Peevish Pen

First Mulch of the Year

2012-01-30T17:28:00.003-05:00

Because today was so warm, I decided to mulch a couple of flower beds. Usually this is a chore I do in late March, not late January.

I'd been coveting the great-looking mulch at Gardner's for over a week, so we hitched the trailer to the truck and headed down Route 40. The trailer holds two scoops.

A curious critter came out to see us.

Soon the second scoop was loaded.

I decided to do the two beds on either side of the driveway.

This flower bed looked pathetic and was badly in need of mulch.

So was this one on the opposite side of the driveway.

See what a difference a little mulch makes?

I also partially mulched the other flower bed, but I was too tired to take a picture. Plus I ran out of mulch.

Maybe later.

Mystery Move

2012-01-29T20:15:00.000-05:00

Friday morning, I went out to feed the critters and noticed our Rubbermaid storage bench had mysteriously moved. Normally it's up against the house. You can see the light spot on the deck where it usually is. Notice the water dish beside it didn't move.

So where did it go? It stayed on the deck but moved and turned. This is a pretty substantial bench, so how it moved and turned is a mystery. Was it a high wind?

Granted, Thursday night was windy, but the wind would have had to come through the brick wall and then make a sharp left turn to put the bench in its resting spot. That seems unlikely.

Also, a lightweight plastic chair that normally rests against the rail—and often blows over—was bturned over against the bench. So the wind that overturned the chair would have come from the opposite direction. Hmmm.

Something doesn't add up here. How did the bench get moved? It's a mystery.

And the bench isn't talking.

Judging by a Cover

2012-01-26T11:11:00.001-05:00

I picked up this copy of Maia Wojciechowska's A Kingdom in a Horse for $5 at Tractor Supply the other day. The cover, from the 2012 Sky Pony Press edition, caught my attention. I figured the book was about a young boy having a conflict with an unruly horse with bad mane hair.

Since I'm a fan of middle grade and YA lit, I figured I'd like the book.

I actually did like the book very much, but this cover was misleading. For one thing, the horse in the book is a different color and has a different face. Didn't the cover artist read the book? Or the one-sentence synopsis: "A chestnut mare bought by an elderly widow at auction makes a great difference in the lives of her new owner and a bitter young neighbor." The horse on the cover is either faded black or dark brown.

The horse described in the book is a chestnut with a "wide white mark running from her eyes and narrowing slightly at the nostrils" (p.17). The dark horse on the cover only has a star. While the mare in the book has a mane that's been badly cut, the Mohawk-ish mane on the cover looks badly Photoshopped (the halter strap disappears into the wild hair, but doesn't seem to flatten it). The bright chestnut color of the horse is made clear in many passages, such as this one on page 75: "She could see her horse lying down in the grass, its eyes shut to the rays of the sun. She smiled at the big copper body on the field of green in the pasture."

Here's the back-cover description of the plot:

David Earl is twelve years old and disappointed in his father Lee, a once-famous rodeo clown who has quit the circuit and moved David to a small town in Vermont to start a new life. David has a hard time adjusting to life as a “normal” boy and is hurt that his father never allowed him the chance to be his partner in the rodeo arena. When Lee tries to buy David a horse at auction, David pretends to have no interest in it, and the horse is sold to the elderly and widowed Sarah Tierney.

Sarah, grief-stricken at the death of her husband, tries to ﬁnd solace in her new horse, Gypsy, but she needs help from the Earls to learn how to care for her new mare, Gypsy. As the three of them spend more and more time with Gypsy, they all become entranced by the horse and begin to learn more about themselves. Touching and heartfelt, A Kingdom in a Horse shows the meaningful impact an animal can have and the strength it can inspire in a person.

The original edition, published by Harper & Row in 1965, has a much better cover that actually shows the two main characters (the bitter boy and the elderly woman) and a horse that looks much closer to the mare Wojciechowska described in the book. Plus it shows the woman in a rocking chair in the barn. Sarah did indeed put a rocking chair in the barn so she could sit and visit her mare.

Jacketflap, which gives the above cover description, says this about A Kingdom in a Horse: First published in 1965, this is a true classic about the love and happiness found in owning a horse. . . . A heartfelt story, this middle-reader is a must read for any girl or boy interested in nature and horses. Ages 9-12.

Here's another cover, probably from the 1993 edition, that gets the boy and the horse right.

I agree with Jacketflap about "the love and happiness found in owning a horse" part. I've been there, done that. And I'm still doing it. But I disagree about this being a "must read" for kids "interested in nature." There's not much nature in it, although the setting—a rural part of Vermont—is nicely described and Sarah notices her surroundings as she rides her mare across her farm. As for a middle-grade novel, most middle-graders today wouldn't find A Kingdom in a Horse very compelling. But I—over a half century beyond the targeted age group—did.

A Kingdom in a Horse is a great read for a sixty-something horse lover. The book actually has two stories—David's and Sarah's. It is Sarah's story, however, that has the most impact. The elderly widow buys a horse to fill the void left by her husband's death. She knows nothing about horses, so Davis Earl helps her out.

Horse folks will have to suspend disbelief during parts of this story. The mare bought at auction is too perfect. Why would someone sell a horse that is so well trained, so gentle, so accepting? The elderly Sarah doesn't have much trouble riding at all; soon she is galloping all over her farm. Apparently, she has none of the age-related infirmities that many of us have. Sarah installs a woodstove in the barn to keep her horse and herself warm? And then brings the mare into the kitchen when the stove isn't enough?

