My oldest son is getting married!!!! Yes, we’re excited. Before I get into bridal showers, can I brag a bit? He pulled off one of the best proposals ever. He went to grad school in Egypt, and he’s done a lot of travel in the Middle East. He and his soon-to-be fiance were backpacking in Syria where he took her to the highest tower of the Crac des Chevaliers, a castle from the Crusader era. At the top, he asked a British tourist to take a picture. Clever to the core, he faked having a rock in his shoe. When his girlfriend turned around, he was on bended knee with a ring on display, asking her to marry him.
She said yes and we’re so glad she did. She came to Lexington this past weekend for a family bridal shower and we had great time. We shopped for my “Mother of the Groom” dress together, ate Chinese food for lunch and came home to presents, games, food and Skype. My son is still overseas, but we got things set up so he could watch the festivities via webcam.
Imagine Skyping to a bridal shower. The world has sure changed . . . or has it? We had a kitchen themed shower much like mom had in in 1954. As a kid I remember looking in the hope chest she’d filled with sheets and towels and an assortment of what-not for her new home. As long as I can remember, she had special things in that chest. The history of hope chests would be an interesting blog. Since I have weddings on my mind, maybe I’ll do that next. Today, though, I’ve been thinking about bridal showers.
My husband and I got married in 1980. We practically eloped so we skipped the bridal shower tradition, though we made up for it with baby showers a few years later. We started out with a set of everyday dishes, pots and pans, bedding and a lot of hand-me-downs. What we didn’t have, we bought at Pick n’ Save. It’s been 30 years and would you believe I’m using the same red-handled can opener?
Bridal showers are a special time for the bride and family alike. The custom as we know it in America originated in the 1890s. It’s a gift-giving party for the purpose of getting the bride and groom set up in their new home. In some cases, where the bride’s family was poor or perhaps opposed to the marriage, the bridal shower made sure the wedding could take place. It provided the bride and groom with what they needed to set up house and sustain their marriage. Bridal showers also have ties to old dowry practices. If a woman’s family refused to support her decision to marry, friends would come together and bring gifts to fill in the lack of a dowry.
Did you ever wonder why we call these events “showers” and not just parties”? I figured it referred to showering the bride with gifts, but the word has more literal roots. In the 1890s, it was the custom for the bride’s family and friends to put small presents in a parasol and open the parasol over her head. Small should be the key word. We gave my future d-i-l a set of pots and pans. If they’d hit her in the head, she’d have been knocked unconscious . . . Same with the flatware!
Bridal showers started as an urban tradition among wealthy families, but the custom quickly moved to rural America. Over the years, showers have evolved into a celebration that can be anything from a couples party to a bachelorette party to the traditional kind of party my mom enjoyed.
What about you? Have you given a bridal shower? Been the bride at a shower in your honor? What did you like best? My favorite moment was watching my son on Skype as he joked with his bride-to-be. It was just so sweet . . . I’ll never forget it.
I’m often asked where I get my story ideas and was recently asked if I got them from watching soap operas—which drew immediate laughter from me, because frankly (aside from the fact that I write westerns), I couldn’t watch a soap to save my life. Nothing against those who enjoy them, I simply don’t possess enough patience to enjoy a never-ending story. I need closure. In fact, I’m rather obsessed with the guarantee I’ll get closure even with my own stories and tend to write my last chapter early on…often times long before I finish the first chapter. I actually wrote the last chapter first for THE GUNSLINGER’S UNTAMED BRIDE. I knew the story would take place in a logging camp, and though I knew next to nothing about the characters as individuals, I knew exactly how their story would end in reference to the setting.
For me, setting tends to dictate my stories. I always start with a location first. BRIDE OF SHADOW CANYON was my first completed manuscript, a story that I built around a journey. My mind already envisioned all the locations I wanted to share with readers, I just had to come up with reasons to get my characters there and incorporate them into the scenes. So, as one might guess, most my stories start with me staring at maps, deciding where I want to go, where I want to take my readers, and how I can work a love story into the trip. I still have the maps for BRIDE and MUSTANG WILD, pinpointing each leg of their journey, as well as collages I made with a clockwise placement of snippets showing the changing landscapes as their story progressed.
