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.

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?

 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