Harkening back to 18^th century Pennsylvania, and rooted in ancient lore, Groundhog Day is traditionally celebrated on February  2^nd. Perhaps the most famous groundhog, Punxsutawney Phil of Gobbler’s Knob, was immortalized in the 1993 movie Groundhog Day featuring Bill Murray.

Legend says if the groundhog sees his shadow, we’ll have six more weeks of winter. If it’s cloudy, and the groundhog doesn’t see his shadow, we’ll have an early spring. Records have been kept since 1887, and Phil has been correct 39% of the time.  Hmmm, I wonder how that compares to our local weather man….

The groundhog is actually a marmot, also known as a woodchuck or a whistle pig. (I’ve never actually heard of a whistle pig, but if you read it on the internet it must be correct. Right?) Personally, I think a holiday based on a rodent is awesome!

I’m the morale officer at work, and this year we’re showing the Bill Murray movie, and serving pulled pork sandwiches. (Ground hog, get it?) I tried to get the chef to wear a top hat and jacket like the gentlemen in Gobbler’s Knob, but that idea kind of got shot down.  I’m planning on showing The Three Amigos for Cinco de Mayo…I wonder if she’d wear a sombrero….

If you’re not familiar with the plot of Groundhog Day, Bill Murray’s character is forced to relive Groundhog Day in Punxsutawney until he learns a few life lessons. Time only moves forward when he figures out that you can’t cheat death, and you can’t fake love.

So here’s my question of the day: If you could live one day over again, what day would it be? (And you can’t pick wedding days or the births of your children – too easy.) Stretch your memory a little.

Here’s one of mine….Years ago I went to Puerto Rico with a friend. We took a catamaran off the coast, and snorkeled in the shade of the boat. I was young and poor, but I figured a little splurge was in order. One of the ship’s crew had spent time in northern Nebraska, and we shared our thoughts on the difference between our cultures. When we returned, the ship’s crew refused to accept payment from us. They wouldn’t even take a tip! I can still picture the sun sparking off the water, and hear the waves lapping against the boat. I’d relive that day, and take my family with me this time.

What about you?

A wife and mother of three, Sherri’s hobbies include collecting mismatched socks, discovering new ways to avoid cleaning, and standing in the middle of the room while thinking, “Why did I just come in here?” A reformed pessimist and recent hopeful romantic, Sherri has a passion for writing. Her books are fun and fast-paced, with plenty of heart and soul.

Her debut novel, Winning the Widow’s Heart, releases from Harlequin Historical Love Inspired in June. Visit her website at sherrishackelford.com, or email her at sherrishackelford@gmail.com.

I was working on a different blog for this month. But after reading Karen Kay’s beautiful post about Native American sayings, I remembered a story my neighbor gave me a few months ago. In the same spirit, I want to share it with you

First a disclaimer. I have no idea whether this is an authentic Native American tale or just a story somebody made up. If anyone out there knows where it came from I’d love to hear. If it isn’t really Native American I’ll be disappointed – but either way, the lesson is worth remembering. Another disclaimer – the story was given to me on a piece of paper I’ve since lost. So I’ll be retelling it in my own words, with a few embellishments. Please feel free to share this version.

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 An old chief and his small grandson sat by the fire, gazing into the flames. From deep in the forest, a wolf call echoed through the dark night. “There is something I want you to remember,” the chief said. “Inside each person there are two wolves.”

“Do I have two wolves inside me, Grandfather?” the boy asked.

“We all do. And the two wolves are always fighting.”

“Why do they fight, Grandfather?”

“One wolf is good. The other wolf is bad. And they both want to win.

“The good wolf is love, hope, kindness, fairness, generosity, courage, unselfishness, gentleness, cheerfulness, wisdom, respect, honesty and responsibility.

“The bad wolf is anger, hatred, prejudice, cowardice, discouragement, laziness, jealously, selfishness, greed, dishonesty, disrespect, carelessness and cruelty. Every day of your life those two wolves will fight inside you.”

“And which wolf will win?” the boy asked.

The old chief replied, “The wolf you feed.”

Today I want to share with you a little tidbit of history I stumbled across in my research, one I was previously unfamiliar with.

During the early days of the westward movement, when travelers and adventurers were still exploring the Colorado Rockies, there was a legend about a great wonder to be found hidden in a rugged and nearly inaccessible area of the great mountain range.  Rumors floated around for decades about an immense cross of snow that appeared only occasionally on the face of a high mountain peak.  Word of its existence inspired many of the curious and/or devout to seek it out.  But most who claimed to have seen the natural wonder stumbled on the sight accidentally, while others who searched diligently never caught so much as a glimpse.  And even those who saw it, found that it would subsequently disappear from view.