I’m currently at work on a new series, but for months after finishing my last WILD book a new storyline refused to surface in my mind. I bought a ton of reference books on characters, pioneers, orphan train children, school teachers, doctors, miners, hoping to plant a seed and characters would take root and blossom into a story. I should have known better—it took stumbling across a book of Civil War maps to make the first strike in fertile ground. While pouring over the maps and reading about cartographers, I unearthed the era of the first book…whoever my heroes were, they were going to emerge into the chaos of Post Civil War. The maps reminded me that location was key in growing my books (It had been a while since starting a new series, I had forgotten!), and since I already had a vague notion that I wanted to explore Montana I found the textbook used to teach Montana history at the UC, dove into all the social and political turmoil happening in my chosen era, of which there was an abundance, and BAM! My heroes started taking shape and talking to me
My heroes are always the first to stomp an impression into my mind, their temperaments defining the type of heroine they’ll require to get them under control Once I have a course set and a solid hero, everything else tends to spiral from there and fall into place. The first hero to arrive ended up being the hero of the second book for this series. I’m working on four books at present—they always come in a lot, and I tend to fall for the whole cast, and there’s always that secondary character that tries to steal the spotlight, ensuring he’ll get his own book. The loudest in this bunch has become my favorite, though he doesn’t get his own story until book three. He’s the rowdiest and most rotten, so of course his name is Gabriel. Here’s a little snippet from book two, the first time he wrangled me into his head, ensuring he’d get his own story. He’s tormenting Lake, the hero in book two, which is one of his favorite pastimes:
Gabriel Quaid crouched beside the entwined couple sleeping soundly beneath the low shelter. He hated to wake them, and wished to hell he had one of them picture cameras. He’d sell his right boot for a still frame of Lake holding the fair-haired woman, wrapped in each others arms, her pretty pink lips pressed against his neck, Lake’s fingers tangled in her hair. Hell, he’d ride barefoot and bare-assed to possess such torment. Laughter escaped his throat at the mere thought.
Eyes dark as demon coal sprang open, Lake pinning him without moving another muscle. Quaid grinned so wide it hurt.
“Easy, pardner,” he whispered. “I wouldn’t make any sudden moves if I were you. Then again, if I’s holding that bit of softness, I’d be doing my damnedest to slide my hands across those smooth curves and warm valleys while I had the chance.”
Lake stiffened, the slight move stirring Miss Fairchild. She shifted against him, her sleepy moan sounding like a contented purr. Watching sweat bead on Lake’s brow was the most fun Quaid had had since the brawl back at Fort Smith. In the five years he’d ridden with Lake, the stiff-necked half-breed didn’t cotton to white women, not one bit. The unfamiliar trace of fear etched across his friend’s expression told him this little woman had put a chink in that particular prejudice.
“Perty, ain’t she?” he taunted, his voice no more than a low rumble.
Oh hell, look at the murder in those eyes.
*Sigh* I do love the bad boys. I think mostly because they require the strongest breed of feisty heroines, and Quaid’s Lady Love is about as headstrong as they come.
Sadly, my new crop of westerns is still a ways off from being harvested and packaged up for the masses—but after an unintended detour from writing over the past year I’m downright giddy to be back in the fields!
I hope all our Fillies attending the Romance Writer’s of America National Conference are having a great time in Florida. I figured this would be a good time to share some of my summer travels.
We’ve been jaunting all over California this summer. We started off with a bang by heading to San Jose to take our teens to the Van’s Warp Tour concert; twelve stages, eighty bands, a day full of music mayhem. The next day we took our tone-deaf, sunburned selves to the Winchester Mystery House, the 160-bedroom, 40-bathroom mansion built by the Winchester Rifle heiress. Believing she was haunted by all the spirits gunned down by Winchester rifles, and that the only way to please them was to keep building on her house, she started with a little three-bedroom farmhouse in 1884, and ended with house that covered 4.5 acres at the time of her death in 1922. A house with stairways to the ceiling, doors to nowhere and countless other oddities to fool the spirits. Can you believe the house was declared uninhabitable after her death and was appraised for $5000. Mary did a post about the house a while back: Haunted Winchester Mystery House.
We then headed to Santa Cruz for the Fourth of July and decided to make spending the fourth on the coast a new family tradition—watching fireworks over the bay was amazing. Boats in the harbor and people on the beach were lighting up the sky nonstop from dusk to midnight. We’d never seen anything like it—amazing. Just as cool, a pod of dolphins had taken up residence in a cove right along the Santa Cruz Warf, I’m talking five feet from shore, getting up close and personal with swimmers and surfers. Better than Sea World
We then spent a couple days driving down the coast, though due the unseasonably wet and overcast weather, we didn’t get any pictures of the beaches
Of course, we made it home in time for 110-degree heat. Thankfully, we were only home to repack and head for the mountains. *happy sigh* I had seriously forgotten how much I love the Sierras. We spent a couple days at the Bass Lake resort, the perfect place to really sit back, unwind and recharge the batteries. This was the view from our deck. Check out the diving platform out on the lake.
They’ve got bike trails, boat rentals, a sweet beach to kick back on. We’re all pining to go back! We also celebrated my hubby’s birthday. Here’s a pic of my men, Tanner, Steve and Ethan.
