We hear a lot about the Cattle Barons, the men who made their fortune raising the beef that people back East and west in California loved. Behind many of the men were strong women who helped forge the economy right along with them. I’ll introduce you to a few:

Aubony Stuart – Along with her husband Granville, they had an unlikely, but nearly-perfect marriage during the time when Indian-white hostility was at its peak. A full-blooded Shoshone, Aubony settled easily into her mixed marriage. She and Granville had nine children and later they adopted and raised two children of his dead brother James.

Eula Kendrick – She lived and dressed stylishly even on the frontier. A friend once commented that “her trim, erect figure sets off to perfection frocks which are always the last word in smartness and elegance.” But she wasn’t just a pretty face and fashion plate. She kept her husband’s books before she shared his retirement at the Sheridan, Wyoming, home they called Trail’s End.

Elizabeth Iliff – Sold Singer sewing machines when her husband John met her trudging along a country road. She was the perfect wife for a cattleman, handling every crisis as it arose. When he died at 48, her first thought was to telegraph his ranch foreman to double the guard on the herds before rustlers could move in.
Nellie Wibaux – had a flair that matched the one of her husband Pierre. Even though their first home was a log cabin with a sod roof, for Thanksgiving they prepared turkey, plum pudding, and mince pie. She hovered over the stove in an evening gown. He drank champagne with a flour sack over his stiff shirt and swallow-tailed coat.

Agusta Kohrs – ran the domestic half of her husband Conrad’s domain in decisive Teutonic style. She started by firing the cook and taking over his duties. Later, with the staff trained to her satisfaction, she made tours to Europe and annual visits to New York’s Metropolitan Opera, which she attended the last time in 1942 (the year I was born) at the age of 93.

Mary Ann Goodnight – We know about the Goodnight cattle trail, but we don’t often hear about his wife. She was as tough and patient as her husband. She waited until age 31 to marry, when Charlie had established his Colorado spread. Later she helped him get through his financial crash. Eventually, she presided over their Palo Dura spread, where she was the only white woman for hundreds of miles around.

I’ve taken this information from the Time-Life The Old West series, The Cowboys. Photographs of these women show many of them to be quite lovely.

The old West was hard on many women, but it also proved to be an avenue to wealth and a better way of life, even though it took a lot of work.

Lena Nelson Dooley

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Releasing in September:

Wild West Christmas (with Kathleen Y’Barbo, Vickie McDonough, and Darlene Franklin)

Christmas Love at Lake Tahoe (with Jeanie Smith Cash, Jean Kincaid, and Jeri Odell)

I will give away a free copy of each book drawn from the list of today’s comments.  Click on the covers to purchase on Amazon

History is full to the brim with strong courageous women who helped settle this country and none is more colorful or more endearing than Jane Long.

Jane Herbert Wilkinson Long was born in July 1798 in Maryland. She was the tenth child of Capt. William and Anne Wilkinson. Her father died the following year and her mother thirteen years later, leaving Jane an orphan at 14. An older sister who lived near Natchez, Mississippi took her in.

It was in Natchez that Jane met the love of her life, Dr. James Long. He was a physician who had served as a surgeon under Gen. Andrew Jackson in the Battle of New Orleans. After a whirlwind courtship, they married. Jane was a mere 16 years old. A year later they welcomed a daughter.

James Long purchased a plantation near Vicksburg but he became restless. Talk swirled that Texas was eager to declare its independence from Spain. James was chosen to lead an expedition to Nacogdoches, Texas. Jane was expecting another child so was left behind. Twelve days after giving birth, she set out to join her husband with her two daughters and a young black maid.

Jane was the first of many white women to brave the Texas frontier. But two months after arriving in Nacogdoches, she was forced to flee when Spanish troops from San Antonio marched for the frontier outpost. She, her children and her maid returned to Natchez until it was safe again to rejoin her husband. While there, her baby daughter died and was buried in Mississippi.

When she again returned to Texas, it was to Fort Las Casas on Bolivar Point, a peninsula opposite Galveston Island. It’s said she and James dined with the pirate, Jean Laffite. In later years she talked much about it.