One of the earliest recorded sighting comes from author Samuel Bowles in his 1869 book, The Switzerland of America.  In it he wrote   “Over one of the largest and finest, the snow fields lay in the form of an immense cross, and by this it is known in all the mountain views of the territory. It is as if God has set His sign, His seal, His promise there–a beacon upon the very center and height of the Continent to all its people and all its generations…as if here was a great supply store and workshop of Creation, the fountain of Earth.”

After the Civil War, the Department of the Interior turned its attention to continuing the exploration of the West, including mapping and charting the landscape.  As part of that endeavor they hired photographers and engravers to accompany the expeditions in order to capture images of the environment and the people who populated it.  Photographer William Henry Jackson was picked to accompany the US Geological and Geographic Survey of the Territories from 1870 to 1878.  During that period, Jackson heard the rumors and legends about the extraordinary cross and became determined to be the first to photograph it.  He set out to do so in the summer of 1873.  An experienced wilderness photographer, he led a small party to what was rumored to be the best vantage spot.  But this was no easy trek up the mountain.  This arduous climb involved carrying hundreds of pounds of equipment without the aid of pack animals.  When they finally reached their destination, Jackson and his team spent a night in the high altitude air so that he could be in just the right spot to take the perfect picture when the sun rose.  But all these efforts proved to be worth it.   That photograph won Jackson numerous awards and, among other things, inspired Henry Wadsworth Longfellow to pen his poem The Cross of Snow.

The next year, western artist Thomas Moran accompanied the expedition and made several rough sketches.  When he returned to his studio he did not attempt to create a faithful reproduction of what he’d seen, but rather a “true impression.  As one website stated “In an attempt to capture the “true impression” of the scene rather than a topographical view, Moran freely invented the foreground waterfall in his painting. Forthright about his approach, Moran declared, “I place no value upon literal transcripts from Nature. My general scope is not realistic; all my tendencies are toward idealization….Topography in art is valueless.”  The result was the 7’ x 5’ painting Mountain of the Holy Cross, finished in 1875.

Both Jackson’s photograph and Moran’s painting were exhibited in the 1876 Centennial Exposition held in Philadelphia.  The public was immediately looked for religious implications of this natural wonder.  Many saw the presence of the cross in this particular location as a blessing on the idea of the nation’s Manifest Destiny to continue the westward expansion.  Others went so far as to assign it curative powers.   It became the destination of many pilgrimages and was credited with many cures.

Now for the scientific explanation.  Centuries of erosion carved two very deep ravines in the rugged rock face, and these intersected at a ninety degree angle.  These ravines fill with snow during the winter months, and their steep walls keep that snow sheltered in the spring and part of the summer, well after the rest of the mountain’s snowfall has melted away.  It does eventually melt as well, but for 2-3 months every year, a dramatically perfect white cross could be viewed from great distances.  The vertical portion of the cross is about 1200 feet long and 50 feet wide.  The horizontal arms have a combined length of about 700 feet (though this varies with the season).  The altitude of that particular mountain peak is just over 17,600 feet.

In 1929 President Herbert Hoover designated the Mountain of the Holy Cross a National Monument.  The monument was then transferred from the USDA Forest Service to the National Park Service in 1933.  Then in 1950 it lost its National Monument designation and was returned to the oversight of the Forest Service.  In 1951, to celebrate the 75th anniversary of Colorado’s statehood, a commenorative stamp was issued and a picture of the Cross was featured in the collage image.

Eventually, visitation to the site fell off, and nature took its toll on the mountain itself as well.  Erosion has caused the right arm of the cross to virtually disappear, making it difficult to visualize the cross as it once was.

The AmericanDigest.org site describes the landmark’s history this way:  “The Mountain of the Holy Cross began as a myth and became a rumor. Then it became a report, a photograph, and a painting. In time it became a destination for pilgrims and tourists. Shortly after that it ceased to exist.”

So what do you think?  Do you believe this was just some natural phenomenon, some accident of nature with no deeper significance?  Or do you believe it was put there at that specific time and place for a deeper purpose?

And do you have any first hand experience with this or any other natural phenomena you’d like to share with us?

LADY GYPSY was my 2nd book with Dorchester and was initially released the month the Towers came down.  For those of us unfortunate enough to have new releases out during that chaotic time, our distribution took a huge hit.  There were days when I wondered if my book ever got out of the New York warehouse.

Thanks to the raging popularity of ebooks, though, LADY GYPSY is alive again and has reminded me how fascinating Gypsies were.  Liza, the heroine, is one of my all-time favorites.  Fathered by a Gaje (non-Gypsy) she never knew, she and her Gypsy mother are outcasts by her people.  By the sheer nature of her story and the life she was forced to live,  she’s unique and colorful.  The way I depicted her with the obstacles she must overcome were true.

