and laid him by the fireplace. Cass and Bess hurried to the cookstove to get Lue and Don a cup of coffee while the cold boys dropped down close to the fire, sticking their numb hands toward the fire.. Alma and Veder scurried off to bring quilts to cover them to stop their shivering. Nannie knelt down beside Jacob to see what she needed to do for him.
"We'll need to set his leg afore he wakes up, Mama. It's broke," Lue said as he wrapped his cold fingers around the steaming cup Bess handed him. "He tripped on a rock up in the pasture."
"Boys, after I get this splint cut away, hep me get his pants offen him."
Sid and Tom removed Jacob's jeans, then Nannie rolled his long john leg up to inspect the white indented spot on his right leg shin. "Sid, Tom, Lue and Don hold him still while I pull on his leg to set it. I got to get this done afore his leg starts to swell now that he's in here where its warm," Nannie instructed.
The boys took a tight grip on each side of Jacob, and with a pained expression on their faces, they turned their heads away so they wouldn't have to watch. Nannie jerked hard on the leg. A grating crunch sounded as bone ground against bone when it popped back into place.
"Dillard, bring me some of the longer pieces of kindling from the wood box. Alma, get some strips of cloth out of the medicine box. Sid and Tom get back at those chores now. Might as well get 'em over with," Nannie ordered.
"We's about done cept fer milken Daisy, Mama. She's still standen in the yard. I'll take her to the barn," said Sid, putting on his coat.
With Cass and Bess holding Jacob's leg between the sticks, Nannie wrapped the cloth strips tightly around the kindling. "Now, younguns, get busy rubben Pap's hands and feet. He may have frostbite. Lue and Don, ya two ought to get back over by the fire and warm up. Ya look most froze to death."
Just then Jacob groaned softly. The family stopped what they were doing and quickly gathered around him He opened his eyes and turned his head from side to side as he focused on the concerned faces leaning over him.
"Lay still, Pap. Ya're home now," Lue assured him.
"How ya feelen?" asked Don.
"My leg throbs somethen awful. I know it's broke and should hurt, but fer some reason, I have one heck of a headache, too," he said, rubbing the top of his head.
Nannie caught the look that passed between Lue and Don, but she decided this was no time to find out what they knew about Pap's headache. It could be he hit his head when he fell and just didn't remember it, but she made a mental note that later she should get the boys alone and find out the details of Jacob's rescue.
"The boys found ya and brought ya home, Jacob. Yer goen to be okay so jest rest easy." Nannie stroked her husband's shoulder, relieved that Jacob seemed to be alert.
"Thank ye, boys," Jacob whispered weakly. "I don't know how ya found me so fast, but I'm glad that ya did afore I froze to death."
"It was easy," Lue said with a grinned. "The scarf Bess made led us to ya."
"My scarf?"
For proof, Don held the much shorter, brown scarf up for Jacob to see. Bess's Christmas gift had loops showing all along one end with a piece of yarn dangling ready to release a new row.
A weak smile spread across Jacob's face. "I hope all of ya hold Bess's gift in a new light after this."
"Yep, we sure do. It helped keep ya warm, and saved yer life, too," Don said.
Wanting to contribute something to the scarf's praise, Dillard piped up with, "It sure made a great lead rope for Daisy."
Everyone burst out laughing. Bess looked over at her mother who was watching her for a reaction, because she knew how sensitive Bess had been about that scarf. Nannie shouldn't have worried. Bess laughed right along with everyone else. She could see the humor of their milk cow wearing Pap's brown woolen scarf around her neck.
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Friday, September 4, 2009
Imagination Meets Life
Today I realize how totally out of shape I must be. The only parts of me that don’t ache are my fingers. That’s what walking for hours on rough ground and rocks did for me yesterday, but I wouldn’t have traded the beautiful day or experiences for anything.
We spent yesterday at the Old Thrasher’s Reunion in Mt. Pleasant, Iowa and thoroughly enjoyed it. I highly recommend going if you like to go back in time to see how hard it was for farmers before all the modern equipment. It’s on through Monday. Hay making, corn shelling and wood cutting demonstrations abound. Two trains, trolley cars and tractor pulled carts haul people. On the hour, three lawmen have a shoot out with bank robbers or train robbers. Saloon girls put on a show. Two schools are in session through the day. We were invited to join a spelling bee, but I declined. I told the woman I didn’t spell a word without spell check on my computer.
For me, the adventure was like research from studying people to taking pictures of antiques that I might use in a story. The highlight for me was a young woman I watched weaving a rug in a log cabin in the settlers village. I talked to her about helping my mother weave rugs on Mom’s three looms. One of those looms was of 1900 vintage and steel. Took four men to get the loom into Mom’s house and that was in pieces.
Next we talked quilting and I told her I had been to Kalona in April to see the Amish quilt show. The woman mentioned she was in Home Health Care in Kalona and had a client that was Amish - Mennonite. She had visited on a day there was a quilting bee in session which thrilled her. What thrilled me about the story was how close my imagination came to real life in my latest book - A Promise Is A Promise ISBN 0982459505 . This is the story of a Home Health Nurse working in Amish country. I had every intention of telling the woman about my book but we were interrupted so I moved on. So much to see and so little time.