James Long left on an excursion that was to have only taken a month. Pregnant again, Jane stubbornly waited for her husband even when all the other people in the fort left. She resisted all pleas for her to leave with the last of the fort’s occupants saying that her husband left her there and there she’d stay until he returned. She had no way of knowing that the Spanish had captured James and taken him to Mexico where he was killed.

So all alone in an ice-covered tent with only her five year old daughter and young maid, Jane gave birth to her third daughter. This child was the first Anglo-American known to have been born on Texas soil. Folks from all over the country referred to Jane as the Mother of Texas and the title stuck.

That winter was extremely bitter. The food supply dwindled. Jane and her small band survived by chopping fish and ducks out of Galveston Bay. To keep away the cannibalistic Karankawa Indian’s in the area, she fired an old cannon daily and flew her red petticoat on the flagpole to make it appear that troops still occupied the fort. The ruse worked, for they left her alone.

It was mid-summer before Jane learned of her husband’s fate. The long wait was over. Jane was a widow at 24 years old. She finally abandoned the fort when a friend of James’s came to deliver the news. Desperate for more information and seek justice for his death, she rode a horse alone to San Antonio to speak with Governor Jose Felix Trespalacios. But after ten months with no satisfaction, she gave up the quest. Eight months later, the baby who had earned Jane the title of Mother of Texas died.

Jane received a league and a labor of land as one of Stephen F. Austin’s colonists and settled down to farming. Finding it difficult to make a living on the farm, she opened up a boarding house near the town of Brazoria in 1832 and ran it for several years.

In 1837 the widow who was 39 years old secured a tract of land two miles from Richmond, Texas. With one black man to work the farm until it began to pay, she operated a hotel in town. Jane bought and sold land, raised cattle, and grew tobacco and cotton. Before the outbreak of the Civil War, Jane had one of the most valuable plantations in Texas. She was intensely loyal to the Southern cause and refused to wear any clothing not made in the South. Her own dresses were made of cotton that had been grown, spun, woven, and dyed on her own plantation. And in her spare time, she made garments for the Confederate soldiers.

Somewhere along the line, she developed a fondness for smoking, filling a pipe with home-grown tobacco. In later years, she enjoyed rocking in her favorite chair, puffing on that pipe, and reflecting on her past with friends and family.

Jane Long was fiercely independent. Throughout her long and active life, she was courted by some of Texas’ leading men such as Ben Milam, William Travis, Stephen F. Austin, Sam Houston, and Mirabeau Lamar. She turned them all down. She’d had but one love in her life and everyone else paled in comparison.

On December 30, 1880, Jane passed away at the age of 82 at her plantation. She lies buried in a little cemetery in Richmond, Texas. On her tombstone is the inscription “Mrs. Jane H. Long, The Mother of Texas.”

Doesn’t Jane sound like a heroine in one of today’s romance novels? She’s certainly an embodiment of the frontier spirit.

I’m giving away a copy of The Cowboy Who Came Calling to one commenter.

Good morning! I’m honored to be here today at Petticoats and Pistols. This is such a great group of women and writers–I’m thrilled to be here.

As most of you know, Brenda Novak’s Charity Auction concluded recently. The reason I bring it up is that I happened to stumble upon a jewel that I found interesting and took an active role in the bidding (so much fun)! I love true-life stories that are told quickly, just a few pages each. To my delight I ended up winning, Frontier Teachers, Stories of Heroic women of the Old West, written by Chris Enss.

I haven’t read all the accounts yet but I have read some and skimmed the whole133 pages. It’s a must for all who write teachers of the West. Tucked in the back is a table of rules for teachers of 1872. It’s hysterical, in a charming, sort of innocent way. I’d like to paraphrase a few of the “stipulations” of the teaching profession of that day….

Teachers were required each day to fill their lamps and clean chimneys, bring a bucket of water and a scuttle of coal—a reasonable requirement if the teacher was well off enough to afford it. After the ten-hour a day job, one was allowed their remaining time (how much you ask?) to read the Bible or other good book. Women teachers were dismissed if they married, while men were given one evening each week for courting, or, if they were a church going fellow, two—Double standard? You think? Your integrity and honesty were scrutinized if you smoked, used liquor in ANY form, frequented pool or public halls, or—get this—got shaved in a barber shop! What in Pete’s name?