Some of the other horse-keeping ideas are a bit outdated: the wooden floors in the stall, the idea that wet legs can cause founder, etc.

If you're of a certain age and you've owned a horse, you already know the "meaningful impact" a horse can have. I recommend this book— not for today's pre-teen readers, but for older horse lovers who can identify with Sarah's love of a horse.

While A Kingdom in a Horse is not a "true classic," it's a pretty interesting read for us geriatric horse-crazy folks.

Cat Boxes

2012-01-25T09:22:00.000-05:00

Among other upgrades (mentioned in this post), I'm upgrading the look of my den. I'd ordered new cushions from replacemycushions.com to replace the faded and worn ones on my This End Up furniture.

I thought they'd arrive the first week in February, but when we returned from Kroger-shopping on Tuesday, three big boxes were waiting on the deck.

We dragged them in, opened them, and allowed Chloe to give them a cat scan.

I loved the color of the cushions, but Chloe was fascinated with the boxes.

So was Dylan.

Even after I moved an empty box into the hall, Chloe and Dylan followed it.

Eventually, however, they decided there was nothing in the boxes to interest them.

I'll post more about the den upgrade in a week or so. Meanwhile, if I can just figure a way to keep the cats in the boxes and off the furniture. . . .

Skyroglyphics

2012-01-24T21:14:00.000-05:00

This mid-morning, the fog burned away to reveal an incredibly bright day. By afternoon, the sky was filled with jet trails. By evening, when I went to feed the outside critters, the trails had faded to something resembling hieroglyphics.

In the two pictures below, the speckles in the sky are actually a large flock of birds.

I hoped they'd fly closer so I could get a better picture, but they flew away.

By evening, the skyroglyphics had changed a bit, but they were still visible.

What was their message? I don't know. Maybe they were saying that this bright clear day was coming to an end.

Shut Up & Write

2012-01-21T21:21:00.003-05:00

Warning: If you're not into writing, this post might not interest you. But there's a kitty. . . .

A few months ago, I received a copy of Judy Bridges' book, Shut Up & Write, published by Redbird Studio Press in January 2011. I recently finished reading it and enjoyed it very much.

Shut Up & Write would be very helpful for someone who is just beginning to write for publication (either fiction or non-fiction) and needs encouragement or direction. However, it is also interesting—and helpful—for someone who has been writing for a while. A list of the chapters is here.

One thing I especially like is that Bridges not only defines terms, she also provides examples. The difference between showing and telling is sometimes confusing to new writers, but Bridges explains differences between show and tell in an easy-to-understand way (page 64):

Another thing I like is that she provides some alternatives to the traditional outline. While I like knowing where my story is going, I hate formal outlines. Her "bubble outline" and her "alligator outline" are more visual, and they're handy for both fiction and non-fiction. I especially liked the alligator outline and will probably use this technique in the future.

Here's what the alligator outline looks like for a non-fiction article:

I'm a believer in writers groups, and I like that Bridges addressed the reasons for joining a critique group and explained how to find the right one. I also like her "character wheel" approach to fleshing out characters.

Shut Up & Write has been favorably reviewed on several writers' blogs. You might want to take a look at this one or this one.

Folks sometimes ask me what books I recommend for aspiring writers. I've just added Shut Up & Write to my list. Should you want to make your writing more effective—and more publishable—here's my choice of the top five books you should read, preferably in this order :

Begin with Bridges' book. Then read Lynn Price's The Writer's Essential Tacklebox, followed by Constance Hale's Sin and Syntax, then Les Edgerton's Hooked, and finally Noah Lukeman's The First Five Pages.

These five books are all readable, entertaining, and helpful. And they've all received a cat scan of approval from Chloe.

Authors, Save Your Money

2012-01-17T22:00:00.006-05:00

Warning: If you're not an author, today's post won't interest you.

But there's a cute kitty picture at the end.

Monday's email brought this scam: "Sell More Books to Bookstores." Here's the header:

Why are they sending this to moi—a self-published/vanity-published/small press-published author? Since this info came to my inbox, I figured I'd share some screenshots of the email here:

Don't you love their graphic—gotta be a real bookstore because it says BOOKSTORE right on the third images as well as BOOK-something on the second image. And there are all those shelves full of books! Makes you kind of want to cough up from $150 to $350 right away so you can get in on the action, doesn't it?

Of course, even if this is a legit mailing, and even if all those bookstores want your book (highly unlikely—you'll have a better chance winning the lottery), how are you actually going to get to all those stores for signings? We're talking major book tour here—and gas prices are going up again. And will anyone even turn out if you're a self-published/vanity-published/small press-published author that no one has ever heard of outside your immediate neighborhood?

If you'd rather go the email route instead of paying $$$ for snail mail, for only $199, you can have this company spam bookstores. Or, if you'd rather contact the bookstores yourself, they'll sell you the bookstore list for only $99. Of course, this is info that you could look up online for free, but you're a busy author, right?

You'd think that a big PR company company would have a real person signing the email instead of "Staff." Isn't that a tip-off right there that the company might not be on the level?

