Kit Morgan

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We’re said it or heard it at some point. “It’s the code of the West!”

The Code of the West was like a sacred law, passed down through generations of rugged cowboys. It was never written down, but it was understood and followed by all who called themselves true cowboys. Here is a “loose” list of some of the unspoken guidelines that governed their way of life.

A man’s past was not to be questioned or judged. He was to be taken as he was in the present, his character measured by his actions and words.
No crime was greater than stealing another man’s horse. This offense would be met with swift justice, often resulting in death for the culprit.

In a land where danger could strike at any moment, defending oneself was necessary for survival.
Self-sufficiency and independence were highly valued traits among cowboys. They looked out for their own needs and didn’t rely on others for help.

Etiquette even extended to the dining table – guns were to be removed before sitting down, ensuring a peaceful meal.
Whiskey was the drink of choice, and anything weaker would not be accepted by a true cowboy.

Threats were not made lightly, as they could lead to severe consequences.
When passing another person on the trail, it was customary to greet them with a friendly “Howdy.”

To avoid startling someone from behind, a loud greeting should be given before getting within shooting range. And it was considered rude to wave at someone on horseback, so a simple nod sufficed as a proper greeting.

Looking back at someone after passing them implied mistrust. A cowboy’s word was his bond, and trustworthiness was highly prized.

Borrowing another man’s horse without permission was almost as bad as betraying him with his wife – something no honorable cowboy would ever do.

In true cowboy fashion, whiskey glasses were always filled to the brim – leaving no room for timidity or hesitation.
Cowboys were known for their stoic nature, reserving their breath for breathing rather than idle chatter.

But despite their tough exterior, cowboys had a code of conduct to uphold. They were always considerate and tended to their horse’s needs before their own.
Strong language was tolerated among men, but never in the presence of women, horses, or cows. And if someone complained about the cooking, they would often find themselves taking over those duties.
When drinking whiskey, it was customary to hold the glass in one’s gun hand as a sign of friendship and good intentions.

Ingratitude was not tolerated among cowboys – they understood the value of loyalty and appreciation for others.

Even when things weren’t going well, a cowboy remained pleasant and forbearing. Complaining was seen as a weakness, and quitters were despised.

Courage was a necessary trait for life on the frontier. There was no room for cowardice in any outfit worth its salt.

A true cowboy was always willing to lend a helping hand, even to strangers or enemies.

Hats were personal property and should never be tried on without permission.
Hospitality was extended to all who crossed their path, regardless of past feuds or differences. Strangers were always welcome at the dinner table, just as riders were welcomed into cowboy camps.

Giving an opponent a fair chance in a fight was integral to the code. It was known as “the rattlesnake code” – always give warning before striking. However, if someone was being stalked or ambushed, this rule could be overlooked.

Women were to be treated with respect at all times – violence against them was strictly forbidden.

Consideration for others extended to all aspects of life on the range – from avoiding stirring up dust near the chuckwagon to not waking the wrong man for herd duty.

The land and environment were held in high regard by cowboys, who respected nature by not smoking in hazardous areas and preserving its natural beauty.

Honesty was paramount, and a cowboy’s word was his bond. A handshake was more binding than any written contract.

And perhaps most importantly, cowboys lived by the Golden Rule – treating others as they would want to be treated themselves. This code of conduct not only governed their actions but also defined the very essence of what it meant to be a cowboy in the American West.

Have you heard of any other Codes of the West? What are some you’re most familiar with? I’m giving away one e-book of mine of choice to one lucky commenter!

If you’ve never been to Old Sacramento and get the chance to go, take it. I love Old Sac. Every time I used to visit my son in Stockton, which is about forty-five minutes south of Sacramento, I like to set aside a day to wander through Old Town.
Old Sacramento is exactly what the name suggests: an entire historic district along the waterfront. The wooden sidewalks, brick buildings, and old storefronts make you feel as if you’ve stepped back into the 1800s. The buildings have been preserved and are still very much in use today, filled with shops, restaurants, candy stores, and museums. It’s the sort of place where you can spend hours simply strolling and peeking into windows.