Now, here is, I think, some good advice: Each teacher was advised to put away a large chunk of their pay—that is after buying a scuttle of coal five days a week to heat the school room—for their declining years so as not to be a burden. Sounds like a forerunner to social security—and we all know how that ends.

And finally, if you faithfully followed these rules and the Board of Education approved you, you might be eligible for a twenty-five cent a week raise.

Before finding this list, I held teachers in very high esteem. Without them, and their generosity and dedication to their vocation, it would have taken much longer for the West to arrive academically. But now, knowing more fully what their day-to-day routine was like, I’m truly in awe. Such enthusiasm and commitment are what heroes are made of, as the title of the book suggests.  

Do you have any western teaching stories to share? Or are there any teachers in your family history?

In celebration of my debut release, Where the Wind Blows, a Lonesome Dove meets Little House on the Prairie story, I’m giving away a copy to someone who leaves me a comment.

Also, please visit my website at www.carolinefyffe.com to see how to enter my contest, Under a Western Sky, for your chance to win an overnight stay in a bunkhouse. Come on, it’ll be fun! And, while you’re there, take a minute to sign up for my announcement-only newsletter. On the last day of every month I will be giving away a free book!  

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The Old West is filled with legends but none is more colorful than Poker Alice. Her real name was Alice Ivers and she born of privilege in 1851. She attended an elite boarding school for young women until her family moved to Leadville, Colorado. There Alice met Frank Duffield, a mining engineer, and they were married.

Gambling was prevalent in the rough mining camps and Frank Duffield did his share. Alice often accompanied him to keep from staying home alone. Alice quickly learned she had an ability to read cards and took up poker and faro. When Frank died in a mining accident, Alice decided to put to use what she’d learned. Left alone with no means of support she turned to poker as a way to earn a nice living. It was certainly more respectable than prostitution.

Alice stood at 5’4″ with blue eyes and lush brown hair and decked out in her fashionable dresses she was quite a sight for lonely miners. It was rare to find a “lady” in a saloon that wasn’t of the “soiled dove” caliber so they flocked to her. They quickly bestowed the nickname Poker Alice on her and she was in much demand. It’s rumored that she once broke the bank at the Gold Dust Gambling House in New Mexico where she won $6,000 in one night.

Sometime during this period she began smoking large black cigars. Some said it was quite a sight to see her in frilly dresses with a big cigar sticking from her mouth. Alice also took to carrying a .38 revolver and wasn’t a bit squeamish to use it. Her reputation grew and so did her pocketbook.

However, she was deeply religious and never gambled on Sundays. The lady did have her scruples it seems.

Alice traveled all over Colorado, New Mexico and South Dakota playing and sometimes dealing the game she loved. But it was in Deadwood, South Dakota that she met Warren Tubbs. They married shortly after and homesteaded a ranch near Sturgis, South Dakota. Loving the quiet ranch life, Alice cut back on the time spent in gambling houses. She and Warren had seven children and it was one of the happiest times of her life.

But it wasn’t to last. Alice’s poker luck didn’t extend to husbands. Warren contracted tuberculosis and died of pneumonia in the winter of 1910. Again, Alice had to turn to poker to earn a living.

She hired a man by the name of George Huckert to take care of the ranch. He fell head over heels in love with Alice and asked her to marry him several times. Finally Alice relented saying that it was cheaper to marry George than pay him all the back wages she owed him. The  ink was barely dry on the marriage license before George died in 1913, leaving Alice once more a widow.

This time when Alice returned to the gambling halls she wanted to do more than be a patron. She purchased her own place and named the saloon “Poker’s Palace.” There she provided everything a lonely man required–liquor, gambling, and working girls. One night a drunken soldier went on a rampage in the saloon, breaking furniture and threatening the customers. Alice promptly took out her .38 and shot the man dead. She was arrested of course and thrown into jail, but at the trial she was acquitted on grounds of self-defense and released.