Ethan does not travel without instruments—in fact, that’s his mini-car-guitar, literally stays in the truck. We get live music, all the time
After some relaxation by the lake, we hit the trails for the main attraction—Yosemite’s waterfalls. It had been a couple years since we’d made it to Yosemite (for shame!), and I swear those giant trees have soul-soothing properties. I made the hubby promise to haul me back up there ever couple months
The picture below I took of Bridal Veil Falls. You can so see how it garnered the name—the wind sweeping the water away from the rock to look like a bride’s veil.
Yosemite Falls is my favorite, this is a view from pretty far up the trail—my favorite view—where you can see all three tiers.
Those who want to get right up on the base of the fall can climb over the rocks—see the kid in the white shirt heading for the edge below—that’s Tanner.
When you reach the base, you can really feel the force of that water, the gust of wind and heavy spray in the air.
Definitely the highlight of my summer, and worth the mountain of laundry I was faced with once we unloaded on the home front.
How about the rest of y’all? Taken any getaways this summer? Care to share any highlights? Any place you haven’t been that’s on the MUST DO list?
It seems as though (typically American Indian) that I find myself traveling a good deal of the time. Incredibly I’ve been driving all over the southeast and southwest. And I thought I’d take a little time to tell you some of the things that I love most about traveling.Here is a picture snapped a few years back of myself and a friend on the Blackfeet reservation. I can’t imagine what it must have been like all those years ago when people traveled by horseback only. It’s probably one of the few things that I do appreciate about the age we live in — cars. Of course I could fly across the country, but think of all I’d miss along the way. There are so many things to see and places to visit and history to learn — all conveniently advertised along the roadside. On my trips across country (and I’ve probably driven across country now more than a dozen times) I’ve seen canyons that stretch on forever (the Grand Canyon comes to mind); I’ve seen caves — two enormous different ones — and have learned that the rocks in these caves are alive. Did you know that? They grow like any life thing and they can die if you touch them — thus, there are many, many signs in these caves not to touch the rocks.
As part of these trips, I’ve been to pow-wows in Montana, climbed mountains in Vermont, swept down raging water streams in Nebraska — have witnessed glaciers in Montana and have visited Pueblo villages — in the southwest, and have visited and have lingered at battlefields — ones that took place between the cavalry and Indians. When we were in Crow country in Montana, my husband and I visited Little Bighorn of Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull fame. For one book, War Clouds’ Passion, I visited the battlefield that took place — goodness, I can’t recall the name of that battle off the top of my head – but it took place in Kansas. Also discovered in Kansas was a former Cavalry outpost, and again, forgive me for the name escapes me.
On one particular trip, I visited a waterfall, where George Washington carved his initals in a rock — there was also an Indian village there, which I went to visit, also. There I learned how the Indians made flour and cakes from acorns — a very involved process, I must admit. Sometimes I get lost. But sometimes this is very good. On one trip just last year at this very time of year, I was traveling to Vermont to attend my daughter’s wedding.
Actually I didn’t lose my way on this trip until I was well into Vermont, and then I took a wrong turn and ended up at the scene of a very beautiful statue of Ethan Allen. Although I was very lost, I had driven into a spot where the trees were alive with autumn color and I really do mean live. They were bright, bright yellow and gold. So bright that an overcast day looked sunny. And the trees were overlooking the road as I drove by them. I’m not certain I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful in Nature. The only thing that might even come close would be perhaps the Grand Teton area in Wyoming — and of course the Glacier Mountains in Montana.
The picture here was taken in Montana in the Glacier Mountains which set up against the Blackfeet reservation. Once another author and myself visited a deserted train station — trying to envision the people who had once used it. Another time we searched out a town in Louisana called Transylvania. Nancy Richards Akers and I once skirted along the Choctaw trail and another author and I learned of a legend of a young Indian princess who threw herself off a mountain to avoid marrying a man she didn’t love. (Her true lover followed her over the cliff, by the way). And another time, fellow author, Heather Cullman, and I visited Sky City — I’m only calling it that because I can’t recall exactly the name of the town. Here we were taken on a tour, learned the history of the town and learned that the town was used as a safe refuge in a time of uncertainty.
We also visited an old church which was again fascinating. Indeed, there is much to see and visit here in America. When I was very, very young, I seem to remember a commerical that went like this “See the USA, in your Cheverolet — American is asking you to call” — Perhaps I took that invitation a little too much to heart.
Another time, when my husband and I were attending yet another pow-wow in Montana, we visited America’s edition of Stonehedge — the Medicine Wheel atop a 10,000 foot mountain in the Bighorn Mountains in Northern Wyoming. Lone Arrow’s Pride goes into my experience atop this mountain at this particular spot.