If your book is vanity-published or completely self-published, bookstores all over the country aren't interested in your book. Bookstores usually don't buy directly from authors. They deal with a distributor, and odds are good that you—if you're, ahem, underpublished—don't have one. Also, bookstores want the books they get from the distributor to be returnable. And they want a big discount on the book.

Some small presses have distributors, but if the small press used print-on-demand technology to print your books, the books are unlikely to be returnable. Hence, bookstores aren't interested.

Just for the heck of it, I poked around on the ~~spammer's~~ company's website, where I found pdfs of the "print advertising" they sent to bookstores. On the Dec. 2011 release, the books listed were published by Lulu (a self-publisher), West Bow (the Thomas Nelson vanity press), Createspace (another self-publisher), Trafford (an expensive vanity press), and a small press that has no distributor. Two of the books have no retail price listed; a 66-page book is priced at $14.95. Even if bookstores were interested, they're unlikely to order these books. (Don't believe me? Go into your favorite bookstore. See if you can find any books by these publishers on the shelves.)

I'm not the only one who noticed this particular, um, service. Scambuster Victoria Strauss blogged about it last week on the Writer Beware blog: BookStoreMarketing.net: Beware Spam PR Services.

The message is pretty clear: Authors, don't waste your money! You'd be better of plugging your books for free on your blog from time to time, just like I'm going to do right here:

Ferradiddledumday and Stuck are available from Cedar Creek Publishing. They're also available from Amazon.com, as are my four vanity published-books. My self-published book, Patches on the Same Quilt, is available from me as long as the supply in the boxes under my bed holds out. One of these days, I'll do a Kindle version of it.

The above promotional paragraph didn't cost me a cent.

I was going to get my kitties to help advertise my books, but they were too embarrassed to be part of such a blatant promotion.

Unless I paid them $350.

~ ~ ~

Upgrades

2012-01-16T12:37:00.000-05:00

On Saturday, we upgraded the memory in my 2008 iMac to four gigabites. By "we," I mean my husband did the actual work with the memory I'd purchased. The iMac only had one GB, so it was a bit limited.

The first step was, of course, to actually learn how to do this. Fortunately, there are You-Tube videos, such as this one, which my buddy and a fellow Mac-user Diane ("The Blue Ridge Gal") recommended. According the video, we could do this in under five minutes. we watched it a couple of times.

The second step was to clean off the desk (a major undertaking since my desk is always a mess) so we'd have room to flip the computer face down. That took me awhile—especially cleaning up all the cat hair.

Step three was to evict all resident cats. Some of them were not happy about this. After all, the study is their room, too. At least they think it is.

Step four was to shut down the iMac and disconnect all the peripherals. Below, you can see the iMac shutting down. I have some padding material waiting to protect the screen when we flip it.

Next step: Make sure the new memory was handy. The iMac has only two memory slots, so we were going to remove the one-gig memory from its slot and insert two two-gigs into each slot.

In the background of the picture below, you will notice that a certain orange cat did not take well to being evicted. Meanwhile, my husband removed the old memory . . .

. . . and, using his Northern Freight LED mini-flashlight to guide him, he inserted the new memory in the slots. While he did this, I cleaned the keyboard and mouse.

After screwing the cover back over the slots and reconnecting all the cables, we turned the iMac on. The screen seemed to stay blue and empty for a long time, but finally it was OK.

I checked the "About this Mac" thingie. Yep—we now had 4 GB!

It didn't take me long to realize the computer was working a lot faster. It also didn't take long until cats and clutter returned to the desktop.

The iMac's memory is only one thing I'm upgrading. I've ordered new cushions to upgrade the "This End Up" furniture in the den. I've signed up for an iPad workshop that meets tomorrow to upgrade my iPad skills.

I recently upgraded my personal camera from a little Kodak EasyShare to this Canon PowerShot SX150:

Consequently, I'm going to upgrade my camera skills by taking this workshop in a couple of weeks.

I need some health upgrades, too. Because I've been having problems keeping my blood sugar under control, I've made an appointment with a new doctor and I'm going to sign up for this class to (hopefully!) upgrade my diabetes management skills:

I figure all those upgrades should keep me busy.

First Snow 2012

2012-01-15T16:40:00.000-05:00

Last night, the first snow of this year—and this winter—fell. It wasn't much of a snow. It came as kind of a surprise, so there wasn't a mass rush to the store to buy bread and milk—or, in our case, cat food.

Not long after the snow started, I took this picture of the old PT's windshield. I shared the picture on Facebook—and on the WSLS-TV Facebook page.

Before long, snow dusting the red-bud's branches . . .

. . . and soon coated the nandina.

This morning, the sun came out. But some of the snow remained a while—on our front lawn. . .

. . . and in the pasture when I went out to feed the barn critters.

I don't think Melody was too thrilled with the snow.

Her tubs were frozen over, and snow dusted the ice.

After he finished breakfast, Sherman the barn-cat sought shelter.

His sister Spotz found temporary shelter. Can you spot her?

Spotz wasn't thrilled with the snow either.

It packed in her feet.

Before long, the sun melted the snow on the pampas grass . . .

. . . but threatening clouds loomed over the house.

By the gazebo, snow covered the blooms on the rosemary bush.

When I was back in the house, I went on the Internet and there I saw my picture from last night:

The snow is gone now. It's sunny—but it's cold!