One of my favorite stops is the California State Railroad Museum. Ty Smith, the museum’s director, once said that “trains and railroading are at the heart of who we are as a people. We speak in railroad language and metaphor. To speak of trains is to speak of freedom and movement.” He also says the museum is made up not just of trains, but of stories.

And there are plenty of those.

Every time I visit the museum, I learn something new. For instance, many towns in the American West were built around railroad tracks rather than the other way around. A town’s location was often determined by where the tracks ran. Of course, some places were settled long before the railroad arrived, but once the trains came through, those towns often grew quickly.

The tracks were usually laid along the edge of town or just outside it, and over time the town expanded until it surrounded them.

It’s fascinating to realize just how much trains shaped the way communities developed.

Trains also left their mark on American music. There are countless train songs in the American songbook. Trains have a rhythm that musicians couldn’t ignore. There are tragic train songs, “working on the railroad” songs, love songs, and songs about love lost. Trains are wonderfully percussive. If you listen closely to old recordings, you can almost hear the syncopation of wheels on rails and the cry of the train whistle woven into the music itself.

The museum is a wonderful connection to the past, when train travel was as much about the journey as it was the destination. Travelers sat in plush railcars watching the country roll by outside their windows. People met, shared meals, and sometimes formed friendships that lasted far longer than the trip itself.

In recent years, train travel has been making a bit of a comeback. More and more folks are choosing the rails again. It’s a relaxing way to see the country and a refreshing change of pace from crowded highways and busy airports.

One of the highlights of visiting the museum is the steam-powered excursion train on the Sacramento Southern Railroad.

Watching the engine chug to life and hearing the whistle blow makes history feel wonderfully alive. It’s easy to see why people of all ages love riding trains.

So if you enjoy trains, or just enjoy a good piece of history, the next time you’re passing through Sacramento, take a little time to stop at Old Sacramento State Historic Park and visit the California State Railroad Museum. Stroll the boardwalks of this wonderful place, visit the shops, grab a bite. You’ll be glad you did.

One train ride I’ve always wanted to take is called The Fruit Loop, in Oregon. It takes you to a string of farms and farm stands that sell all kinds of apples, pears, nuts, and other goodies!

Tell me, have you ever taken a train trip? Or do you have a favorite train movie, song, or story?

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You’ve won a free e-copy of one of my books of your choice.
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A reader recently sent me an article about a woman I had never heard of before. My readers know I love little tidbits of history, and now I can’t stop thinking about her.
In 1843, in an elegant parlor room, a woman named Paulina Wright Davis saw a life-sized model of the human body on a velvet table. It had no skin. Its painted layers revealed muscles, lungs, and a removable heart. How scandalous! 

For most women of that era, even looking at such a thing would have been considered improper. The abomination was for sale, and Paulina, fascinated, bought it.

In the 1840s, respectable women were expected to read poetry, pour tea, and avoid unpleasant subjects. Medicine was a man’s domain. Women were often taught that their own bodies were delicate mysteries best left unexplored.

When they fainted from tightly laced clothing and lack of air, it was called weakness. When they suffered from chronic pain, they were prescribed rest and silence.

Paulina had seen too many women suffer in ignorance. Her own health had been fragile since childhood. She believed women deserved to understand how their bodies worked. So she did something shocking, yet practical in her eyes. She rented public halls and began giving lectures on human anatomy to women.

The model she used was made of painted paper and cardboard, imported from Paris. It had removable layers. She could lift away the chest plate and reveal the lungs. Remove the lungs and show the heart. At one early lecture, the room was packed. Local officials stood in the back, arms folded, waiting for scandal. When Paulina calmly removed the painted chest to reveal the heart beneath, one man reportedly fainted! Ha!

The newspapers took to Paulina’s venture like fleas to a dog and had a field day. She was called improper. Unnatural. Unladylike Bookings were canceled. Doors closed. Critics scoffed that anatomy was too grim a subject for female minds.

Paulina kept going. She packed up her model, traveled to the next town, and opened the crate again.

Layer by layer, she showed women what lived inside their own chests. She explained how blood moved through veins. How lungs filled with air. How muscles carried the body’s weight. Something powerful happened in those lecture halls. Women leaned forward.