Let me share with you some of the Gypsy ways:

Scratching – Most Gypsies were highly suspicious of the Gaje.  When they encountered one they deemed unwelcome, they would scratch themselves or start coughing violently, giving the implication they possessed a skin or lung ailment which quite effectively sent the Gaje scurrying.  They would take this skill into the Gaje stores, too, a butcher shop, for example.  After scratching and scratching, they would freely touch hams or sausages.  The disgusted butcher would send them on their way with the ‘soiled’ meat free of charge or at a drastically reduced price.

With their possessions few, from time to time the Gypsy would stop at a farmhouse and ‘borrow’ something they needed, say a pair of scissors or an old pot.  The Rom (Gypsies) found it unecessary to return the item to its owner; they would simply leave it behind when they were finished with it.  In their minds, they weren’t ‘keeping’ the item, and besides, another kumpania (family group) would come along and could use it as well.

Vurma - leaving signs or messages along a trail.  If a Gypsy had to break camp quickly to avoid the police, they would leave signs for family members left behind.  They’d hang bits of material or lengths of colored thread on tree branches slightly higher than the normal range of vision, choosing branches pointing in the direction they’d left.   Pinecones, small heaps of stones, chicken bones, broken glass, etc. would be used, too, pointing the way if there were no trees along the road.

Ghost Vomit (Johai) –  The Rom believed a spirit called ‘little grandmother’ (Mamioro) brought disease and fed on filth.  They believed she left behind ghost vomit (slime found on garbage) which could heal Gypsy ills.  Mixed with flour and baked until it was hard, the Gypsy would chip off small pieces and carry it in their bujo, a small medicine bag.  Johai would be mixed with garlic and pepper and other herbs, placed in a small bag, then sewn into an unbaptized child’s clothing, for example, or a sick person’s clothing, to keep them safe.

Marhime – Most of us think of Gypsies as being eternally dirty in their shabby clothes, uncombed hair and bare feet, but in truth, they were fanatics in their cleanliness rituals.  A woman was considered marhime (dirty) from the waist down.  If her skirt hems touched a man besides her husband, he was soiled by her and considered unclean, a source of shame amongst the kumpania.  If her skirts brushed against plates, cups or drinking glasses, they had to be destroyed. 

While parked along a riverbank, a kumpania followed five different orders for drawing water.  Water for cooking and drinking was taken farthest upstream; next to that, water for washing dishes and bathing.  Farther downstream, water for horses, then water for washing clothes, and lastly, the water used for the clothes of pregnant or menstruating women.  Right down to using separate buckets for each use.

However odd we might think it, this custom of considering women marhime assured her of both privacy and protection, giving her dignity, power, and a sense of mystery to men.  Not necessarily a bad thing, eh?

These are only a few of the strange Gypsy beliefs that I”ve incorporated into Liza’s world.   To read more:

LADY GYPSY, Kindle Edition

LADY GYPSY, Nook Edition

Also available at Smashwords!

Do you know of any other customs, Gypsy or otherwise?  Do you or your family have any quirks the rest of us would think a bit strange?

 
“I am a friend to any brave and gallant outlaw.”

 Born Myra Belle Shirley, February 5, 1848, on a farm outside of Carthage, MO, the legendary Belle Starr came into the world a farm girl and left it as a famous–or infamous–outlaw. Her father was a slaveholder who sympathized with the south, her mother was of the Hatfield clan, and Belle grew up with Cole Younger and several of Quantrill’s Raiders.

By 1864, after Carthage was burned by Union troops, the family moved to Scyene, Texas, a small town near Dallas. There, in July of 1866, the Younger brothers and Jesse James, all Missouri outlaws who rode with Quantrill, used her family’s home to hideout from the law.

That same year her older brother John “Bud” Shirley, who fought for the Confederacy with William C. Quantrill’s guerillas, was killed by Union troops in Sarcoxie, Mo. Some say this is the reason Belle took to crime – she went hunting for the Union officer who shot her brother and, though she never found him, she seems to have liked carrying a gun and stirring up trouble.

In 1866, Belle married James C. “Jim” Reed, a former guerilla whom she had known since her childhood in Carthage and had two children: Rosie Lee “Pearl” (who was later rumored to be Cole Younger’s child) in 1868; and James Edwin “Ed” in 1871. While Jim initially tried his hand at farming, he soon grew restless and fell in with the Starr clan, a Cherokee Indian family notorious for whiskey, cattle, and horse thievery, as well as his wife’s old friends the James and Younger gangs.