The Forgetting Curve

2012-01-10T18:53:00.002-05:00

Last week, I received an advance reader copy of The Forgetting Curve, a dystopian YA novel by Angie Smibert. Published by Marshall Cavendish and available in bookstores on May 1st but available for pre-order from Amazon.com now, this YA novel is both sequel to Smibert's earlier book, Memento Nora, and a stand-alone in its own right.

From the back cover:

Aiden Nomura likes to open doors—especially using his skills as a hacker—to see what’s hidden inside. He believes everything is part of a greater system: the universe. The universe shows him the doors, and he keeps pulling until one cracks open. Aiden exposes the flaw, and the universe—or someone else—will fix it. It’s like a game.

Until it isn’t.

When a TFC opens in Bern, Switzerland, where Aiden is attending boarding school, he knows things are changing. Shortly after, bombs go off within quiet, safe Bern. Then Aiden learns that his cousin Winter, back in the States, has had a mental breakdown. He returns to the US immediately.

But when he arrives home in Hamilton, Winter’s mental state isn’t the only thing that’s different. The city is becoming even stricter, and an underground movement is growing.

Along with Winter’s friend, Velvet, Aiden slowly cracks open doors in this new world. But behind those doors are things Aiden doesn’t want to see—things about his society, his city, even his own family. And this time Aiden may be the only one who can fix things . . . before someone else gets hurt.

Like Memento Nora, The Forgetting Curve is set in a not-too-distant Big-Brotherish future, where memories can be erased or even replaced and everyone is watched. Nora, the main character in Memento Nora, is now a minor character who doesn't appear until late in the story.

The Forgetting Curve, using rotating first person narrators, is told from the viewpoint of Aiden, Winter, and Velvet.

Aiden tells most of the story. He is the one who notices some things are not quite right—both in the world and his family. His cousin Winter, recently implanted with a chip behind her ear that she can't remember getting and having trouble with some memories, is reunited with her parents who've been in Japan. Or have they? Why can't they remember anything about Japan? Their friend Velvet, also sporting a chip she can't remember getting, writes songs and notices things. Together the three make some startling revelations. Two survive with their personalities—and memories—intact.

The three narrators are believable and likeable; Smibert has given each has a strong voice. Each has a particular talent and each is concerned about what's happening around them. While The Learning Curve is a fast and easy read, the themes run deep. This is an excellent book for discussion groups and would work well in the classroom. While it's written for teens, adults will also find the story compelling—especially if they read Brave New World and 1984 in high school.

In The Forgetting Curve, as in Memento Nora, Smibert opens the door to a disturbing future—a future that might be here sooner than we'd like. And she does it skillfully.

Crock Pottering Around

2012-01-06T20:41:00.000-05:00

I confess. I was probably one of the few Americans who never owned a CrockPot™—or, to be generic, a slow cooker. Frankly, I'm not much of a cook. But, recently I acquired a CrockPot and decided I'd give slow-cooking a try.

Trouble was, I didn't know how to use it. Thanks to Google, I learned. And thanks to my Facebook friends, I acquired lots of suggestion (and recipes!) of what to cook. On Tuesday—Senior Citizen Day at Kroger when the prices are discounted for us old fogies—I bought some ingredients: a beef roast . . .

. . . and some veggies.

On Wednesday, I made roast beef. First I printed out my recipes. . .

. . . and, by referring to a couple of recipes and the booklet that came with the CrockPot, I was ready to begin.

I cut up some veggies . . .

. . . taking care to save carrots peelings for my horse.

I cut up a few onions . . .

. . . and seared the roast in my big skillet for a couple of minutes.

When I put everything in the CrockPot and added some dried onion soup and water, it looked like this:

After the CrockPot did its thing all afternoon, and with the addition of a side of brussel sprouts, this is what I had for supper.

It was delicious! On Thursday, I cooked cabbage in the CrockPot. It was pretty good, too.

