Good news! Penny Zeller will return Monday, June 29, 2026 for a second time this month! Yee-Haw!
When she was here on June 12, the website was having a lot of issues. We’re thrilled to have her back!
She’s giving away an ebook copy of A Heart’s Hope!!
Please come and support her. Leave a comment on her post Monday to get in the drawing!
Welcome back, Penny!
My husband and I recently returned from a two-week trip to Alaska and had a truly wonderful time. The many stunning sights didn’t disappoint, as you can imagine. We took several wildlife tours, spotting whales at sea and moose, caribou, dall sheep, and eagles on land. We soaked up as much history and culture as we could, along with plenty of excellent food that had us both returning home a few pounds heavier than when we left.
One thing we got a particular kick out of hearing about from tour guides and even locals was some of the more colorful tall tales and mythological legends particular to the area. I thought it might be fun to share a few with you here today.
Did you know that Alaska has its own version of Bigfoot and Sasquatch? It’s called the Alaskan Hairy Man. Much like their lower forty-eight cousins, these creatures roam the woods and mountain regions– which is literally freezing in the winter – are very elusive, stand considerably taller than a man, and emit odd, unsettling sounds. Stories of this creature are rooted in both Indigenous folklore and modern Alaskan cryptozoology (I had to look up this last word, it means the search for and study of unknown, legendary, or extinct animals whose existence is disputed or unsubstantiated by mainstream science). This creature is “supposedly” the reason the Nantiinaq fishing village of Port Chatham on the Kenai Peninsula was abandoned in the 1950s. They are also associated with the Alaskan Triangle, an area much like the Bermuda Triangle where there have been numerous unexplained disappearances and strange events.
There is another notorious creature by the name of Qalupalik that lives in the water and wears a traditional parka or amauti. It’s known for snatching children who wander away from their parents, then tucks them under the parka hood and carries them under the ice, never to be seen again. Yikes! I wonder if this tale wasn’t invented to purposely scare youngsters into behaving, kind of like the old European fairy tales such as Hanzel and Gretel.
One of the lesser known and malevolent mythological animals that also has its origins in Indigenous traditions across northern regions including Canada is called the Keelut. This oily, hairless, black animal resembles a dog and is reputed to travel between physical and spiritual worlds. Like the Alaskan Hairy Man and Qalupalik, the Keelut is solitary and stalks those who wander away from the beaten path. It is also said to be a symbol representing the harshness and perils of the northern wilderness, which sounds a whole lot better than harming people.
Well, if I scared you, I surely didn’t mean to. These mythical creatures and the stories of their unnerving habits are fascinating. I suppose they’re the result of early man or the first white explorers attempting to explain things that made no sense. I can certainly understand that in a place such as Alaska. If ever I visited somewhere filled with beauty and mystery and that defied logic it was there.
How about you? Have you ever visited our northern most state and if yes, what stood out to you the most?
Our next guest is Janice Cole Hopkins and she’ll be right here in Wildflower Junction on Friday, June 26, 2026!
Have you heard about her new Disabled Sisters series? Miss Janice will tell us all about that and introduce us to the three sisters. This series sounds like a humdinger!
She’s also giving away Ava, Book #1 to one commenter on her Friday post! Yee-Haw!
Please help us welcome her back and stay and chat a while. It’ll be fun.
Petticoats & Pistols is where everything’s at. Always something new popping up.
Jackson Sundown was born in 1863 in Montana. His given name was Waaya-Tonah-Toesits-Kahn, meaning Blanket of the Sun, and he was the only Native American to win the All Around title at the famous Pendleton Roundup. He won it at the age of 52.
Waaya-Tonah-Toesits-Kahn was born into the Wallowa Band of Nez Perce, led by Chief Joseph. At the age of 14 he was involved in the Nez Perce War of 1877. He managed to escape the calvary into Canada during the Nez Perce Retreat and then, according to legend, joined Sitting Bull in his Canadian Camp for two years along with other survivors of the Battle of Little Big Horn.