She lost her saloon though. Authorities shut her down and it seemed to take a lot of the fight out of Alice. A little while passed and Alice was now in her 70′s. Her beauty had faded and she began dressing in men’s clothing. She continued to run a house of ill-repute in Sturgis and was arrested many times for drunkenness and charged with being a madam. Finally, after repeated convictions she was sentenced to prison. Alice was 75. Taking her advanced years in account, the governor of South Dakota pardoned her. She died of complications from gall bladder surgery in 1930 and was buried in Sturgis, presumably beside Warren Tubbs.

According to the Legends of America website, Alice was said to have won more than $250,000 at the gaming tables during her lifetime and she never once cheated. One of her favorite sayings was: “Praise the Lord and place your bets. I’ll take your money with no regrets.”

Doesn’t this sound like a character in a romance book? Poker Alice was colorful and independent. She lived life on her own terms. When the chips were down, she didn’t ask for a handout; she went back to work.

Have you read any books or watched western movies where the heroine was unconventional, maybe working in a saloon or even owning one? Miss Kitty definitely springs to mind, but there are others. Our own Charlene Sands’ heroine in BODINE’S BOUNTY sang in a saloon.

www.LindaBroday.com

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 The other day I was doing some heads-down research for my current work in progress.  The subject of my quest was stagecoach accommodations but, as often happens when I do research, I got sidetracked by a tidbit I stumbled upon.  What caught my eye was an intriguing reference to  a stage-driver by the name of Charley Parkhurst.  “One-eyed Charley”, as the popular driver was called, led a very colorful and singular life. 

Charley was born in New Hampshire around 1812.  Orphaned while very young, Charley was sent to an orphanage, escaped from the orphanage at around age 12 and found a job as a stable boy.  There it was discovered Charley had a way with the horses and was promoted from stable boy to handling teams and eventually progressed to driving coaches.  Charley’s skill was such that patrons were known to specifically request the young driver by name.

In 1851 Charley moved to California following the opportunities that opened up with the gold rush and soon earned a reputation as being one of the safest and fastest drivers around, easily handling the ribbons for a team of six.  According to one source looking back over Charley’s career, “. . . in more than twenty years no highwayman had dared to hold up a stagecoach with Charley Parkhurst on the box, for the first two who tried it had been shot dead in their tracks.”

At some point, Charley lost an eye as a result of being kicked by a horse.  Not deterred by the mishap, Charley wore a black eye black patch from then on, and thus obtained the nickname “One-eyed Charley.”  From all accounts, though a fair and honest person, Charley was no saint.  The colorful driver’s habits included, smoking cigars, chewing tobacco, indulging in moderate drinking, card playing and other forms of gambling, and swearing volubly when the occasion called for it.

Eventually, when rheumatism (a common condition among long-time drivers) began taking a physical toll and the railroad expansion took more and more of the overland business, Charley retired.  Never one to remain idle, the former stage-driver, now past sixty, turned to raising cattle and occasionally hauling freight for neighbors. 

All of the above points to a vivid life lived fully and with gusto.  But the most astounding thing about Charley wasn’t revealed until it came time to lay the body out for burial.  It turns out Charley was a woman!  Her real name was Charlotte Darkey Parkhurst.  For the most part, co-workers, business partners, neighbors and even close friends were absolutely  flummoxed by the news.  In fact, Charley had fooled everyone to the extent that she was allowed to register to vote in the presidential election of 1868, long before women were awarded that privilege.

Reading this remarkable story had the writer in me imagining story after story to account for what had led Charley to lead such a curious life. 

Had she taken the disguise as a child in order to land the stable boy job and found herself trapped for a lifetime by her own deception? 

Had she become so enamored of the freedom afforded her as a man that she was unwilling to give it up? 

Was she running from something in her past and was afraid to resume her true identity? 

Did she ever long to throw off her disguise?

Another piece of this intriguing puzzle that spurs the imagination – it was said that those who went through Charley’s possessions after her death found baby clothes. Wow, if true, does this ever raise additional questions.