For perhaps the first time, they saw themselves not as fragile mysteries, but as thoughtfully designed, capable bodies.
Paulina toured for years. Her quiet persistence helped build momentum for change. In 1848, the New England Female Medical College opened in Boston,  the first medical school in the world established specifically to train women.
She later helped organize the National Women’s Rights Convention, continuing her work to expand women’s opportunities.

What strikes me most about her story isn’t the scandal. It’s the steadiness. She didn’t shout and bluster to the world about it. She simply lifted the chest plate and let women see their own hearts. Paulina’s heart led her to fight for social reform and was part of the National Women’s Rights Convention in 1850 of which she became president. 

As writers of historical fiction — especially Western romance — we spend a lot of time imagining brave women stepping into new territories. Some cross prairies while others build ranches. Some start over in rough mining towns. And some open wooden crates in rented halls and refuse to close them again.

Courage doesn’t always look loud. Sometimes it looks like a woman standing calmly in front of a skeptical crowd, explaining how lungs breathe. And sometimes, that’s enough to change the world.

Is there a woman in history you admire? Maybe it’s a relative, or a teacher you had. I have a friend, Jahna. She’s maybe twelve years older than I am but has  been like a second mom to me for years, and I greatly admire her and what she can accomplish in a very short time if she has to. I call her Mamasan. 

I’m giving away an ebook of mine of choice to one lucky commenter!

With Valentine’s Day approaching, I’ve been leafing through some of my favorite research books. The kind you don’t just read, but linger over. I have some filled with old songs, poetry, and bits of folk wisdom that reveal how romance was viewed, hoped for, and sometimes warned against in earlier generations. What struck me most wasn’t just how much love mattered, but how playful, imaginative, and practical people were about it.

For young women especially, the future held many questions, and romance was often wrapped in ritual and rhyme. Folk traditions promised glimpses of one’s future spouse through everyday objects and moments: dreaming after tucking something beneath a pillow, watching the moon, or tossing a shoe and peering into a mirror. Yeah, I know, if any of us did this today people would think were were nuts! But back in the day, these weren’t solemn rites. They were playful, shared experiences. Things girls might do together, laughing even as they hoped. Love was treated as something worth wondering about, even if the answers came wrapped in superstition.

Apples show up again and again in love lore. A warmed apple shared, a peel tossed just so, seeds named and flung or balanced. All were said to reveal who loved you best or whom you might marry. There’s something wonderfully domestic about this kind of romance. Love wasn’t separate from daily life; it lived right there in the kitchen, in the orchard, in the small rituals of ordinary days.

Dreams, too, were believed to hold answers. Simple rhymes recited before sleep promised visions of the one a girl might someday wed. Whether or not anyone truly believed these things worked, the hope behind them feels very real. Even wedding dresses came with their own rhyming warnings. Colors carried meanings, some hopeful, some grimly humorous. The verses read today as blunt and a bit funny, but they reflect how seriously marriage was taken. Choosing a spouse wasn’t just about love; it was about survival, stability, and reputation.

And of course, not all romance was encouraged. One lively folk song  serves as a cautionary tale, warning young women to be wary of charming men who smoke, drink, gamble, and swear eternal devotion a bit too easily. Sung with humor, it nonetheless carries a clear message: pay attention to actions, not just words. 

They smoke, they chew, they wear fine shoes, beware, oh take care!

And in their pocket is a bottle of booze, beware, oh take care!

Around their neck they wear a guard, beware, oh take care!

And in their pocket is a deck of cards, beware, or take care!

They put their hands up to their hearts, they sigh, oh they sigh;

They say they love no one but you, they lie, oh they lie!

Romance, it seems, came with a healthy dose of skepticism.

Tucked among the rhymes and songs is my favorite piece of all: a bit of real-life advice passed from a father to his daughter in the early twentieth century. He cautioned her not to rush into marriage before truly knowing whom she loved. She listened. And decades later, she credited that patience with a long, happy marriage. After all the folklore and fun, that quiet wisdom lands with the most weight.