Looks like I'll be doing a lot more CrockPot cooking.

~~~

Recycled Resolutions

2012-01-01T14:39:00.006-05:00

These are the New Year's Resolutions I came up with last year. I think I'll recycle some for this year. I've added some comments/addendums/whatevers after each one:

1. Venture deeper into technology. Learn to use iMovie. Download Skype and learn to use it. Buy an iPad 2 when it's available—if it indeed comes with a camera. Accept that my current iPad has become my husband's iPad.

I did download Skype (but haven't actually Skyped anyone yet) and bought an iPad2 which I really, really like. I still haven't learned iMovie yet. This year, I'm going to upgrade the 3-year-old iMac by quadrupling its RAM. It only has 1 GHz. I'm going to bump it up to 4. Then I'll have plenty of RAM to go from Leopard to Snow Leopard. We'll see how successful I am at installing RAM. (Thanks to the Blue Ridge Gal, a fellow Mac user, I've been watching a video that shows how to do it.)

Plus, I've ordered MS Office 2011. I've been using 2004, so I'm way behind the times on word processing, PowerPoint, and Excel. Let's see how long it takes me to make the adjustment.

2. Accept my physical limitations. I'm not as young as I used to be, and I have health problems that limit some things I'd like to do. So, I'll do what I can do, and the heck with the rest.

My age is wearing heavier upon me now than in 2011. I've lost more than 10 pounds since last year but it hasn't made any difference. I have a lot less stamina. I tire easily, ache a lot, and have lost some strength. I've been cutting back on a few activities and rarely drive at night. Some mornings, I have to drive to the barn to feed critters because I can't handle the walk. I regret that it's unlikely I'll ride a horse again (Melody has health problems, too) or walk long distances with the dogs. There are some days, though, I still feel pretty good. Just not as many as there used to be.

3. Accept that I'm never going to have a New York Times' best-seller, I'm never going to have a big-name agent, and I'm never going to publish with a big-name publisher. But I like the small press-published experience, though. And I'll keep attending writers' conferences because I like hanging out with writers.

I've accepted this—or maybe I've just reached a comfortable level of failure. I'm cutting back on some writers' conferences, though, because of the stamina issue. And because I currently have nothing publication-worthy.

4. Consider getting one of my books published as an e-book. Which one? I dunno. . . . Which e-book format? I dunno. . . . But I should learn more about e-books.

I'm thinking about doing Patches on the Same Quilt, my 2001 self-published novel, as an e-book. I also retain e-book rights to some of my other work. Maybe I'll put a couple of short stories from some of my collections into an e-book and publish via Kindle. I don't know. . . . But I'm closer to doing this than I was last year.

5. Never self-publish or vanity publish again. Ever. Unless it's re-self-pubbing one of my previously vanity-pubbed works as an e-book.

The vanity publisher I used for the four books of collections used to be a good company to work with but has gotten scammy lately and wants to charge for all kinds of services. Because within a week they've sent me two ads wanting me to pay $$ to have my books displayed at book fairs, I won't be using this company again. And I won't be recommending it to others. A few years ago, this company not only brought their authors' books for free to "Publishers Day" at Virginia Festival of the Book, but paid for their authors' lunches, and gave the authors' their books at the end of the day. They've certainly changed. So, this year I need to learn how to format for Kindle.

6. Buy myself a replacement tombstone. The original—stolen from my family cemetery in 2007—isn't likely to return.

I really meant to go tombstone-shopping in 2011, but never got around to it. Buying a replacement is something I must do this year. I'm not getting any younger.

7. Wear sensible shoes. If I'm invited to an event that requires me to wear high heels, I won't attend. One of the stupider things I did when I was younger was wear unsensible shoes. Why didn't someone warn me about plantar fasciitis, heel spurs, ingrown toenails?

I continue to wear sensible shoes. I do NOT own any shoes with high heels and never will again.

8. Keep reading. My stack of unread books continues to grow. Will I ever finish reading all the books I want to read?

My stack of books to be read is even bigger than last year. I keep buying books! Plus I've downloaded a lot of free e-books onto the Kindle app on my iPad. But I read every day and for a few hours most nights. I don't watch much TV.

. . . and there are probably other things I should resolve to do. Whatever.

Yeah, whatever for this year, too.

2012 Begins

2012-01-01T09:59:00.001-05:00

This is how the new year dawned. A faint orange glow appeared in the east.

Then a bit of blue. The day—and year—dawned clear.

Pink clouds passed through the blue sky. To the south, fog hung low around Turkeycock Mountain.

Soon the sun was up, and the fog rose a bit.

In the pasture, a daisy bloomed. This is the first year we've ever had daisies on New Year's Day.

At full daylight, jet trails cross-crossed the western sky. Jack's Mountain is the lump above the treeline.

In the still frosty pasture, cats go on patrol.

That's how the day—and year—began. Happy New Year to one and all!

Kitty Christmas Eve

2011-12-24T18:51:00.003-05:00

Twas the night before Christmas in rural Virginia . . .

. . . and the kitties were nestled all snug in their beds. . . .

Camilla, that rug's not your bed!

Jim-Bob, what are you doing in there too?
You cats had better get to bed!

Jim-Bob: "Should I sleep in my basket?"

"Or should I nestle in this bed?"

Chloe: "Mommie and I haven't taken our baths yet."

"There's a spot right over here. . . ."

Santa Claus is on his way. Anybody seen Santa Claus?

Jim-Bob: "I haven't seen Santa Claws. But I found his hat."

Chloe: "Do I look like Santa Claws?"

Sorry, Chloe. Santa Claus looks like this:

But let's make sure our tree is ready . . .

. . . because it isn't Christmas until the little horse sings:

Merry Christmas to y'all!

May y'all have a good night!

Winter Solstice

2011-12-21T19:09:00.001-05:00