I guess we Americans — or maybe I should just say we humans — love to travel. And whatever the cause, I do enjoy my trips — even though it might take me longer to go from here to there. I bet you’ve had some incredible adventures here in the heartland of America. And I’d love to hear about your own trips. Please however remember that today I am still on the road and so won’t be able to see your comments until I return home. But I would love to hear from you. So please come on in and tell me your thoughts. And don’t forget to pick up your copy of Black Eagle and Seneca Surrender today.
You may not know his name but you know his work. Legendary stuntman Jack Lilley has been making some of our favorite screen cowboys look good for more than fifty years and has worked in more than 300 movies and TV shows. Recently inducted into Newhall’s Walk of Western Stars, his many credits include Little House on the Prairie, Gunsmoke, Bonanza, Blazing Saddles, High Chaparral, Mountain Men and City Slickers.
In addition to wrangling and stunt work, Jack and his son Clay own Movin on Livestock, a motion picture barn located in Southern California and New Mexico and which supplies production companies with movie horses and mules, animals and stagecoaches and wagons. So pour yourself a cup o’ Arbuckle’s and sit back and relax. You’re about to meet a real cowboy…
P&P: Jack, welcome to Wildflower Junction. You started in show business as a horseback extra for The Durango Kid at the tender age of 14. Would you tell us how you landed that job as such a young age?
Jack Lilley: I lied. I was only fourteen but I told them I was eighteen.
P&P:After serving in the navy you went from horseman to stuntman. That seems like a big stretch.
Jack Lilley: I’ve been around horses all my life. It started with my father. I started working for him when I was eight. He raised and trained horses and was president of the California Cutting Horse Association. My two sons are also stuntmen and so is my grandson Clay. We’re now into our 4th generation of stuntmen.
P&P: That’s amazing. So are stunts planned and choreographed in advance?
Jack Lilley: Absolutely. As stunt coordinator I always tell my stuntmen to think a stunt through and only do what they feel comfortable doing.
P&P: Stunting seems like a very demanding and dangerous profession.
Jack Lilley: It is, but there’s a difference between being a dare devil and a stuntman. A stuntman is always thinking of safety and how to protect himself and his peers. Horses, too. You never want to hurt an animal. I’ve turned jobs down that I thought were too dangerous or that I wasn’t qualified to do.
P&P: Jack talked at great length about some of the jobs he turned down for safety sake which included a motorcycle trick for Steve McQueen, a lion trick and a snake trick for Swiss Family Robinson.
Tell us more about that reptile, Jack.
Jack Lilley: The snake was fifteen feet long. I also turned a job down with a six foot three inch rattler. I hate snakes.
P&P: You and Indiana Jones. Speaking of dangerous stunts, have you ever been injured?
Jack Lilley: Not really. A couple of pulled ribs, broken nose, cracked shoulder, bruises— nothing really serious. I’ve had some close calls. One of the closest was when we were filming a runaway caboose scene for Little House on the Prairie.
P&P:Jack said his throw left his head perilously close to the tracks. He also had a close call while doubling for Brian Keith in Scandalous John. While trying to rope a steer, his rope caught on a road sign sending him and his horse sky-high.
Jack, you were once quoted as saying that some older actors such as John Wayne, Marlon Brando and Steve McQueen were among those who did not need a double as they rode their horses so well.
Jack Lilley: They could have done their own stunts but insurance companies wouldn’t let them.
P&P: Who were the most memorable actors you ever worked with?
Jack Lilley: There were so many. John Wayne, Dean Martin, Marlon Brando, Steve McQueen, Michael Landon, Robert Mitchum, Charlton Heston, James Garner, Clint Eastwood. I also worked with some great directors.
P&P:Jack talked highly of everyone he worked with but he seemed especially fond of Michael Landon, describing him as a talented actor, writer, producer, director and all around great person to be around. His death was a terrible blow to the Lilley family.
Jack, it’s sad to think about all the wonderful talent we’ve lost. What do you think caused the western’s decline?
Jack Lilley: Money. It’s all about money. If they ever come back to their former popularity, they’ll need good original stories and actors who are believable as cowboys.
P&P: I don’t know if children today even know what a western is.
Jack Lilley: Kids don’t even play cowboys and Indians anymore. They’d rather dress up as freaks.
P&P: So tell us what you’re working on now.
Jack Lilley: I’m getting ready to leave for New Mexico. We’re filming Cowboys and Aliens with Harrison Ford.
P&P: We can’t wait. (and for those of you who really, really can’t wait here’s a quick take: In Silver City, Arizona, Apache Indians and Western settlers must lay their differences aside when an alien spaceship crash lands in their city.)
Hi folks. Kaki Warner here, come to chat with you about SEX—more or less.
Is it just me, or is there less explicit sex in western historical romances than in other genres?