These songs, poems, and old wives’ tales remind me why historical romance works so well. Love wasn’t abstract. It was personal, practical, hopeful, and sometimes hilarious. People flirted, worried, dreamed, warned one another, and held fast to the idea that true love was worth waiting for.

As we await the arrival of Valentine’s Day, I find it comforting to know that long before chocolates and cards, people were still wondering who they would love, how to recognize the right one, and how to guard their hearts along the way.
Some things, it seems, never change.

Many of us grew up hearing bits of advice about love. Some wise, some funny, some questionable. What’s one piece of romantic advice you were given that you’ve never forgotten?

Sarah, you’ve won a free ebook copy of His Prairie Sweetheart
Contact Kit Morgan at authorkitmorgan@gmail.com so she can get your ebook to you.

Life for a pioneer woman wasn’t for the faint of heart. She had to cook, clean, tend the children, wrangle laundry, feed the chickens, milk the cow, help in the fields, and still had to hitch up the horse and wagon anytime she needed something from the general store. And with all that work? Most women still longed for something more than chores and survival.
They longed for companionship. Yes, there were sewing circles and quilting bees, but did you know there were also women’s clubs? I had no idea!
In the 1880s, a few women in Lodi, California found work outside the home. Millinery, dressmaking, hotel domestic work, and serving as waitresses. One remarkable woman, Laura DeForce Gordon, even became the second woman ever admitted to practice law before the U.S. Supreme Court. But most women lived quietly in the background of their own towns, gathering mainly at church for a moment of fellowship.
By the 1890s, the itch for community grew stronger. Some women joined temperance groups or formed auxiliaries connected to the men’s lodges like the Masonic, Knights of Pythias, and Oddfellows. But it still wasn’t enough. They wanted a voice. They wanted a hand in shaping the town they called home.

So in 1906, they finally stepped into their own. That year, Lodi officially became a city and was able to pass laws, levy taxes, pave streets, build water and sewer systems and all that fun stuff. With nearly 2,000 residents, it was ready to grow… and the women of Lodi were ready to help guide that growth.
So, twenty-eight ladies gathered in the Methodist Church and formed the Ladies Improvement Club. Their mission? To work for the “progress and betterment of Lodi.”
Their first president, Emma Witte Humphrey, served until 1909. Meetings began in kitchens and parlors, then moved to rented halls as membership grew. By 1908, they joined the State Federation of Clubs and got to work improving their town: planting trees along main roads, installing a drinking fountain downtown to offer a non-alcoholic option for the menfolk, and petitioning for more sidewalks.
One of their first major projects was saving Lodi’s public library. The library, founded in 1885, desperately needed a permanent home—but lacked the property ownership required to apply for Carnegie funding. So the Ladies Improvement Club stepped in.
On June 5, 1909, they held a dance, raised enough for a down payment on a Pine Street lot, secured the land, and unlocked the door for Andrew Carnegie’s donation. By 1910, Lodi had its Carnegie Library—thanks entirely to the town’s women.
By 1913, they adopted a new name: The Woman’s Club of Lodi. With 65 members and dues of $2, they opened their doors to women of every walk of life, encouraging fellowship, community improvement, and intellectual growth.
And they dreamed bigger…

In 1915, they decided Lodi needed a woman’s clubhouse—their own place to gather, host events, and continue building their community. They formed the Lodi Woman’s Building Association and sold shares of stock to fund it. A building lot was purchased for $10 in gold at the northeast corner of Lee Avenue and Pine Street.
World War I and the 1918 flu pandemic delayed construction, but by April 1920, the women were ready to build. The cornerstone was laid in March 1922, and by March 1923 the colonial-style clubhouse opened its doors—complete with towering columns, an elegant auditorium, and room enough for gatherings large and small.

Cost of land and construction totaled $51,000.
Membership surged to 450 women.
Dues: $5.
Spirit: priceless.

They hosted conventions, fashion shows featuring gowns from the 1830s onward, minstrel shows (as common for the era), and the town’s annual children’s Christmas parties. For decades, the clubhouse was the shining heart of Lodi’s social life.
Today, the Woman’s Club of Lodi has around 160 members and still meets in that same historic building—now on state and federal historic registers. The old colonial beauty has seen generations of women walk through its doors, from early pioneers to modern volunteers.