In 1879, Waaya-Tonah-Toesits-Kahn moved from Canada to Washington State, and then to the Flathead Reservation in Montana, where he became known as Jackson Sundown. He married there and had two children. In 1910, he returned to the Nez Perce Reservation in Idaho, married again (I couldn’t find what happened to his first wife), and settled on his new wife’s ranch near Lapwai.
Jackson was a skilled horseman and made his living breeding, raising, training and selling horses. He bolstered his income by entering rodeos, often winning the all-around purse for having the highest scores in every event. Jackson won so often that other competitors would withdraw from events in which he was entered. Spectators loved him not only because of his talent, but also his striking presence. He wore colorful shirts, wooly chaps and would tie his braids under his chin when he rode rough stock.
In 1915, Jackson came in third at the Pendleton Roundup. He retired then at the age of 51. His body had taken a beating from rodeoing for so long and he was done. But the next year he was at the Roundup and an artist, who was sculpting him, encouraged him to enter again, offering to pay the entry fee. Jackson accepted.
He drew a very rough horse and his ride was legendary. The horse, Angel, bucked so hard that Jackson removed his hat and fanned the horse to “cool it off”. Jackson won the Roundup and retired once more, this time as a hero, the first and only Native American to win the title. He died seven years later at the age of sixty from pneumonia. His memorial in Idaho reads:
Jackson Sundown
Waaya-Tonah-Toesits-Kahn
Nez Perce Born in Montana 1863
Died at Jacques Spur, December 18,1923
At the age of 60 years
He is still celebrated at the Pow Wow held at the Pendleton Roundup every year.
I’m house and cat sitting for a woman who owns the cutest bungalow surrounded by a simple, yet chaotic garden on three sides of the house. Being here, if only for a few days, reminds me of how it’s the simple, little things that can make a house a home. But how did women in days gone by, create such beauty?
One of the things I love most about writing westerns is remembering that the Old West wasn’t all dust, danger, cattle drives, and gunfights. Oh, those things certainly make wonderful story fodder. Give me a stubborn cowboy, a runaway wagon, a mysterious stranger, or a heroine with more courage than sense, and I’m a happy writer. But what really brings a western town or homestead to life for me are the little touches of beauty people carried with them.
A scrap of lace, teacups wrapped carefully in cloth and packed across the country.
A packet of flower seeds tucked into a trunk. A quilt made from dresses that had seen better days. Maybe a blue ribbon saved for Sunday.
Those are the details that make my imagination wake up. I often think about the women who traveled west and what they
chose to bring when space was limited and every item had to matter. A cast-iron skillet was practical. A good needle was necessary, and a sturdy pair of shoes could make all the difference.
But then there were the things that weren’t strictly necessary and still mattered very much. Many a woman kept a pressed flower between the pages of a Bible. For some it was a pretty shawl or a bit of rose-scented soap. Many carried small pictures from home, while others packed packets of hollyhock, marigold, or sweet pea seeds.
Those little things remind me that people have always needed beauty. Not grand beauty, necessarily. Not chandeliers and ballrooms and velvet curtains. Just something lovely enough to soften a hard day.
Imagine a woman standing in the doorway of a sod house or a rough cabin. The wind is blowing dust across the yard. Supper still needs cooking. The children are muddy. Her husband is late getting back. There is work everywhere she looks.
But beside the door, a few stubborn flowers are blooming. That matters.
Maybe they came from seeds her mother gave her or she traded for them with a neighbor. Maybe she carried them across miles of prairie because she couldn’t bear to leave every pretty thing behind. That little patch of flowers says, “This is home now.”
I think that’s why I love writing heroines who create beauty wherever they land. Maybe they bake, sew, plant flowers, tend chickens, teach children, doctor neighbors, run boardinghouses, or make a lonely room feel welcoming. They’re not just surviving. They’re building something.
I western romance, that’s often what love is really about, too. Not just the grand declaration or the kiss. And let’s not forget the moment when the hero finally realizes he’s been a complete fool and had better do something about it before the heroine walks away. Though I do love that part.
Love is also in the small things. The cup of coffee waiting on the stove, the extra blanket. What about wildflowers left on a 
windowsill? Or when the man who notices she’s tired. The woman who sees past his gruffness and realizes he’s lonely?