Maybe it’s just the ones I pick up, but it seems more and more western romances dwell on the romance of the thing, rather than the mechanics of the thing. Is this a pattern? Or has it always been that way? Look at some of the great western romance writers—Jodi Thomas, Mary Connealy, Debbie Macomber, Linda Lael Miller, and others I can’t remember right now, in addition to the fabulous authors on this website. Seems most of their stories are more character-driven than sex-driven. I wonder why?
Perhaps because the archetype of the western hero is so firmly ingrained in our minds that to reduce him to just a roll in the hay (even though he might be the world’s best at it), diminishes the myth of the cowboy somehow.
Or, perhaps because the Old West and the people who inhabited it—in real life and in fiction—are part of our shared history and have become almost like extended family. And if so, do you truly want to watch from behind the curtain when family members are bucking the bronc, so to speak?
I don’t. The minute I started writing Book I of the Blood Rose Trilogy, PIECES OF SKY, the characters became my family. And even though the mismatched romance between a hard-bitten rancher caught in a blood feud (Brady) and a pregnant English hat maker (Jessica) is central to the story, I wanted to put equal emphasis on other aspects of their characters—past mistakes, regrets, fears as well as desires, not to mention the hardships of living in a harsh place (New Mexico Territory) during hard times (1868). They had a lot to overcome to earn their HEA, and sex was only part of it.
The same with Book 2, OPEN COUNTRY, when Brady’s brother, Hank, awakens after a train derailment to find himself married to a stranger (Molly), the father of two children he’s never met, and embroiled in a post Civil War conspiracy. Dropping a rope on his reluctant wife was only half of his problem. It wasn’t always a tiptoe through the sagebrush back then. Those were tough times, and there was more going on than wardrobe choices and getting the heroine in bed. (OK. I could be wrong there. Men haven’t changed that much.) Even so, how many times do we need detailed instructions on how to fit tab B into slot A?
Relax. There’s plenty of killing and cussing in my books, so I’m not a complete prude. A realist, perhaps. And maybe too visual, because the thought of watching two people I care about roll around in the hay makes me itch. And seriously…how many of you could write a graphic sex scene without bursting into raucous laughter? There’s something about a man’s bare bouncing butt—well, never mind.
So. How necessary are graphic sex scenes in western historical romance? Do you prefer closed doors or open doors? Do you find yourself skimming TO, or THROUGH the sex scenes? Leave a comment and your name will be entered into a drawing for a sensual-but-non-sexually graphic copy of PIECES OF SKY and/or OPEN COUNTRY. Thanks for dropping by, and especially thanks to PETTICOATS & PISTOLS for inviting a nearly almost semi-famous western romance author to stop in today.
Being an author is about connections – with other writers, with people in the business, and most of all with readers. Today I’d like to share the story of one special connection that has enriched my life in measureless ways.
My first novel, MISTRESS OF THE MORNING STAR was published in 1980. A few weeks after the book’s release, I received my very first fan letter. I was so excited. The letter, beautifully and intelligently written, was from a woman named Barbara. She ended the letter by saying, “If you ever get to San Diego I’d love to have you come to dinner.”
It so happened that my then-husband had a brother in Southern California, and we were planning a visit. I accepted her invitation. I’ll never forget walking into that charming Spanish-style home to be greeted by a lovely, slender woman with a long blond ponytail, who cooked the best vegetarian lasagna I’ve ever eaten. A friendship was born. We kept in touch.
We’ve kept in touch for the past thirty years – through multiple moves, successes, heartaches, bereavements, divorces, new beginnings and all the ups and downs that are part of getting through this crazy life.
Let me tell you a little more about my friend. Barbara survived a nightmarish childhood (her mother was mentally ill). Barbara married young and had four children, whom she mostly raised as a single parent, with the help of a long-time boyfriend, Gary. Along the way she discovered some special gifts – a head for business, a talent for making friends and a way of turning whatever she touched into something beautiful. She used these gifts, and her amazing strength, to build a good life for herself and her family.
We’ve spent just a little precious time together. About 1990, after the loss of her partner, I invited Barbara to visit me. I had a brand new Honda Civic, and we took a road trip through the southern Utah parks – two middle aged broads in a hot little red car. Despite the fact that the weather was miserable and Barb’s back went out on the way, we still laugh at the memory. Thelma and Louise minus the Grand Canyon.
A few years ago, newly single and starting over yet again, Barbara started her own web design service. I needed a web site and was delighted to become one of her first clients. Over the years, the beautiful site Barbara Castleman created for me has grown to 42 pages, and www.LadyWebPro.com has become a thriving business. Check it out. Or click my name on the list of Fillies to see her work.
Have you, as a writer or reader, found a friendship that grew from a connection to a book? There must be some great stories out there. I’d love to hear them.