When her husband and cohorts robbed Watt Grayson, a wealthy Creek Indian farmer of $30,000 in gold, Belle was accused as an accomplice. Though there was no proof, she fled back to her family in Scyene. Stories are told that she would ride into Dallas wearing buckskins and moccasins or tight black jackets, black velvet skirts, high-topped boots, a man’s Stetson hat with an ostrich plume, and twin holstered pistols, and spend her time in saloons, drinking and gambling at dice, cards, and roulette. At times she would ride her horse through the streets shooting off her pistols

On Aug. 6, 1874, the law caught up with Jim Reed near Paris, Texas. He was shot to death trying to escape from custody.

The young widow of an outlaw, Belle left her children with relatives and returned to Oklahoma Indian Territory and the Starr clan. Belle proved herself good at organizing, planning and fencing for the rustlers, horse thieves and bootleggers. Belle’s enterprises provided her with more than enough money to use bribery to free her cohorts from the law whenever they were caught. And, if she couldn’t buy off the lawmen, she was known to seduce them into looking the other way.

“Next to a fine horse, I admire a fine pistol.”

 Judge Isaac C. Parker, a.k.a., “The Hanging Judge,” of Fort Smith, Arkansas, became obsessed with bringing Belle Starr to justice, but she eluded him at every turn. Charges never seemed to stick, and if he managed to get her into his courtroom, she would appeal to friends in high places and receive a full pardon.

In 1880, at the age of 32, Belle fell in love with Sam Starr, the handsome 20-year-old son of the clan leader, and asked him to marry her. Old Tom disapproved, but Belle out-talked him and ended up with young Sam as her husband.

“After a more adventurous life than generally falls to the lot of woman, I settled permanently in the Indian Territory, selecting a place of picturesque beauty on the Canadian River. There, far from society, I hoped to pass the remainder of my life in peace and quietude. So long had I been estranged from the society of women, whom I thoroughly detest, that I thought I would find it irksome to live in their midst. So, I selected a place that but few have ever had the gratification of gossiping around…” Belle Starr  
(June 7, 1886, Dallas Morning News, p. 4, col. 5-6)

Belle Starr’s ride came to a violent end on February 3, 1889, two days short of her forty-first birthday, when she was shot in the back while riding from the general store to her ranch near Eufaula, Oklahoma. Suspects included Edgar Watson, a fugitive with whom Belle had been feuding over the land he was renting from her, Jim July, her Cherokee lover, with whom she had recently had a quarrel, and her son Ed, with whom she had a rather strained relationship. The murderer of Belle Starr was never caught. 

Belle was buried on her ranch. A marble headstone was erected over her grave on which was engraved a bell, her horse, a star and this epitaph written by her daughter Pearl:

“Shed not for her the bitter tear,
Nor give the heart to vain regret;
‘Tis but the casket that lies here,
The gem that filled it sparkles yet.”

http://www.lkwdpl.org/wihohio/star-bel.htm
http://www.frontiertimes.com/outlaws/belle_starr.html
Leon C. Metz, “STARR, MYRA MAYBELLE SHIRLEY,” Handbook of Texas Online (http://www.tshaonline.org/handbook/online/articles/fstbl), accessed May 30, 2011. Published by the Texas State Historical Association
http://www.legendsofamerica.com/we-bellestarr2.html
Wild West Magazine 
http://www.stateoftheozarks.net/Cultural/History/BorderWars/BelleStarr_Chick.html

A Bowie knife is a style of fixed-blade knife first popularized by Colonel James “Jim” Bowie in the early 19th Century.

Much like the owner with whom this blade is synonymous, the “Bowie” knife is shrouded in myths, legends and questionable facts. Even the experts are still arguing over what is truth and what is legend.

Let’s start with what the experts know:  A blacksmith named James Black from Washington, Arkansas, was well-known for his guardless “coffin” knife, meaning the handle is shaped like a coffin and there is no guard to keep the wielders hand from slipping onto the blade.

From here, the truth gets a little murky.

One version of the creation of the famous knife is that Rezin Bowie commissioned the knife from blacksmith Jesse Cleft of Avoyelles Parrish, Louisiana.

Another has Jim’s brother, John, claiming the knife was made by a blacksmith named Snowden.

The favored version of the story is that Jim Bowie went to Black in 1830 with a wooden mock-up of the knife he wanted. Black made that knife and another one with several improvements. When Bowie returned for his knife, Black offered him his choice. Bowie took the improved model.

“It was said that a Bowie had to be sharp enough to use as a razor, heavy enough to use as a hatchet, long enough to use as a sword and broad enough to use as a paddle.”