Tonight is the darkest evening of the year. Or at least the longest night. The winter solstice arrives a half hour after midnight. For the past few days we've had ominous clouds. Take a look at these from Monday evening:

Is the big cloud swallowing a smaller one?

Is this cloud really a giant hand?

These clouds are moving from north to east.

To the west, the clouds open in a circle.

These clouds over Chestnut Mountain just look creepy.

This morning was drismal. The cats went out but didn't go far. Most came back in at midday to escape the rain and wind. Only Jim-Bob, who apparently had lots of cat-work to do, stayed out until late afternoon.

Olivia, Eddie-Puss, & Dylan sat on the deck for a while.

Eddie-Puss and Chloe.

The tiny white dot at the right is Jim-Bob. That space is his office.
His sister and mother are on the deck.

The pin oak holds a few leaves yet.

Chloe visits Jim-Bob in his office.

Shavings clinging to Melody's hair show that she slept in last night.

Superstitions and traditions cling to the winter solstice. For instance, the winter solstice is a time that ghosts might be active.

This morning, I took several pictures of Melody grazing. Only one looked odd. Did a giant snowflake fall and I didn't notice it at the time? Or what?

Your guess is as good as mine. But it's the winter solstice, so strange things can occur.

Season's Greetings

2011-12-18T19:37:00.003-05:00

But what season is it? Could it be . . .

SPRING?

What's going on with Mother Nature? Except for a few days, this December has been very warm. One week from Christmas and things are in bloom. Take a look:

The rosemary by the gazebo is in bloom.

This chrysanthemum is still in bloom.

This little white thing is blooming, too.

Ditto for this dianthus.

The lilac has sprouted new leaves.
Will it bloom soon?

The forsythia near the road has a few blossoms.

The vinca is blooming by the wall . . .

. . . and in other places in the backyard.

Daisies are blooming in the pasture . . .

. . . and the pasture is as green. . .

. . . as the pine trees.

The sky is as blue as a bright spring day.

Despite the springlike weather, some plants hint that Christmas is coming.

The holly is loaded with berries.

Ditto for the nandina.

Many trees sport bare branches.

SEASON'S GREETINGS to you, whatever this season might be!

Christmas Ornaments

2011-12-16T15:21:00.002-05:00

Today I received some neat homemade Christmas ornaments from a member of my crit group. The ornaments are miniatures of my books:

They're made by pasting copies of my book covers around Post-It notes and adding a ribbon. (Directions for how to make these ornaments are here.) I think they're so cool! Here's how they look on my tree— which is a ficus, not an evergreen:

They fit right in with some of my other ornaments, don't you think?

Here's the full effect—it just isn't Christmas until the little horse sings:

Blatant commercial message: In case you are inspired to give my actual books as Christmas gifts, Ferradiddledumday and Stuck are conveniently for sale on both Barnes & Noble and Amazon.com.

Thank you Marcie and the other members of the Crit Group for the book ornaments! Thank you Polly and Robyn for the singing horse!

Mistletoe & Holly

2011-12-15T19:06:00.001-05:00

Mistletoe and holly are traditional Christmas decorations, but their decorative uses predate Christmas by centuries. Mistletoe, used in rituals by both Druids and ancient Greeks, is a parasitic plant that grows high in trees, usually oaks. We have some growing on one of our farms. Do you see it?

Look closer.

Or even closer.

Usually it grows high in the tree on the outer edges of a slender limb, so forget trying to climb the tree or using a ladder to get it.

If you cut down the tree—or even cut off the limb, there'll be no more mistletoe. American mistletoe is parasitic. Seeds dropped by birds take root in the tree itself and the mistletoe draws its nutrients from the tree.

So how do you harvest mistletoe? Carefully. The best way is with a rifle. If you're a good shot, you should be able to shoot off a big enough piece for decorative purposes but still leave some growing.

Since I have very little mistletoe, I don't think I'll be using it as a decoration this year. However, I do have a huge holly tree in my backyard. Here's a close look:

And a look from a bit farther back (that's the old gazebo behind it):

And, just to give you an idea how big the tree is, here's the house in the background:

Sometimes, Spotz the barncat likes to "levitate" in the holly. Do you see her? (These pictures of Spotz in the holly tree were taken last year):

How does she get to ends of the branches without falling off?

Here's her secret: A wild grapevine grows through the holly tree. Spotz climbs the grapevine and sits in the spot where the several vines form a place to sit.

I wonder if I can persuade Spotz to climb for mistletoe?

Two More YA Novels

2011-12-11T14:14:00.000-05:00

Last week, I blogged about some YA novels I'd read lately, and I reviewed two. The remaining two are much edgier than the first two and deal with girls who are outcasts, albeit in different ways. Warning: Both books are sexually explicit and not for younger readers.

I first heard of Kody Keplinger because we both posted on an Absolute Write forum. She'd written a book when she was 18 and was querying agents. Eventually, she received representation and her book—The Duff— was published. In The Duff, 15-year-old Bianca is the designated ugly fat friend of some cheerleader types who let her hang around them, especially if she drives them where they want to go. At a club, where her friends are having a good time, Wesley—the rich guy who sleeps with anyone—calls her "Duff" and explains what the term means. She hates Wesley, but—unbeknownst to her friends—ends up having some pretty hot sex with him on a regular basis. Naturally, she has problems at home—her mother takes off and then returns several months later—and several other issues to work through.

Because of its sexual content and language, this book will probably appear on some banned book lists. See this review for more details. However, The Duff is a book that many YAs need to read—especially any girl who thinks she isn't as cool as her friends, who lives in a dysfunctional home, who uses sarcasm to cover up her true feelings, and/or who's trying to find herself. The Duff might also be a good book for moms to discuss with daughters. It certainly covers a lot of issues without being obvious or preachy.