It’s these little things that make a house into a home. And sometimes, those little beauties are what make a story feel real. So today I’m thinking about the small comforts people carried into hard places. The things that didn’t look important on a packing list, but meant everything once the journey was over. A flower garden, a pretty dish, a quilt, songs, memories and hope.
Those are the things that remind us our foremothers weren’t only tough, though they certainly were that. They were also dreamers. Women who could face a hard world and still say, “I’m going to plant something beautiful here.” And honestly, I can’t think of anything more heroic than that.
What about you? What little touch makes a house feel like home to you? Is it flowers, books, quilts, family photographs, a certain scent from the kitchen, or something else entirely?
The Winner
of an ebook copy of
is
Kathy Rader
Kathy, I will contact you to confirm your email address and get the book sent to you.
There is something special about family food memories. I used to love visiting my maternal grandma. She was a no-nonsense woman who shared her love through food more than words. She made the best jams and jellies from fruit grown either in her garden or wild berries my grandpa gathered down by the creek. But my favorite food memory with Grandma was her persimmon cookies. She would keep persimmon pulp in her freezer just so she could make my favorite treat whenever we visited. Of course, I didn’t know that at the time. I just knew she made the best cookies that were soft and just a little sticky and so yummy. They were small drop cookies with persimmon moistening the batter much like pumpkin does in pumpkin bread. Add some sugar, cinnamon, and raisins and they became a delicious treat.
When she passed (at age 102!), I asked my uncle to send me her recipe if he could find it. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to find it. A few years later, I found a recipe online that created a very similar cookie. It might not be exactly the same, but it is close enough to elicit those tender memories.
Persimmon Cookies
1/2 cup shortening
1 cup sugar
1 egg
1 cup persimmon pulp*
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon cloves
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
1 cup raisins
*Note – Use hachiya persimmons for baking. They are the more elongated ones. (Think Roma tomato as opposed to a round, garden tomato.) Let them get overripe (you’ll need about 3) and squeeze the pulp right out of the skin and puree with a blender or food processor.
1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease or line two baking sheets with parchment paper and set aside
2. In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, soda, salt and spices; set aside.
3. In a separate bowl, cream the shortening with the sugar using a hand mixer. Beat in egg then beat in persimmon pulp. Slowly beat in the flour mixture until everything is combined. By hand, stir in the raisins.
4. Drop by rounded spoonfuls onto prepared baking sheets. They can be placed close together because these cookies don’t spread much.
5. Bake for approximately 12-15 minutes. Let cool on baking sheets for five minutes and then remove to a wire rack to cool completely.
Yield: 24-36 small cookies
Do you have special family food memories?
Your Last Chance to Play!
Missed the daily clues in the Reader Group? No worries! Here’s your Bingo Round-Up with all four clues in one place.
Choose your answers, submit your entry, and you’ll still have a chance to win a $10 Amazon gift card!
Winner will be announced Monday in the Reader Group.
Book #2 in the Petticoats & Patriots Series
Coming Tuesday!
Join us Tuesday in the Reader Group on Facebook as we play a new Bingo game to celebrate!
You could win a $10 Amazon Gift Card.
And . . . check out our Series Page to see all the books, too.
What They Carried
The Story of Shirley’s Basket
There was a lot of hubbub when my first novel debuted, including friends of friends and relatives who purchased it. One such person was my sister’s neighbor, who purchased it for his wife. This summer, I went to visit my sister and met her neighbor—a 91-year-old gentleman by the name of Don. He sat in his rocking chair before a grand fireplace, where a historical firearm, complete with a bayonet, hung on display behind him as he told me stories of coming west. Beside him sat an empty rocking chair, complete with an overstuffed cushion.
As he paused in his storytelling, my sister spoke up. When she mentioned that I wrote stories of the West and that I was the writer in the family, Don told me that Shirley enjoyed reading my book and insisted that I should take one of her ornamental glass baskets. Speechless, I thanked him yet stood unmoving, wrapped in the weight of the moment. He nodded solemnly, as our dear elderly friends do, and said, “In honor of Shirley.” It was a deeply humbling experience.