The historical Bowie knife had a blade of at least 6 inches in length, some reaching 12 inches or more, with a relatively broad blade that was an inch and a half to two inches wide. Bowie knives often had an upper guard that bent forward at an angle (called an S-guard) intended to catch an opponent’s blade or provide protection to the owner’s hand.

The moniker “Bowie Knife” seems to have grown from the account of an attempted murder of Bowie. In Mississippi in 1827, in what became known as the “Sandbar Duel,” Jim Bowie was attacked by three men on the orders of a local sheriff that Bowie had vocally refused to back for re-election. Bowie, using the knife, survived; his attackers did not. Yes, I know this happened before Bowie bought the knife from Black. But keep in mind the historical “Bowie knife” was not a single design, but was a series of knives improved several times by Jim Bowie over the years.

James Black became famous on his own merits; he was and is considered one of the best blade-makers of that time period. Black’s knives were copied by cutlers in Sheffield, England, and sold in America as the “Arkansas Toothpick.”

“The term Arkansas toothpick became synonymous with “bowie knife” for most of the population [of the United States]. Sheffield cutlers thought the addition of this term in particular added value to the knives they made to sell in the United States…” http://www.historicarkansas.org/collections/knives.aspx?id=54

Black’s knives were known to be exceedingly tough, yet flexible, and his technique has not been duplicated. Black kept his technique secret and did all of his work behind a leather curtain. Many claim that Black rediscovered the secret of producing true Damascus steel. [An interesting process, but I’m going to let you research that one on your own. If you want to see some beautiful knives, go to http://www.mountainhollow.net/bowieknives2.htm]

The Bowie knife became the most famous blade in the states, perhaps in the world, following The Alamo. But, as is the way of most things, by the end of the Civil War, the knife gave way to the bayonet, rifle and revolvers for self-defense.

Hollywood launched something of a revival of the knife’s popularity when, in the 1950s, Davy Crockett and Jim Bowie were featured in books and movies.

Here’s some of the links I discovered, if you want to learn more:

http://www.historicarkansas.org/knife_gallery/

http://www.historicarkansas.org/collections/knives.aspx?id=153

http://www.historicarkansas.org/jamesblackrevisited/

I’ve heard it said that you learn something new every day … and today was certainly one of them.  To my surprise, when I was reviewing my research for today’s blog, I discovered something new … the chuckwagon wasn’t named for its inventor, Colonel Charles Goodnight!

Colonel Goodnight was the first permanent rancher in the Texas Panhandle. Although he wasn’t a native Texan, he got here as quick as he could. At the age of nine, Charlie traveled with his family 800 miles from his home in Illinois to Waco, Texas, riding bareback on a mare called Blaze. As a youth he was a fairly good horse jockey, bull whacker, rail splitter and herded cattle.  He served during the Civil War and was a Scout and Guide with the infamous Texas Rangers. After the war, he devoted his career almost exclusively to cattle. 

At the age of thirty, he blazed his first famous cattle trail … the Goodnight-Loving Trail. He was one of the first cattlemen who recognized that the same head worth $4.00 in the Texas Panhandle was worth ten times that in the markets farther north.  Goodnight also was the first to recognize that calves born on the trail were money at the end of the drive…but only if they survived and gained weight. The early practice was to kill calves because they could not keep up with the herd on their own.  Cattleman Goodnight resolved that issue by contracting to have special wagons made that held 30 to 40 calves.  Any calves born on the trail werepicked up by the drovers and put on the “calf wagon” for the day’s drive.  When nightfall came, the calves were turned out with their mothers to nurse.

Goodnight soon discovered he had another problem on his hands. A cow knows her own calf by its smell and The Colonel found that when he put different calves together in the “calf wagon” during the day, their scents mixed. Thus, they were rejected by their mamas and would eventually starve to death. He then ordered his drovers to place each calf in its own separate sack, leaving the calf’s head out and tying the sack around its neck. The sacks were numbered so that the same calf went into the same sack each morning after being with its mother at night. The calves rode safely in the calf wagon during the day and spend the night with their mamas. The calves arrived at market healthy and in good shape. That meant increased profits at the end of the drive. I can only imagine what his cattle drives looked like. 

Cattle typically follow a lead steer and for many of his drives, Goodnight’s lead steer was “Old Blue”. According to legend, this famous steer helped lead a thousand head 250 miles up to Dodge City. That accomplished, Old Blue then turned around and trotted back home with the cowboys.

Known as the “Pulse of the Panhandle,” Goodnight helped organize the Panhandle Stock Association of Texas to fight rustling.   In the 1870’s when it became apparent that the hide hunters would eventually exterminate the buffalo, with the encouragement of his wife, he started his own herd of domestic buffalo.  When buffalo products became exceedingly scarce such things as hides, robes, mounted heads and horns became a hot commodity. Buffalo meat was a high-priced luxury.