Of course, we had to sample as much food as we could consume and not much of it met the food pyramid. Funnel cakes about two inches high that filled a paper plate, homemade ice cream (close to a pint in that cup), a hamburger, popcorn in a sack larger than a microwave sack and a quart of homemade ice tea. By the time we got home, we weren’t hungry.
We stopped in the theater and walked through all the memorabilia from early stage productions complete with letters on the wall from some famous actors. Suddenly, we were joined by a greeter. She wanted to tell us the story of her family’s stage career in the twenties to forties. She was one of 8 siblings who performed with their parents in juggling and acrobat and actors hired by her father did plays. They lived in hotels and later a grayhound bus and performed out of tents as well as theaters. The scrapbook, she complied of their travels, had been put together from Internet research and newspaper archives. Proudly, she showed us her family history. Finally, she said humbly she hoped we didn’t mind her butting in on our tour. I told her I was delighted. Without her, I would have walked on by that scrapbook and showcase full of memorabilia. It was a thrill to meet her. I hope she continues to suddenly appear for others that come in to look around. The event program says the theater is air conditioned. That might persuade people to venture in just to cool off. Boy, are they in for a treat.
We spent yesterday at the Old Thrasher’s Reunion in Mt. Pleasant, Iowa and thoroughly enjoyed it. I highly recommend going if you like to go back in time to see how hard it was for farmers before all the modern equipment. It’s on through Monday. Hay making, corn shelling and wood cutting demonstrations abound. Two trains, trolley cars and tractor pulled carts haul people. On the hour, three lawmen have a shoot out with bank robbers or train robbers. Saloon girls put on a show. Two schools are in session through the day. We were invited to join a spelling bee, but I declined. I told the woman I didn’t spell a word without spell check on my computer.
For me, the adventure was like research from studying people to taking pictures of antiques that I might use in a story. The highlight for me was a young woman I watched weaving a rug in a log cabin in the settlers village. I talked to her about helping my mother weave rugs on Mom’s three looms. One of those looms was of 1900 vintage and steel. Took four men to get the loom into Mom’s house and that was in pieces.
Next we talked quilting and I told her I had been to Kalona in April to see the Amish quilt show. The woman mentioned she was in Home Health Care in Kalona and had a client that was Amish - Mennonite. She had visited on a day there was a quilting bee in session which thrilled her. What thrilled me about the story was how close my imagination came to real life in my latest book - A Promise Is A Promise ISBN 0982459505 . This is the story of a Home Health Nurse working in Amish country. I had every intention of telling the woman about my book but we were interrupted so I moved on. So much to see and so little time.
Of course, we had to sample as much food as we could consume and not much of it met the food pyramid. Funnel cakes about two inches high that filled a paper plate, homemade ice cream (close to a pint in that cup), a hamburger, popcorn in a sack larger than a microwave sack and a quart of homemade ice tea. By the time we got home, we weren’t hungry.
We stopped in the theater and walked through all the memorabilia from early stage productions complete with letters on the wall from some famous actors. Suddenly, we were joined by a greeter. She wanted to tell us the story of her family’s stage career in the twenties to forties. She was one of 8 siblings who performed with their parents in juggling and acrobat and actors hired by her father did plays. They lived in hotels and later a grayhound bus and performed out of tents as well as theaters. The scrapbook, she complied of their travels, had been put together from Internet research and newspaper archives. Proudly, she showed us her family history. Finally, she said humbly she hoped we didn’t mind her butting in on our tour. I told her I was delighted. Without her, I would have walked on by that scrapbook and showcase full of memorabilia. It was a thrill to meet her. I hope she continues to suddenly appear for others that come in to look around. The event program says the theater is air conditioned. That might persuade people to venture in just to cool off. Boy, are they in for a treat.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
My First Book
I had a grandmother that I grew up respecting and loving. Though Veder Bright had to be prompted to talk about her early years, she did tell me as much as she wanted me to know. While in school, had an assignment to do a family tree. I’ll always be grateful that I talked to Grandma and got all the information she knew. Now communication with second and third cousins on the Internet has helped me fill in more of that family tree. I’m proud that younger relatives ask me for a copy of our tree for their homework. Backgrounds are very important. Trouble is, most people don’t start questioning who was related to who until the elders in their family has passed away. You can find most of the names and dates on the Internet, but that’s not nearly as interesting to me as my grandmother’s stories that went along with those names and dates.
My grandmother, my mother’s mother, died in the late seventies about three years after my grandfather. When many of her nine children cleaned out their parents last home in Belle Plaine, they found the family bible. Under the names and dates of all her children, including the two infants that died, was the sentence in Grandma’s scrawling hand, " My children are more precious than gold".
My grandparents struggled to keep food on the table for their large family during the twenties and thirties. Through all the tough times, those children knew they were loved. They did their best to look after each other. My mother and an uncle have passed away, but to this day though the siblings are scattered between Missouri where they were born and Iowa, they are very close, because family is still important to them.