Did she in fact have a baby?  If so, when – after she reached California or was it actually part of the reason she headed west?  What happened to the child – did the baby die or did she find a home for him/her?  Who was the father and under what circumstances was the child conceived?

Anyway, this little side trip through my research cost me several hours since I couldn’t resist digging deeper into her story even though it’s not something that will be useful to my work in progress.  Then again, who knows?  Pieces of this tale, or variations thereof, may someday find their way into a future book.

So what about you?  Did this snippet of Charley’s history cause you to start spinning tales in your head about what her life might have been like?  What aspect most intrigued you, what piece did you immediately hone in on?

In exactly one year from today on May 22^nd, I’ll be the mother of the groom!  My son is getting married! The wedding will take place on a country club golf course and their vows will be spoken on the first tee.  My son is an avid golfer, you see, and he wanted to get married on a golf course.  No other place seemed fitting enough.

My husband and I recently celebrated our 35^th wedding anniversary. Since both of us worked that day, he took me to Mission Burrito for a taco salad. The entire dinner cost $12.00. We were blissfully happy anyway and will take a little trip next month to celebrate properly. But either extravagant or simple, I feel very fortunate to have spent these past 35 years in a relationship with a warm-hearted, loving man.

My daughter was married just last fall, and now we’re back in wedding mode again. As we stuffed the beautiful engagement party invitations, my husband said, “Seems like we were just doing this.”  It’s true – it was only 7 months ago when we were in full wedding swing. This party will be a summer luau with all the trimmings, including a Tiki Bar with my dh as the Mai Tai Master.  

How different weddings are now than in the past. While today young women and girls look forward to marrying their loves, forming that loving bond together with stability and compassion, back in the first half of the 1800′s, that wasn’t necessarily the case. Often, women weren’t overly enthused with the thought of marriage. For them, it meant a hard life of cooking, mending, sewing, chores and bearing children. 

I was surprised to learn that women had on average five to seven children! That’s a lot of meals to cook and clothes to clean! But more importantly, if love wasn’t the means to their marriage, wives were often subjugated to a husband’s wrath. They depended on him for monetary support and therefore, the men always had the upper hand.  Woman often spoke of their upcoming marriage with impending doom or at the very least, anxiety.

Whereas, it’s observed that in the first part of the nineteenth century men looked favorably upon marriage. They’d have good meals cooked, clean clothes and sex on a regular basis.  While women of that time enjoyed sex with a mate before marriage, often their desire waned after marriage. Statistics show this to be true today as well.

In the early part of the century a minister performed the ceremony in the bride’s home for most marriages, although church weddings became more popular later on and soon became the norm. Perhaps due to the preacher’s heavy schedule of sermons and church services, most weddings in early 1800′s were performed on Tuesdays, Wednesdays or Thursdays.

Women of the West tended to court and marry at a later age than those in the East and South. They also engaged in more premarital sex and often married if the woman became pregnant.

Today’s research shows from a 2008 study that the average marrying age for women is 25 and for men, 27. 

Since two of our fillies are marrying off their daughters this season, both coincidentally named Kristi/Christi, I asked them about their thoughts and family traditions that continue from generation to generation.  Both Pam Crooks and Tanya Hanson had something unique to share!

From Pam: 

“With a talent she didn’t know she had until she was in her late thirties, my sister Kim decorates beautiful cookies.  Starting with my first daughter, and continuing the tradition with my second and now my third, she makes cookies for every guest at the wedding reception. 

As you read this, Kristi is hours away from being married.  Afterward, since she and her new husband will be moving to Virginia Beach, the guests will find beach-themed cookies at their table.

Love the cookies Pam! Aren’t they adorable! Best wishes at the wedding today!

From Tanya:      

I’m a little crazy right now LOL. Christi had her first fitting on Saturday and suddenly, it’s almost here.

Some traditions, old and new:  Christi is using the cake knife and server, and silver toasting goblets from Matt and Debbie’s wedding, and the little Noritake china bridal cake plate Tim and I ate from. 