As time went on, friends began to comment that Goodnight with his mop of shaggy hair over bright dark eyes topped a massive, strong body, which with age, showed a hump rounding his shoulders … became increasing likened to his beloved buffalo.  You can decide for yourself from the undoctored, certainly not Photoshopped, picture of Goodnight and a buffalo. He attracted international attention with his breed of “cattalo”, a crossbreed with a buffalo bull and Angus heifer. They could handle the high altitude and sever winters of a buffalo and resulted in a meatier animal.  For me personally, a hundred and fifty years later, I’d say they had a buffalo body with the face and horns of a longhorn.

Up to this point, I could have written most of this with very little research. I was born and raised in the Texas Panhandle, so I’ve spent all of my life knowing about Goodnight and his innovative ways of ranching. I’ve visited the town named after him. My upcoming novella in “Give Me a Texas Outlaw” is set in his dugout in Palo Duro Canyon, and I’ve visited his grave many times.  But, the one thing he created that I presumed was named from him … the chuckwagon, wasn’t!

Prior to the chuckwagon, Cowboys often relied on eating what they carried in their saddle bags such as dried beef, corn fitters or biscuits. It didn’t take Goodnight long to discover that a well-fed cowboy is a happy one. 

Traveling the trail everyday carrying minimal baggage in hot, uncomfortable weather was tough on a cowboy.  In 1866, Charles saw his opportunity and began on his new invention – the chuckwagon.  He basically redesigned a Studebaker wagon to fit a cowboy’s needs.  The Studebaker was a tough Army surplus wagon that could last months of hard driving on the trails.  Goodnight designed his very own chuck box, containing a number of shelves and drawers.  He fitted this to the back of the wagon and it served to keep the cook’s things in order.  The box had a hinged lid, and when the cook (nicknamed “cookie”) shut it, he would have a perfect surface to fix meals on.  A water barrel holding a two days’ water supply was also attached to the wagon alongside a row of hooks, boxes, brackets, and a coffee grinder.  Goodnight also hung hammock-style canvas under the wagon to carry wood and kindling, which was scarce on the prairies.  An additional wagon box was used to carry the cowboys’ bedrolls, personal items, and food supplies.  Goodnight’s genius invention is used in cattle drives to this day. By 1880, Studebaker had created a model called the “Round – Up” wagon.

The chuckwagon was equipped with all kinds of supplies needed along the trail.  We typically think of a chuckwagon being used for food and cooking gear, but the supplies would also include ferrier and blacksmith tools for horseshoeing or making repairs to the wagon and horse tack. Sewing needles for mending clothing or saddles, first aid and alcohol tonics used for medicinal purposes. Bedrolls and rain slickers for the drovers. One side was equipped with a large wooden barrel to carry a two day supply of water. The other side often had a tool box, as well a smaller attached wooden box in front called the jockey box. Additionally, the wagon would have a canvas cover called a bonnet that had been treated in linseed oil to repel rain keeping items in the wagon dry. To allow headroom in the wagon, bows where added raising the canvas and providing securing points.

Now you know why I figured the chuckwagon was named for Chuck Goodnight, although I have to admit I’ve heard him called “The Colonel”, Charles, and Charlie, but never Chuck.

To my surprise, the name chuckwagon wasn’t derived from Goodnight’s given name, but came from 17^th Century England as meat merchants who referred to their lower priced goods as “Chuck”. By the 18th Century, the term “chuck” was communicated towards good hearty food. It is of no wonder to take the name chuck for Goodnight’s simple creativity that revolutionized the cattle industry. I’m presuming here but figure that’s where a Chuck Roast and Ground Chuck got its name.

I couldn’t talk about Charles Goodnight without showing you all a picture of his gravesite as it is today.  Some of my writer friends, and my coauthors, never miss an opportunity to visit his grave when we’re near it. The Goodnight Cemetery is on the edge of the Caprock about five miles off the beaten track. It overlooks what was his land and it’s truly one of the most beautiful sights one could imagine.  You’d really have to know what you’re looking for to find it. 

On a visit about two years ago, we discovered that there were bandanas tied all over the fence surrounding his grave.  All kinds, some we could recognize by the markings; commemorative bandanas and organizations, but most were just plain everyday bandanas like those worn by cowboys for centuries, so those who have gone there to tie a bandana to honor the “Father of the Texas Panhandle” didn’t drop in by accident. I’ve tried to research how the practice got started, but could find little about who started it, but thank them.

Do you have any traditions that you’ve observed, but don’t know its origin?  I’d love to have you share them with everyone.  When the day is done, I’ll pick a reader to receive a copy of our latest anthology, “Give Me a Texas Ranger”.