I’m late to the party, but I finally signed up for Facebook. Somewhere in my travels to Walls and Like buttons, I ended up on a Fan Page for my all-time favorite TV series. Did anyone else watch Paradise? It was also called Guns of Paradise. It starred Lee Horsley as Ethan Allen Cord, a gunfighter who becomes responsible for his sister’s four children, and Sigrid Thornton as Amelia Lawson, a lady banker with smarts and great clothes.
I’m a total sucker when it comes to redeemed outlaws, and Ethan was classic. He gets in plenty of trouble, but mostly because his past keeps catching up with him. He has no idea how to raise his orphaned niece and nephews, but he does his best. And the romance! The sparks that fly between Ethan and Amelia nearly caught the TV on fire. Without a doubt, Ethan Allen Cord is my favorite TV western hero.
No. 2 on the list would be Johnny Madrid from Lancer. The show was set in the San Joaquin Valley in the 1870s. It’s definitely an oldie, but it sure caught my little-girl imagination. The premise of the show involved two brothers returning to their father’s ranch. Scott Lancer was blond, a Harvard graduate and a Boston gentleman. Johnny Madrid was a rebel, drifter and gunslinger. The actor who played Johnny Madrid was James Stacy. His life changed dramatically in 1973 when he was struck by a drunk driver while on his motorcycle. Tragically he lost his left arm and leg and his girlfriend was killed. He continued to act and was twice nominated for Emmy awards.
My No. 3 TV cowboy is from High Chaparral. Manolito was played by Henry Darrow. He was the brother-in-law of John Cannon, the owner of a ranch called the High Chaparral. The series was set in Arizona Territory in the 1870s. What I remember most is that Manolito had a bit of rebel in him. I’m detecting a pattern here . . . my favorite TV cowboys are all bad boys, rebels, gunfighters, etc..
There’s a tie for the No. 4 slot on my list. Does anyone remember The Quest with Kurt Russell and Tim Matheson as brothers looking for their sister? The series only ran for 15 episodes, but I didn’t miss a single one. Kurt and Tim played Morgan and Quentin Beaudine. Morgan had lived with the Cheyenne for eight years and was also called Two Persons. Quentin was a physician from San Francisco. Together they were searching for their sister. The series ended in part because interest in westerns faded in the 1970s, but it also had the bad luck to run opposite Charlie’s Angels.
I’m giving the No. 5 slot to . . . Decisions! Decisions! My first thought was Little Joe Cartwright from Bonanza. It just doesn’t seem right to leave him off the list, but my real choice is Tom Hart from Broken Trail. He’s not as retro as the first four picks, which is one of the things that appeals to me. Broken Trail proved that westerns are still relevant. Honor, independence, courage and loyalty never go out of style.
I can think of a lot of shows I didn’t mention. Dr. Quinn is at the top of the list. Then there’s The Virginian and Gunsmoke and The Rifleman. I also loved pioneer-themed shows like The Monroes.
What shows would you add to the list? Which characters were your favorites? Westerns may be more retro than trendy, but I will always love them.
I’m a farm girl. Maybe that’s why writing westerns feels so good to me – I understand that soul-deep link to the land, I understand being at the mercy of Mother Nature and I know for certain that growing up on a farm is responsible for my work ethic. Work hard, treat people honestly, be a straight shooter. Everything else just kind of looks after itself.
There’s a problem though. You see, even though I grew up in a farming community, and those oh-so-interesting smells were for the most part pleasant ones (except hogs and when people spread chicken manure, P.U!), I didn’t grow up with livestock. My family were apple growers. And I could go on at length about apple blossom time and pruning and how much I loved harvest time…
But I won’t. Because today I’m going to talk about haying.
I’m almost ashamed to admit that I’ve had to research haying a little bit. Equipment has changed over the years, and my memory fades a little. I found it quite interesting, actually. I looked at pictures of different kinds of balers and rakes. I read about drying times before baling and different types of bales and the advantages of each.
Where I grew up, most of the farmers made the small, rectangular bales but when I moved out west to Alberta, mostly there are the huge round bales and sometimes a new shape – bigger square bales. I always kind of wondered the reasoning for the round bales, actually. At home in Atlantic Canada, you hayed, you made small bales, and you brought the bales back to the haymow. You never left them in the field. With the large round bales, you have more hay with a smaller surface area so it protects from the elements, meaning you can leave the bales in the field. There are coverings too. Some that leave the ends open, protecting the surface but allowing airflow so they don’t ferment, and complete wrappings that allow the bale to become silage – rather than using a silo.
So I learned some interesting stuff about the process that I either didn’t know or had forgotten.