A five-generation tradition: Somewhere during the ceremony, the hymn “Let us Ever Walk with Jesus” happens. At our wedding, it was a solo. My parents walked up to the altar to it during WW II. At Matt’s and also Christi’s, it’s the song I will walk in to.

I think all of these traditions are amazing and endearing. 

What about you?  Any weddings on your horizon?  Did you have family traditions that continue on from one generation to the next?   And what wedding scene from either a book or movie stands out in your mind?  

Curious minds want to know!

Don’t forget to enter our Fillies Contest!!

In a scrapbook I have from my grandmother is a clipping from the Sunburst Sun (Montana) newspaper, Aug. 26, 1922, that reads:
Program
1:00 Parade of cowboys and cowgirls, headed by Cut Bank brass band
2:30 Tootsie Bailey will enter competition with entire field, riding wild steers with only one hand on cirsingle

     Another clipping states “Tootsie Bailey won first and Mary (Marie) Gibson second prize in the steer riding.”
Marie Gibson was a well-known Montana cowgirl and won national awards for bronc riding.
Tootsie was my grandmother and she would have been 17 at that time. I did have the opportunity to spend time with her, ride horseback, and get to know her pretty well before she died suddenly when she was only 57 and I was 12.

     I know that she was an avid horsewomen and that she was more at home on the back of a horse than behind a dust mop. My dad told me she had competed in rodeos, riding steers, when she was young. I kept thinking how courageous that was, especially as I got older and watched bull and bronc riders. Grandma was petite—five-feet two-inches and weighed a little over 100 pounds. I was amazed that she would pit herself against an animal that weighed 900 pounds or so, one whose sole purpose was to get that pesky rider off its back and then maybe stomp on her!

While my grandmother most often dressed in men’s jeans and did a man’s job, riding horseback and working cattle, she also “cleaned up nice” and dressed very feminine and fashionably when she was in social situations.

     Following is an excerpt from Cowgirl Dreams when my character, Nettie, donned a pair of her brother’s denim pants, sneaked out of the house one morning and rode in a neighbor’s informal rodeo. She loved the freedom of riding her horse Toby, wearing pants and especially riding the steer in the rodeo. The adrenaline of staying on the back of that bucking, twisting, angry beast had her hooked and the clothing allowed her to ride unencumbered by the extra fabric of a skirt, divided or not. (I don’t know that my great-grandmother was as opposed to her daughter’s rodeo riding as my character’s mother, but I know, from research, that it was often a family issue and a social stigma.)

     When Nettie arrived home, her mother was horrified to see her daughter dressed as a man. And having heard that Nettie had ridden in the rodeo against her wishes, Mama was highly upset.

     “You.” Mama stepped forward, her face dark red with anger. “You defied me.”

     Cold dread pooled in Nettie’s belly. She’d never seen Mama so mad. “No, I—”

     “Young lady, you were supposed to stay home today. Work on that pile of darning. You know Mrs. Connors wants it done by tomorrow, otherwise we don’t get paid till next week.”

     The darning. She hadn’t given it another thought after she’d decided to sneak out. Oh dear. Icy prickles of guilt stabbed at her. “But. Lola. Why couldn’t she finish it?”

     Mama stepped closer. “And, we had to hear it from the neighbor’s hired man. You. Rode. In. A rodeo.” With each word, she jabbed her finger an inch from Nettie’s face. “You know how I feel about that.”

     “But, Mama, I stayed on. I didn’t get bucked off.”

     “Don’t you sass me, girl.” Mama’s voice shook now. “And wearing pants in public, too.” She closed her eyes a moment and sighed. “You will take that basket of socks, go to your room, and don’t come out until they’re all finished. No supper. No No riding. For a month.” She turned on her heel and stalked out of the kitchen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     Thank you, Mary, for hosting me on Petticoats and Pistols. Today is my first stop on my virtual book tour. Please leave a comment to enter a drawing for some cool gifts. today, on Petticoats and Pistols, the drawing is for a pair of horse earrings. Perfect for P & P readers.