Keplinger does a great job with characterization and dialogue. Her teen characters are believable, and the plot works well. The Duff is told from Bianca's viewpoint, and Bianca's voice rings true. Plus, she makes the part about Bianca being attracted to the guy she hates believable.

Speak, by Laurie Halse Anderson, was first published in 1999, has gone through several editions since, and has won many awards. It's also made some banned book lists. In 2010, a professor at MSU called Speak "immoral, filthy, and soft porn." If I had to pick the best YA book I've read this year—and I've read some good ones, it would be Speak.

The book has already been reviewed many times, and many of the reviewers already said what I wanted to say. Some reviews are here, here, here, and here. There are many, many more. Here's the blurb on the inside flap of the edition I purchased:

Here's part of the excerpt on the back of the book. I found Anderson's style and voice compelling. And I couldn't stop reading.

Melinda is a complex character, and Anderson makes her—and her dysfunctional high school—believable. Speak is a story not only for YA girls, but also one that middle school and high school teachers should read. Many public school teachers—as well as most high school students—can probably identify with "The First Ten Lies They Tell You in High School" (pp. 5-6):

1. We are here to help you.
2. You will have time to get to your class before the bell rings.
3. The dress code will be enforced.
4. No smoking is allowed on school grounds.
5. Our football team will win the championship this year.
6. We expect more of you here.
7. Guidance counselors are always available to listen.
8. Your schedule was created with you in mind.
9. Your locker combination is private.
10. These will be the years you look back on fondly.

In the 1980s, I had a girl in my English 8 class who didn't speak. I can still see her face and her smile. She'd communicate by nodding or by writing a note. Back then I wondered why she had chose to not speak. Now I wonder if something traumatic had happened to her.

Publishers Weekly and a few other sources says that Speak is for 12 and up. I'd change that to 14 and up. One study guide is here. If you want to read more about banned books, there's info on the American Library Association website here and the Banned Books Website here.

The Birds

2011-12-10T20:30:00.002-05:00

This morning, while I was feeding Melody, I heard a whooshing sound overhead. I stepped out of the run-in shed in time to see a huge flock of birds overhead. The huge flock changed shape and direction a few times as they sort of folded back on themselves. By the time I got my camera out of my pocket, they had flown across the road and into some trees.

The lowest branch against the sky points to the flock.

Now you see a few of them.

The flock rises from the woods.

They're hard to see here because they're at the treeline.
But the trees to the right are still full of birds.

Now you can see some of the flock!

They're headed for the road.

The flock crosses the road.

. . . and is soon out of my sight.

For a moment, I was reminded of the YouTubevideo "Murmuration," which has gone viral and which some folks think is wonderful and mystic, etc. But I was also reminded of Alfred Hitchcok's classic horror film, The Birds, which was released when I was 18. (Here's a clip of the schoolhouse scene.)

I assume the flock I saw was just getting ready to head south.

Cat Crimes

2011-12-06T21:33:00.001-05:00

Today was rainy so the cats stayed in and worked on cat projects. One project involved pulling the newspapers out of the basket.

Who did it? Would the culprit return to the scene of the crime? Was it Dylan?

Or maybe it was Jim-Bob? Or Eddie-Puss?

Or perhaps all three of them? Dylan returned to the crime scene.

But Dylan didn't stick around.

Finally Jim-Bob left, too. Eddie-Puss looks awfully comfortable by himself.

Another project involved tearing up a roll of paper towels.

This crime was easy to solve. The villain returned and tore some more.

Dylan is caught in the act!

Coming of Age in YA

2011-12-05T14:21:00.002-05:00

Over the last few months, I've read four good Young Adult books: What We Keep Is Not Always What Will Stay, by Amanda Cockrell (Flux, June 2011); Speak, by Laurie Halse Anderson (reprinted May 2011); The DUFF, by Kody Keplinger (Poppy, June 2011): and Catcher, Caught, by Sarah Collins Honenberger (AmazonEncore, December 2010). All four deal with coming of age in one way or another.

All four are edgy, as contemporary YA novels are wont to be these days. Had these books been published back in the early 60s when I was in high school, they'd have been banned. (Did we even have YA when I was in high school?)

Had they been written during the years I taught public school (late 60s to 1997), I might have gotten fired for urging kids to read them. However, I did once lend my copy of The Catcher in the Rye to a 10th grade boy in 1967 (A reluctant reader, he was somewhat shocked but he enjoyed it). In the 70s, I lent my copy of Go Ask Alice (supposedly an autobiography, but actually a work of fiction) to a girl in 8th grade who needed to see where her errant ways might lead. I'd learned about Go Ask Alice from another student who'd insisted I should read it. But I digress.

The four books pictured above are ones YAs should read. Girls should read the ones by Cockrell, Anderson, and Keplinger. I think they'll be entertained by the books and will perhaps learn some things about life. Honenberger's book has a male protagonist, so it should appeal to boys—or to anyone who has ever read The Catcher in the Rye.

Plenty of info already exists online about these books and their authors, but here's a bit about the two books written by authors who are friends of mine: Amanda Cockrell and Sally Honenberger. Both skillfully use a first-person narrator; both write about mid-teen protagonists who face difficult choices; both make their protagonists believable. Both books would be great for parents to read and discuss with their teenage children—or for adults who don't have kids to read.

What We Keep Is Not Always What Will Stay is a good choice for girls thirteen and up—especially those who believe that they can "fix" another person's problem or who are facing difficult choices.