 Give Me A Texas Ranger

With Veteran’s Day approaching, I want to share with you a piece of historical trivia that I think we all hold close to our heart … the haunting melody of “Taps”. The song that always gives us a lump in our throat and creates tears in our eyes. But, do you know the story behind the song?

It began, reportedly, during the Civil War in 1862, when Union Army Captain Robert Ellicombe was with his men near Harrison’s Landing, Virginia. The Confederate Army camped on the other side of the narrow strip of land.

During the night, Captain Ellicombe heard the moans of a soldier who was severely wounded in the field. Not knowing if it was a Union or Confederate soldier, the Captain decided to risk his life and bring the stricken man back to the Union camp for medical attention.

Crawling on his stomach through the gunfire, the Captain reached the stricken soldier and began pulling him toward the encampment. When the Captain finally reached his own lines, he discovered it was actually a Confederate soldier, but he was dead.

The Captain lit a lantern and suddenly caught his breath and went numb with shock.  In the dim light he saw the face of the soldier … his own son. The boy had been studying music in the South when the war broke out, and without consulting his father, the young man enlisted in the Confederate Army.

Heartbroken, the following morning Captain Ellicombe asked permission to give his son a full military burial despite his enemy status. His request was only partially granted. The Captain had asked if he could have a group of Army band members play a funeral dirge for his son at the funeral. The request was denied since the soldier was a Confederate. But, out of respect for the father, they did say they could give him one musician.

The Captain chose a bugler. He asked the bugler to play a series of musical notes he had found on a piece of paper in the pocket of the dead youth’s uniform.

His wish was granted and the haunting melody, which we now know as “Taps” used at military funerals, was born.

I found several versions of “Taps”.

The original version was purely instrumental, but there have been several later lyrics added.

The first, written by Horace Lorenzo Trim, is shown below:

Fading light dims the sight

And a star gems the sky, gleaming bright

From afar drawing nigh,

Falls the night.

Day is done, gone the sun

From the lakes, from the hills, from the skies

All is well, safely rest;

God is nigh.

Then goodnight, peaceful night;

Till the light of the dawn shineth bright.

God is near, do not fear,

Friend, goodnight.

Another popular version, penned and harmonized by famed composer Josef Pasternack is:

Love, sweet dreams!

Lo, the beams of the light Fairy moon kissed the streams,

Love, Goodnight!

Ah so soon!

Peaceful dreams!

Another set of lyrics, used in a recording made by John Wayne about the song, is:

Fading light

Falling night

Trumpet call, as the sun, sinks in fright

Sleep in peace, comrades dear,

God is near.

Many Scouting Groups around the world sing the second verse of Taps (“Day is Done..”) at the close of a camp or campfire. It is often referred to as Vespers, meaning evening prayer.

In researching, I found other explanations on how “Taps” was born; and although they seemed to have merit, I like this historical story the best.  It might be an example of creative nonfiction or it could be historically correct, I doubt anyone knows for certain.

Have you heard of a different account on how “Taps” came to be?

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Texas history is full of larger-than-life men and women. There was none more compelling in the Old West than Temple Houston, the youngest child of Sam Houston.

Temple carried the distinction of being first child born in the governor’s mansion in Austin, Texas. He never knew his father because Sam Houston died when the boy was only 3 years old. His mother followed four years later when Temple was 7. Upon her death he went to live with one of his sisters.

Of the eight Houston children, Temple was most like his father in temperament and abilities. But he hated being compared to Sam and especially as being Sam’s boy. Temple was rebellious and had a need for adventure. At age 13 he signed on as a cowboy on a cattle drive going all the way to Dakota territory. To get back home, he was hired as a steamboat captain on the Missouri and Mississippi Rivers.

He began studying law and at the age of 19, he was admitted to the Texas Bar. He was well-educated and spoke fluent French and Spanish in addition to seven Indian languages.

None was more flamboyant and unorthodox. The 6’2″, long-haired man was fond of wearing black Prince Albert coats, elegant pinstriped trousers stuffed into high, handsome boots, and white sombreros. Temple was exceedingly handsome, had piercing gray eyes and coal black hair.

He was also a crack marksman. He carried a pair of ivory-gripped, nickel-plated Colts. And he didn’t hesitate to use them. After a courtroom argument with another lawyer, he met the man in a saloon. Houston killed the adversary and promptly entered a plea of self-defense. He was acquitted.