And join me tomorrow at L. Diane Wolfe’s Circle of Friends blog http://circleoffriendsbooks.blogspot.com/

     For the itinerary of all my stops on this tour and a list of prizes, go to my blog http://heidiwriter.wordpress.com/my-blog-tour/

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I love the story I wrote for my current release.  It’s called “Home Again” and it’s a novella in the Love Inspired Historical Mother’s Day anthology. Overall title is In a Mother’s Arms.  The heroine has a 12-year-old son who’s determined to get into trouble.  He starts by throwing a rock through the church window. That act of rebellion puts him in the path of the town sheriff, the man my heroine jilted fourteen years earlier.

What I loved about the story is how hard the heroine is trying to raise her son to be a good man. Here she is . . . A woman in 1890 Colorado, running a store, raising a child and divorced. She needs help and the hero is glad to give it, but the bottom line is that she’s responsible for raising her son. Like the real life women who settled this country, my heroine, by shaping a single child, contributes to the creation of the time and place we call the Old West.

When I started this column, I was going to list my five favorite Wild West women. Several names came to mind, most of which you’d recognize.   Annie Oakley… Calamity Jane . . . Caroline Ingalls of “Little House” fame. Don’t get me wrong. I’m fascinated by these women and their larger-than-life ways, but I wouldn’t call them favorites. They are complex individuals with good traits and not-so-good traits.

I thought of Sacagawea, the Indian guide for Lewis and Clark.  In elementary school I read her biography a dozen times. She’d be on the list, but I’m sure my impression has been overly romanticized. She’s a favorite, but I don’t feel strongly connected.

I broadened my search and thought of Willa Cather. A woman and an esteemed author, she was born in Virginia in 1873 and grew up in Nebraska. In college I read O Pioneers! and My Antonia. I enjoyed the stories, but I didn’t love them the way I love a western romance.

Somewhere in my search, I realized something simple. The women of the west I most admire don’t have individual pages in history books. They could most likely shoot a gun, but they weren’t in the league of Annie Oakley. They had grand adventures like Sacagawea, but their journeys had another purpose. They wrote like Willa Cather, maybe not books but letters by the dozens, even hundreds.

The women of the west I most admire were the wives and mothers who lived everyday lives. They cooked breakfast for their eight kids, did laundry in tubs with homemade soap, and tended sick children. They stared down danger, kept the faith and somehow brought civility to the wide open spaces of America. I have the deepest respect for these women and always will. They had tough lives and they persevered. What’s more, they passed that grit on to their sons and daughters.

 Mother’s Day is a few weeks away, but I’m celebrating early this year.  Home Again is dedicated to my mom.  She’s strong, smart, wise and just plain fun. Who are the women, both in history and in real life, that you most admire?  I’d love to hear about them.  Everyone who comments will be automatically entered into a drawing for a copy of In a Mother’s Arms.

To learn more about Victoria, visit her website at www.victoriabylin.com

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In western romance bloomers often refers to a woman’s undergarment. I’ve been guilty of this and have used bloomers on more than one occasion. While they were originally a type of women’s trousers, bloomers have since become synonymous with under drawers and pantaloons. But in Amelia Bloomer’s day they were baggy pants gathered tightly and buttoned at the ankle. They were worn under a skirt of a shorter length that allowed the lacy bloomers to show.

Bloomers released women from their tightly laced corsets, layers upon layers of petticoats that could weigh over ten pounds, and long dresses that dragged the ground. Bloomers allowed freedom of movement. Women could at last ride bicycles and indulge in sporting activities. And it was all because of free-thinkers like Fanny Wright who first advocated a type of bloomer in the early 1800′s and Amelia Bloomer who made the garment fashionable in the 1850′s.

Amelia Jenks Bloomer (1818-1894) married an attorney by the name of Dexter Bloomer. He was also a newspaper editor. She began writing a few articles for his paper pertaining to women’s issues. After attending the Women’s Rights Convention in Senaca Falls in 1848 she founded her own bi-weekly newspaper called “The Lily” and became a voice for many women reformers such as Elizabeth Stanton and Susan B. Anthony.