It’s still welcoming gatherings, card parties, and community events, just as it did over a century ago. From feeding chickens to founding civic institutions, Lodi’s women have always found ways to lift their town, lift each other, and leave a legacy that still stands tall on Pine Street.

After stumbling across these tidbits of information, it makes me wonder how many other little towns in the old west also took that extra step and formed a women’s club.

Is there a women’s club in your town? There isn’t in my home town, but there is a quilting club. I’m giving away one free e-book copy of His Prairie Sweetheart, which begins with the Ladies Sewing Circle deciding to get a school teacher for their town. 

Every autumn, pumpkins seem to take over the world. They perch on porches, fill our pies, scent our candles, and lately, they’ve even taken to the water. Yes, the water. Thank you to Shanna Hatfield for posting some pics from her excursion to the Tualatan Pumpkin Regatta on FB. Shanna was in the Portland area last week for a book signing and got to go see this spectacle. I had no idea such a thing even existed! And I don’t live that far away!

So, it’s called the West Coast Giant Pumpkin Regatta where folks climb into hollowed-out pumpkins the size of rowboats and paddle across a lake. Costumes, cheering crowds, and a few wobbly mishaps included. When I first saw pictures, I thought wow! How fun! And this has been going on for over twenty years?  Turns out, people will race just about anything that floats.

And that got me thinking…

What would a Victorian Pumpkin Regatta have looked like? Or a western one? Ha! Can you picture cowboys climbing into giant hollowed out pumpkins to race? Oh. My. Goodness! After all, Victorians and cowboys alike  loved a good party.

In the late 1800s, Halloween was shifting away from fright and toward fun and community. Parlors and barns were decked out for games, laughter, and just a touch of mischief. So, if you happen to be near a lake…

Imagine a genteel Victorian regatta on some fog-kissed lake. Ladies in long gowns and gentlemen in top hats politely stepping into their floating gourds while someone on the shore shouts, “Mind your crinoline, Miss Penelope!” The brass band strikes up a tune as the racers paddle madly for the prize. Probably a lace handkerchief and eternal bragging rights.

Meanwhile, the spectators sip mulled cider and play their own party games: Bobbing for Apples in porcelain washbasins, lace sleeves rolled just high enough to scandalize. Halloween Pudding, a cake baked with hidden charms in it like a thimble, a button, a ring, each foretelling one’s romantic or financial fate.

Now imagine if a few cowboys from the Old West had a pumpkin regatta! You can bet they wouldn’t be content to simply paddle their pumpkins across the water, no, siree. They’d line up their hollowed-out gourds like canoes, tip their hats to the crowd, and shout “Yee-haw!” as they raced for them with one  hand on a paddle, the other keeping a hold of their hat. The race would probably turn it into a full-blown rodeo on water. I can just see the sheriff trying to keep order while the town’s blacksmith bets his week’s wages on the fastest pumpkin, and a fiddler on the dock strikes up Turkey in the Straw to spur them on. By the end of it, someone’s pumpkin would’ve sprung a leak, someone else would be fishing their boots out of the drink, and the whole town would be laughing so hard they’d forget who won.

Yeah, I’m going to have to put that in a book! Oh, sure, back in the day they had lots of games they played for Halloween and harvest time too. The mirror game, where a brave young woman peers by candlelight to see if her true love—or a skull!—appears behind her. (Personally, I’d rather take my chances in the pumpkin boat.) And then there was a parlor game played in the dark where guests were told a room was haunted, then sent in folks one by one to reach into drawers and pull out mysterious boxes. Some contained party favors; others, well, the unexpected. (Cold oatmeal makes a fine imitation of something ghostly and unpleasant, trust me.

Folks back in the day knew how to have fun around this time of  year and they certainly had imagination. Whether it was a fruitcake prophecy or a pumpkin pie eating contest, it all came down to the same thing. Celebrating the harvest, sharing laughter, and finding joy in the turning of the season.

So tell me, what were some of your favorite games to play at harvest festivals or Halloween parties? I bet none of them included racing around in giant pumpkins on a lake!