All that comes in handy when writing. For instance, in the last book I handed in, my hero is rushing to get the first cut done and baled before the storm that is forecast hits. That research was pretty useful figuring out how things would play out on a time scale. I love that when I’m writing, I can manipulate the weather to suit my needs, by the way.
But there’s another component to haying that has nothing to do with function. There are feelings. It sounds funny, I know, but the feelings needed no research at all. For that I just drew on my own memory.
When I was growing up, our neighbours hayed and I remember lots of evenings seeing the wagons loaded with bales make their way into the farm yard. They were loaded on to a chain-operated conveyor belt and stored in the loft. Quite often this was in the hazy, hot evenings of July when the sky was pink and purple and the air smelled like clover and fresh cut grass. There is something so satisfying about a harvest gathered in and even as a young child I could feel that. There’s also the sinking feeling of dread when you see the storm clouds roll in, and you hold your breath praying there will be no hail.
But by far my favourite memory is sleeping with my window open, and hearing the drone of the hay dryer (a huge fan) at the barn next door. Rather than disturb, it always lulled me to sleep. That hay dryer meant that the hay was inside, safe and secure for the next year. It meant it was summer, and school holidays. In some ways, having that hay dryer on meant everything was right in the world. And I kind of like how when you’re writing, it’s the personal feelings that give your research context. How facts can work to reveal character.
I’m taking a personal detour today and having a total Mom Moment. The past two weeks have been a whirlwind of another school year coming to an end for my boys, full of concerts, recitals and scrambling to get those last assignments turned in. Today (yesterday) was the last day of Freshman year for Ethan, my youngest, and I cannot believe both my boys will be finished with high school in only three short years. I swear it was only yesterday when I sent them off for their first day of kindergarten and first grade.
My angel boys. Aren’t they precious! This past week we’ve also been converting all our old VHS home videos to disc, images from sonograms to teens filling my TV for the past week…oh man. I’ve been blessed to be an at-home mom, and yet it still seems like I blinked and they went from toddlers to this…
My house is currently throbbing with blaring amps, pounding drums and the deep rowdy voices of a whole gang of teenage boys — a steady chaos I know I’ll be missing before long. Tomorrow their cousin and some of their closest friends will graduate, another friend leaving for the Army in in just a couple weeks. Huge changes, the constant motion and evolution of life, and suddenly, my babies, who’d seemed securely tucked into our nest a few short months ago, are teetering awfully close to the edge, so to speak. Conversations have shifted from games, toys and movies to colleges, careers, hopes and goals. And DRIVING–egads! So much to be accomplished in just a few years! There seems to be this new urgency combined with the usual impatience of youth *lol*.
Tanner, my oldest, is focused on airplane mechanics, his sights set on a career in the Air Force. He’s been pouring over books on turbine engines and jet propulsion. Ethan is my musical one, playing the guitar, piano, drums and most recently the ukulele (my house is not a quiet place *g*). He’s also in choir and he volunteered to play his guitar as a pre-show for their spring concert last week. I uploaded a video clip of his solo below—advanced apologies for the bumpy motion for those who check it out–I was filming with one hand, taking pictures with the other. The lighting wasn’t the best, but the sound came through great–not that I’m a proud mom or anything
While I’m feeling a tad misty-eyed about all the years that have gone by so quickly, I’m excited for all that is still to come and try to keep a lid on the parental angst and to remember to enjoy today before it’s gone. No matter how old my guys get, they will always be my angel boys
Anyone else out there enjoying this end-of-the-year school scramble? Care to share any advice or memories?
My oldest son is getting married!!!! Yes, we’re excited. Before I get into bridal showers, can I brag a bit? He pulled off one of the best proposals ever. He went to grad school in Egypt, and he’s done a lot of travel in the Middle East. He and his soon-to-be fiance were backpacking in Syria where he took her to the highest tower of the Crac des Chevaliers, a castle from the Crusader era. At the top, he a
sked a British tourist to take a picture. Clever to the core, he faked having a rock in his shoe. When his girlfriend turned around, he was on bended knee with a ring on display, asking her to marry him.
It’s a gift-giving party for the purpose of getting the bride and groom set up in their new home. In some cases, where the bride’s family was poor or perhaps opposed to the marriage, the bridal shower made sure the wedding could take place. It provided the bride and groom with what they needed to set up house and sustain their marriage. Bridal showers also have ties to old dowry practices. If a woman’s family refused to support her decision to marry, friends would come together and bring gifts to fill in the lack of a dowry.