Before his 21st birthday, Temple was appointed first district attorney for the new district court in the Panhandle. He went to the wild, lawless town of Mobeetie where there was no jail. Not long after he arrived he insisted that one be built. While it was being constructed, one convicted cowboy was chained to a rock pillar in one of the town’s saloons. They gave him a blanket and left him in the saloon overnight. The following morning they found the man dead drunk, surrounded by whiskey bottles. He’d torn his blanket into strips and made a lariat. He spent the night roping bottles off the backbar and drinking the contents.

The next year at age 22, Temple married Laura Cross, a planter’s daughter. Seven children were born to them, but only four survived infancy.

Temple Houston was also an excellent defense attorney. At one trial, that of a man accused of murdering a skilled gunfighter, Houston whipped out his pair of Colts, pointed them at the jury, and fired away. Jurors dove out of the box, spectators dove out the window, and the judge ducked down behind the bench. Houston’s attempt to show the lightning speed of the gunfighter in comparison to that of the accused cowboy, even though the cowboy had shot first, was in fact a matter of self-defense. Once courtroom order resumed, Houston apologized for his gunplay, explaining that his own weapons had held blanks. The cowboy was acquitted.

But his most famous case was the one defending accused prostitute Millie Stacey in 1899. His closing summary is still studied by law students today. It’s considered the perfect defense argument and one of the finest masterpieces of oratory in the English language. In his speech which was spellbinding, he proclaimed Millie innocent, saying man was to blame for her shame and that “Where the star of purity once glittered on her girlish brow, burning shame has left its seal forever.” Millie went free, her guilt expunged.

(As a side note, a copy of the speech was framed and hangs today in the Library of Congress.)

A remark for which his is known is “Your honor, the prosecutor is the first man that I’ve ever seen who can strut while sitting down.”

Another time, a judge persuaded Temple to represent a penniless horse thief. Temple promised, “I’ll provide the unfortunate gentleman the best defense I can.” He asked the judge for a private office where he could talk to his client. A little while later, they found Temple sitting alone in the room with the window open. He smiled and remarked, “I gave him the best advice I could.”

Always a restless soul, Houston left Texas for a new frontier and more adventure. He participated in the Oklahoma Land Rush and raced with thousands of other land-hungry pioneers. He brought his family and moved his practice to the new town of Woodward, Oklahoma. His services were in great demand. Before it was over, he became as big a legend in Oklahoma as he was in Texas.

The man who lived life large died of a stroke in 1905 at the age of 45 and was buried in Woodward’s Laurel Land Cemetery. Needless to say, Temple Houston left a huge mark on the legal profession. And though he never reached the historical acclaim of his father Sam, he was a man to be revered.

Doesn’t this sound like a hero right from one of our western romances? I’d like to have known him.

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There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.

Few periods in American history have spawned as many legends as the 1896-99 Klondike Gold Rush.  The rush brought out the best and worst in the men and women who swarmed north in search of wealth.  The tales of their adventures, some true and some myths, have filled many books.  But few writers captured the spirit of gold rush life like poet Robert W. Service, sometimes called “The Bard of the Yukon.”  His writing was so expressive, and so evocative of the time that his readers took him for a hard-bitten old Klondike prospector. 

Nothing could be farther from the truth.  Robert William Service never prospected for gold and did not, in fact, arrive in the Klondike until years after the gold rush played out. 

Service was born in 1874 to a Scottish family living in England.  Trained to be a bank clerk like his father, he left Glasgow for Canada at the age of 21, hoping to become a cowboy.  He drifted around western North America for a time and finally took work with the Canadian Bank of Commerce.  After working in a number of branches, he was posted to the branch in Whitehorse in 1904, then later to Dawson City in the Klondike in in 1908.  Inspired by the vast beauty of the wilderness, Service began writing poetry about the things he saw.  Conversations with local characters who’d lived through the gold rush led him to write about things he heard, embellishing them with his own imagination. 

After collecting enough poems for a book, he offered a publisher $100 of his own money to publish the work.  The publisher returned the money and offered Service a contract.  The book, published as The Spell of the Yukon in America and The Songs of a Sourdough in England, made him world famous and also very wealthy.  Within two years he was able to quit his job at the bank and travel to Paris and Hollywood.  Service remained a British citizen for life.  During World War I he served as an ambulance driver.  He wrote many poems about the war and about other places he visited – more than 1,000 poems in all, as well as two autobiographical novels.

He married a Parisian woman and lived most of his life in France, where he died in 1958.  His wife, thirteen years his junior, died in 1989 at the age of 102.

If you’ve never read Service’s Gold Rush poems you’re in for a treat.  I especially love “The Cremation of Sam McGee,” quoted in part at the beginning of this blog, about the prospector who was always cold.  It’s too long to include in its entirety, but here’s a link:

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-cremation-of-sam-mcgee/

Enjoy!