Initially, the newspaper focused on temperance and the women’s suffrage movement. But as the times progressed the articles became more about marriage law reform, higher education for women, the right to vote, and women’s right to employment without having to ask for her husband’s permission. The health and well-being of women were also a primary focus and that’s when Amelia advocated clothing for women’s comfort and the bloomers in particular.

She fashioned them after the Turkish women’s trousers. They were intended to preserve Victorian decency while being less of a hindrance. Here’s Amelia in her outfit.

She said, “The costume of women should be suited to her wants and necessities. It should conduce at once her health, comfort, and usefulness; and while it should not fail also to conduce to her personal adornment, it should make that end of secondary importance.”

As you can imagine, she was met with overwhelming ridicule. The garment was deemed unfeminine and a moral outrage. Gradually, the bloomers faded away. Amelia herself gave up the fight after eight years and stopped wearing them, citing that it shifted the focus away from more important women’s issues.

I can only imagine that these bloomers were a forerunner of today’s jeans. I love the comfort, freedom, and casual look of jeans. And they’re form-fitting and feminine.

How many of you are a jeans and shorts kind of gal? And do you think you would’ve worn bloomers in public if you lived back in Amelia’s day?

Talent equals talent, great art equals great art, whether done by a male or female, right?  But that wasn’t always the case.  As late as 1905,  an art dealer refused to believe the work of art in front of him was painted by a woman.   That woman was Eliza Barchus and below you’ll see some of her brilliant paintings.   A widow and a mother with young children, she supported her family by painting and teaching.

She is known in the art world now as the “The Oregon Artist” for her depictions of  the territory. By the turn of the century Eliza Barchus was the best known painter in the Northwest; she had won many awards and had exhibited at the National Academy in New York. Theodore Roosevelt placed one of her paintings in the White House, and Woodrow Wilson bought another. Eliza Barchus lived to be one hundred and two years old and passed away in 1959.

By 1890 there were over 1,100 woman artists and art teachers in the West.  Whether inborn talent or applying techniques of formal art training, women didn’t have an easy road.  Their work wasn’t appreciated in the art world.   Many pioneer women nurtured their talent even after a hard day of household chores, others braved the frontier on their own and some ventured into subzero temperatures to gain inspiration.   These female  artists needed plenty of courage and determination to create and compete in a field so dominated by men.  Yet, I find their paintings inspiring and honest. 

Helen Tanner Brodt was the first white woman to climb Mount Lassen in 1864.   Lake Helen in the Mount Lassen area is named after her.  She trained in New City City at the National Academy of Design then moved to Red Bluff in 1863.   In Red Bluff she painted landscapes, portraits, china, and ranch scenes, and also at the public school. She taught art in Oakland in 1867  and later exhibited her art at the Chicago Worlds Fair of 1893. Two of Mrs. Brodt’s pastels of Mount Shasta are in the collection of the Bancroft library at the University of California at Berkeley. 

Helen Tanner Brodt (1838-1908) – Mount Shasta Viewed through Trees
 

Grace Carpenter Hudson was born in Potter Valley near Ukiah, in California in 1865. She showed great art skill at an early age and enrolled in a local school of design. She married Dr. John Hudson in 1890 and their home on South Main, now the Grace Carpenter Hudson Museum is marked with a totem pole and is known as the “Sun House.”  She felt a kinship and great compassion for the Pomo Indians and was known by them as “Painter Lady.”  Her painting of Little Mendocino (the unhappy papoose) caused a great sensation at the 1893 World’s Fair and she focused her attention on painting the Pomos, capturing their pride and culture.  As you can see most of her subjects were babies and children.  She spent some time later in life to paint Native children in Hawaii and when she returned she earned a commission to paint the Pawnee in 1904.

I’ve always loved  VanGoghs, but until now, I’d never realized how truly talented women artists were.   I think I love the Grace Carpenter Hudson’s depictions the best so far. They show the humanity and innocence of the Pomo children. There were so many other female artists I’d learned about while doing this research that it would be impossible to post it all. Maybe  next time.   Do you have a favorite artist?  How about a favorite artist of the west?  Any other women artists that you’d care to share?  What do you think of these incredible paintings?