Holding that delicate glass, I realized that we never truly leave the past behind if we have something tangible to anchor it. Decades ago, many pioneers heading west set out with the prize of “the Promised Land” and a new life ahead. They brought with them an assortment of heirlooms and family treasures—some of monetary worth, and others of purely sentimental value. These precious items became the foundations of a home, surviving the journey even after the schooners themselves had been stripped down and remade into cabins.
The Woven Basket: The Everyday Companion
While Shirley’s basket was an ornament of remembrance, the baskets carried across the plains were born of pure utility. Baskets were lightweight, durable, and did not overburden the beasts of burden that brought emigrants west. They were used for vital, practical purposes like collecting eggs, herbs, and berries, as well as for holding sewing essentials or keeping bread dough warm by the fire. Woven from natural materials and often handed down from generation to generation, these baskets stood as a symbol of the work of the hands and heart—a practical piece of history born from simple materials, a clever mind, and diligent hands.
The Signature Quilt: A Community’s Embrace
Where baskets provided daily utility, other trail treasures offered a different kind of survival: emotional comfort. The heirlooms that consistently made it across the plains were the family quilts. Before a wagon train departed, entire communities would gather to hold “farewell quilting bees,” stitching together pieces of fabric, names, and signature blocks from the families left behind. They sometimes signed their names directly onto the squares or inked scripture and words of blessings onto the cloth. Wrapping up in a signature quilt on a freezing desert night meant literally wrapping oneself in the warm presence of loved ones who were thousands of miles away.
Heirloom Seeds: The Promise of Tomorrow
Many of the pioneers were farmers, and how appropriate to bring with them the seeds of their home. Often, these were sewn into the hems of petticoats. Flowers, pinecones, and bulbs (like lilacs and old-fashioned roses) were stored in tin boxes. Planting a mother’s garden in untamed western soil was how they claimed a wild frontier and turned it into a home.
Living Sourdough Starter: A Taste of Home
Alongside the seeds meant for future fields, pioneers carried another living heirloom to sustain them day by day: the family batch of sourdough. Many of these wild yeast starters were already generations old, carefully kept alive from the same batch used by mothers and grandmothers further up the family tree. Tucked safely away from the harsh elements, these starters lived in small stoneware crocks. They were a true “living heirloom,” ensuring that no matter how drastically their outer world changed, the pioneers’ daily bread tasted like the kitchens they had left behind.
Vessels of Memory
We remember pioneers for their grit, but their heirlooms remind us of their heart—the things that mattered to them and to those who came after them. Like the basket from Shirley’s own living room, we honor those who walked before us and cherish the days gone by—a time when family ties endured even as new worlds beckoned and threatened.
What about you?
Is there a precious object passed down through your family, or perhaps a unique treasure you discovered at a local garage sale or antique shop?
I would love to hear your stories in the comments below.
About the Author:
KyLee Woodley 
writes inspirational historical romance with a pinch of adventure. A cheery romantic, she loves to evoke bygone days and heartwarming love stories, as seen in her 2025 debut The Bandit’s Redemption and the subsequent installments, The Bounty Hunter’s Surrender (2025) and The Convict’s Courtship (2026)—all published by Wild Heart Books. KyLee teaches preschool at a lab school in Texas, where she lives with her husband and their three teenage children. When she is not busy, she hosts Historical Bookworm Show—a podcast for history lovers and fans of historical fiction. Raised in the Pacific Northwest and now rooted in Texas, KyLee carries a deep respect for American values and the power of redemption. She began ministering to the homeless and addicted as a teenager, and that compassion continues to shape her stories—loving the unlovely is a timeless theme.
Author Links:
https://www.facebook.com/WoodleyWrites
https://twitter.com/KyLeeWoodley
https://www.instagram.com/kylee.woodley.writes/
https://www.pinterest.com/kypins13/
Podcast: https://historicalbookworm.com/?page_id=41
Personal Website: https://kyleewoodley.com/
We are on to book four in this NINE BOOK SERIES!
These books are formerly published and out of print, so I’m giving them a new life with the help of Wild Heart Books.