In the late eighties after the writers workshop in the library, I was thinking at trying my hand to write a book. Hadn’t clue what the story would be. Once day, my mother was looking for something in the antique sideboard in the kitchen. The Great Depression had trained my mother, the eldest of that large family, to never throw anything away. That day, she was rifling through the tablecloths and napkins when a legal size paper slipped out from the pile. She glanced at the paper and handed it to me, wondering if I might be interested in some family history her mother had given her a decade before.
One of Grandma’s sisters had been interviewed by a granddaughter as a 4 H project about their early life and submitted the story to a newspaper in Swea City. My grandmother and her 11 siblings were born in the Blue Ridge Mountains near Riner, Virginia. At the turn of the twentieth century in that area conditions were rough, and families were poor. I found it interesting to read how the Bishop family lived and what they had to do to survive. That was the start of my book project, but I needed to know more so I went to the Keystone Library and checked out a book on Virginia’s Blue Ridge Mountains and the customs of the people. I made extensive notes from that book.
By then I had bought a word processor which had some memory. I don’t remember how long it took me to write the book but at least a year. The title is "My Children Are More Precious Than Gold". Befitting I thought since I assumed my grandmother got her mothering instincts from her mother. Finally, I took a copy in a notebook to my retired teacher mentor. She read and edited the story. Her review was - This book is good reading for anyone and especially a good story for junior readers - sad, funny and dramatic.
I sent out queries and chapters to several publishers but the era the story was written in wasn’t what has been popular with children was my reasoning. That being my first book, down deep I was pretty sure I needed more experience to write a book worth publishing. After months of waiting, I got the rejections slips, gave up and hid the notebook away for over a decade.
My next attempt at writing a book didn’t happen for ten years - 1999.
I've canned several days in a row so now I get a break from that. Oh joy! It's fall house cleaning day.
My next blog will be on Friday. Thursday we are getting up early to make a three hour drive to Mt. Pleasant Iowa for the Old Thrasher Reunion. It has been twenty years since we've been to see it. For awhile we've said the events never change so why go for a repeat, but now after twenty years our memories have dimmed so maybe this trip will seem like a whole new experience.
Gotta go,
booksbyfay
booksbyfay@yahoo to ask about books or buy one.
www.buysellcommunity.com to buy one of my books
www.myentre.net/booksbyfaystore and blog
My grandmother, my mother’s mother, died in the late seventies about three years after my grandfather. When many of her nine children cleaned out their parents last home in Belle Plaine, they found the family bible. Under the names and dates of all her children, including the two infants that died, was the sentence in Grandma’s scrawling hand, " My children are more precious than gold".
My grandparents struggled to keep food on the table for their large family during the twenties and thirties. Through all the tough times, those children knew they were loved. They did their best to look after each other. My mother and an uncle have passed away, but to this day though the siblings are scattered between Missouri where they were born and Iowa, they are very close, because family is still important to them.
In the late eighties after the writers workshop in the library, I was thinking at trying my hand to write a book. Hadn’t clue what the story would be. Once day, my mother was looking for something in the antique sideboard in the kitchen. The Great Depression had trained my mother, the eldest of that large family, to never throw anything away. That day, she was rifling through the tablecloths and napkins when a legal size paper slipped out from the pile. She glanced at the paper and handed it to me, wondering if I might be interested in some family history her mother had given her a decade before.
One of Grandma’s sisters had been interviewed by a granddaughter as a 4 H project about their early life and submitted the story to a newspaper in Swea City. My grandmother and her 11 siblings were born in the Blue Ridge Mountains near Riner, Virginia. At the turn of the twentieth century in that area conditions were rough, and families were poor. I found it interesting to read how the Bishop family lived and what they had to do to survive. That was the start of my book project, but I needed to know more so I went to the Keystone Library and checked out a book on Virginia’s Blue Ridge Mountains and the customs of the people. I made extensive notes from that book.
By then I had bought a word processor which had some memory. I don’t remember how long it took me to write the book but at least a year. The title is "My Children Are More Precious Than Gold". Befitting I thought since I assumed my grandmother got her mothering instincts from her mother. Finally, I took a copy in a notebook to my retired teacher mentor. She read and edited the story. Her review was - This book is good reading for anyone and especially a good story for junior readers - sad, funny and dramatic.
I sent out queries and chapters to several publishers but the era the story was written in wasn’t what has been popular with children was my reasoning. That being my first book, down deep I was pretty sure I needed more experience to write a book worth publishing. After months of waiting, I got the rejections slips, gave up and hid the notebook away for over a decade.
My next attempt at writing a book didn’t happen for ten years - 1999.
I've canned several days in a row so now I get a break from that. Oh joy! It's fall house cleaning day.
My next blog will be on Friday. Thursday we are getting up early to make a three hour drive to Mt. Pleasant Iowa for the Old Thrasher Reunion. It has been twenty years since we've been to see it. For awhile we've said the events never change so why go for a repeat, but now after twenty years our memories have dimmed so maybe this trip will seem like a whole new experience.
Gotta go,
booksbyfay
booksbyfay@yahoo to ask about books or buy one.
www.buysellcommunity.com to buy one of my books
www.myentre.net/booksbyfaystore and blog
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