Once I have a course set and a solid hero, everything else tends to spiral from there and fall into place. The first hero to arrive ended up being the hero of the second book for this series. I’m working on four books at present—they always come in a lot, and I tend to fall for the whole cast, and there’s always that secondary character that tries to steal the spotlight, ensuring he’ll get his own book. The loudest in this bunch has become my favorite, though he doesn’t get his own story until book three. He’s the rowdiest and most rotten, so of course his name is Gabriel. Here’s a little snippet from book two, the first time he wrangled me into his head, ensuring he’d get his own story. He’s tormenting Lake, the hero in book two, which is one of his favorite pastimes:
Good Morning!
Here is a picture snapped a few years back of myself and a friend on the Blackfeet reservation. I can’t imagine what it must have been like all those years ago when people traveled by horseback only. It’s probably one of the few things that I do appreciate about the age we live in — cars. Of course I could fly across the country, but think of all I’d miss along the way. There are so many things to see and places to visit and history to learn — all conveniently advertised along the roadside. On my trips across country (and I’ve probably driven across country now more than a dozen times) I’ve seen canyons that stretch on forever (the Grand Canyon comes to mind); I’ve seen caves — two enormous different ones — and have learned that the rocks in these caves are alive. Did you know that? They grow like any life thing and they can die if you touch them — thus, there are many, many signs in these caves not to touch the rocks.
Actually I didn’t lose my way on this trip until I was well into Vermont, and then I took a wrong turn and ended up at the scene of a very beautiful statue of Ethan Allen. Although I was very lost, I had driven into a spot where the trees were alive with autumn color and I really do mean live. They were bright, bright yellow and gold. So bright that an overcast day looked sunny. And the trees were overlooking the road as I drove by them. I’m not certain I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful in Nature. The only thing that might even come close would be perhaps the Grand Teton area in Wyoming — and of course the Glacier Mountains in Montana.
The picture here was taken in Montana in the Glacier Mountains which set up against the Blackfeet reservation. Once another author and myself visited a deserted train station — trying to envision the people who had once used it. Another time we searched out a town in Louisana called Transylvania. Nancy Richards Akers and I once skirted along the Choctaw trail and another author and I learned of a legend of a young Indian princess who threw herself off a mountain to avoid marrying a man she didn’t love. (Her true lover followed her over the cliff, by the way). And another time, fellow author, Heather Cullman, and I visited Sky City — I’m only calling it that because I can’t recall exactly the name of the town. Here we were taken on a tour, learned the history of the town and learned that the town was used as a safe refuge in a time of uncertainty.
Perhaps I took that invitation a little too much to heart.
I guess we Americans — or maybe I should just say we humans — love to travel. And whatever the cause, I do enjoy my trips — even though it might take me longer to go from here to there. I bet you’ve had some incredible adventures here in the heartland of America. And I’d love to hear about your own trips. Please however remember that today I am still on the road and so won’t be able to see your comments until I return home. But I would love to hear from you. So please come on in and tell me your thoughts. And don’t forget to pick up your copy of Black Eagle and Seneca Surrender today.
I’m a farm girl. Maybe that’s why writing westerns feels so good to me – I understand that soul-deep link to the land, I understand being at the mercy of Mother Nature and I know for certain that growing up on a farm is responsible for my work ethic. Work hard, treat people honestly, be a straight shooter. Everything else just kind of looks after itself.
I’m almost ashamed to admit that I’ve had to research haying a little bit. Equipment has changed over the years, and my memory fades a little. I found it quite interesting, actually. I looked at pictures of different kinds of balers and rakes. I read about drying times before baling and different types of bales and the advantages of each. 
Where I grew up, most of the farmers made the small, rectangular bales but when I moved out west to Alberta, mostly there are the huge round bales and sometimes a new shape – bigger square bales. I always kind of wondered the reasoning for the round bales, actually. At home in Atlantic Canada, you hayed, you made small bales, and you brought the bales back to the haymow. You never left them in the field. With the large round bales, you have more hay with a smaller surface area so it protects from the elements, meaning you can leave the bales in the field. There are coverings too. Some that leave the ends open, protecting the surface but allowing airflow so they don’t ferment, and complete wrappings that allow the bale to become silage – rather than using a silo.
But there’s another component to haying that has nothing to do with function. There are feelings. It sounds funny, I know, but the feelings needed no research at all. For that I just drew on my own memory.
My house is currently throbbing with blaring amps, pounding drums and the deep rowdy voices of a whole gang of teenage boys — a steady chaos I know I’ll be missing before long. Tomorrow their cousin and some of their closest friends will graduate, another friend leaving for the Army in in just a couple weeks. Huge changes, the constant motion and evolution of life, and suddenly, my babies, who’d seemed securely tucked into our nest a few short months ago, are teetering awfully close to the edge, so to speak. Conversations have shifted from games, toys and movies to colleges, careers, hopes and goals. And DRIVING–egads! So much to be accomplished in just a few years! There seems to be this new urgency combined with the usual impatience of youth *lol*.