But only six covers so far. I can’t wait for the rest!!!
This month the book re-releasing is………..
Montana Rose is one of the first books I ever wrote. Not first by any means but before any of the other five books that are included in that lineup.
To make it into a series I had to rewrite it, along with The Husband Tree…which I wrote a bit later…move Montana Rose to Montana…or did I move the Husband Tree to Montana? And I know it was The Husband Tree that I had to date a lot later to match up with the time of The Husband Tree and, if you’re reading Montana Rose, you’ll see that Belle Tanner, the heroine of The Husband Tree is in the book, as is Tom Linscott…neither of these people were originally in Montana Rose. There might have been a passing mention of the name Tom Linscott as a cranky neighbor who would bid to buy the land that is being seized by the bank near the beginning of the book.
He never appears on the page. He never had a line of spoken dialogue and, in my imagination, he was an old codger. Now he’s a handsome young cranky neighbor bound of a love story of his own.
All of this changed when I threw my back (okay, my fingers!) into making these books a series. Adding in Wildflower Bride well, that was the first original book I wrote after I became published.
Montana Rose was written as my effort to re-create Love Comes Softly. If you’re familiar with it, it is the beginning of Christian Publishers buying and publishing fiction. It was all non-fiction before Love Comes Softly. It’s a beautiful story, classic and widely known. Also at this point in my writing, I’d been creating female characters that were tough, feisty lady ranchers. I wanted to try and grow as an author, test my skills. Can I create a true damsel in distress…and in the truest, old fashioned sense of the word.
Cassie is meek. She’s been mistreated by her first husband, a much older man who, after Cassie’s mother’s death, tended the vast wealth Cassie inherited. Well, he married her and took her west, spent her whole fortune, got her pregnant and died. Leaving her penniless, alone, used to taking orders and convinced she’s stupid and childish and someone needs to tell her every decision to make.
There, on the freshly turned grave of her husband….
…………..Here’s the thing. I like to think of Montana Rose as Love Comes Softly … Only with Mayhem and Gunfire.
I suggested to my publisher we call it that. Or maybe Love Comes Hardly. Or Love Comes Loudly.
I felt like that captured the spirit of the book. In their usual wisdom, they picked a title of their own.
Montana Rose, coming June 23. That’s next Tuesday. Available now for preorder, along with The Husband Tree and Wildflower Bride.
Have you read Love Comes Softly? It was a movie on The Hallmark Channel…the author Janette Oke, absolutely beloved, has had many many books made into movies, six in the Love Comes Softly series alone. In some ways they really launched The Hallmark Channel and those movies run and rerun to this day.
So my humble attempt to capture that beautiful pregnant woman, grieving from her husband’s death on a wagon train, in terrible need, her forced marriage of convenience to a near stranger, and how those two learned to trust. And how Cassie learns to risk her heart again.
With me as the author, it fell into chaos of course, lots of shooting and such. But I love it just the same.
Have you read Love Comes Softly? Have you seen the movie? To get your name in the drawing for an ebook copy of Montana Rose, let me know in the comments. Then, if you dare!!! Risk the mayhem of Montana Rose.
A poignant Western romance about second chances, redemption, and the healing power of faith—a moving tale of a heartbroken young widow, a compassionate rancher, and the love that helps them both find their way home.
When Cassie Griffin’s abusive husband dies, leaving her pregnant and destitute, she’s forced to marry a stranger to survive. Red Dawson, a hardworking rancher and part-time preacher, steps forward to save her from a worse fate. Though Red fears marrying a non-believer goes against his principles, he can’t stand by and watch Cassie be claimed by the ruthless Sawyer clan.
Living in Red’s rustic cave home is a far cry from Cassie’s former life of luxury. But as she learns to work alongside him, she discovers strength she never knew she possessed. Red’s gentle patience and unwavering faith begin to crack the protective shell she’s built around her heart. When a dangerous enemy threatens their newfound happiness, Cassie and Red must trust in God’s plan—and each other—to survive.
Can a marriage of convenience bloom into true love? And can a woman who’s known only submission find the courage to stand tall? A tender story of healing, hope and the transformative power of unconditional love.