Upset over her mother's disintegrating marriage, 15-year-old Angie has been talking to a statue of St. Felix in the church basement. One day the statue comes comes alive and gives Angie advice. Though St. Felix warns Angie against getting involved with Jesse—a 19-year-old veteran who has enrolled in her high school after returning from Afghanistan minus a leg—Angie falls for Jesse anyway and thinks she can fix his problems. Jesse's problems, however, are way more than Angie can deal with.

Angie is a likeable character and her voice rings true throughout the book. A discussion guide for What We Keep Is Not Always What Will Stay is here. (Edited to add that What We Keep Is Not Always What Will Stay has been named to the Boston Globe's "Best 10 Books for Children" list.)

Catcher, Caught should appeal both teenage boys and girls—especially if they have already read and enjoyed The Catcher in the Rye.

Daniel, a 16-year-old with leukemia, lives with his ex-hippie parents and younger brother on a houseboat in the Rappahanock River. His mother is into natural cures, so treating his condition with chemo isn't an option. Daniel, realizing he might not live long, finds comfort in reading and rereading The Catcher in the Rye. He wants to experience life, and—when twin sisters move into the area—soon has a girlfriend and loses his virginity. Eventually, like his hero Holden Caulfield, he takes off for New York City, but he finds a place very unlike Holden's city.

It has been decades since I read The Catcher in the Rye, so I might have missed a few references. However, I enjoyed the book and how Daniel dealt with his problems. Honenberger's discussion guide for Catcher, Caught is here.

I kind of wish that Angie and Daniel could meet. They'd have a lot to talk about.

In a few days, I'll blog about the other two YA novels.

Franklin County Christmas

2011-12-04T11:10:00.001-05:00

Here are some photos I took Friday night in Rocky Mount at the "Come Home to a Franklin County Christmas" celebration:

Inside The Grainery, artisans were blowing glass.

Many lovely works of art were also displayed in The Grainery. I especially like this horse . . .

. . . and this pottery piece by Nell Fredericksen.

Outside, in the parking lot next to The Artisan Center Along the Crooked Road, various artists and craftspeople were selling their wares. These bags, made by a Penhook resident named Dixie, were lovely—and wonderfully down-home.

In this booth, my husband visits our neighbors, James and Mary Sue, at their jewelry display.

There were a couple of authors outside, too. One was Libby Bondurant, co-author of Grazing Along the Crooked Road. (Libby will be at the 2012 Mountain Spirits Festival on September 29, if you haven't yet gotten a copy of her book, she'll have it there.)

Next to Libby was Gailya Keller with her children's book; at the other end of the parking lot, Ibby Greer had both her art and her books. In between were all manner of goodies.

As the sun was setting, we walked to the other end of town.

On our way, we spoke to a lot of folks we knew. We passed Marilyn Monroe, but she didn't speak.

At the Farmer's market, we watched a blacksmith demonstrate his art. Among other goodies, he had this propane tank pig for sale and a bunch of lady bug spikes.

From the blacksmith my husband bought a knife wrought from a railroad spike. Also at the Farmer's market, we watched the Jack Tale Players perform "Jack and the Robbers."

When we went back up the street, we watched a band perform.

And that's how we spent last Friday evening!

Winds of Change

2011-11-27T15:01:00.001-05:00

The weather is changing. The shirtsleeve weather we've had for the last week of so will soon be vanquished. This morning was bright and clear; this afternoon is cloudy. And windy. Very windy. Something's blowing from the west.

As Percy Bysshe Shelly once wrote:

O WILD West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being
Thou from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing. . . .

Meanwhile, the west wind howled around the corners of the house and the sky changed from sunny to cloudy in a matter of hours. Here's the view to the south:

Looking toward Turkeycock Mountain:

North toward the Peaks of Otter:

And to the southwest:

Enough sun lingered that Chloe could still see her shadow, though.

An hour later, clouds gathered over Turkeycock Mountain . . .

. . . and over the Peaks of Otter . . .

. . . and over Jack's Mountain to the west.

Another hour later and clouds were thick over Turkeycock.

Chloe couldn't see her shadow anymore.

She discussed the matter with Camilla, one of the old lady cats.

Camilla advised Chloe to get off the rail and get out of the wind.

Chloe wanted to sit on the rail, but the wind was getting stronger. And the sun was gone.

Camilla, wise in the ways of old lady cats, decided to seek shelter.

I don't know what's coming in from the west, but something surely is. The weather is sure to change for the worst, I'm afraid.

Better seek shelter. . . .

Maggie at Smith Farm

2011-11-25T20:53:00.002-05:00

guest post by Maggie Mae Mushko

(a six-year-old border collie)

Today, Mommy finally took me to Smith Farm. I hadn't been to that one for a while. (For those of you who have been reading this blog for several years, you probably know that Smith Farm is where I once went missing.) Mommy was going to take just me, but Hubert pushed through the kennel gate and ran to the truck and jumped in. Beagles can be pushy like that.

At the farm, the first thing thing Hubert did was take off and sniff things. The first thing I did was get my little orange football out of the truck. I love that little football. I've had it for several years and I always keep it in the truck. I make Mommy and Daddy throw it for me.

Finally Mommy got tired of throwing my little orange football. She hid it in the truck where I couldn't reach it without chewing off the door, so I decided to go walking in the woods with the humans. Hubert and I found a patch of running cedar, which humans like to use for Christmas decorations. I don't have any use for it, though.

With the leaves gone, I could look through our woods and see a hillside on the farm next to ours where all the timber had been cut. It made me sad. A lot of critters don't have homes now. There used to be beautiful woods on that hill.

Hubert and I ran through our woods for a while. Mommy says she won't ever cut our woods. She told me that'll she never need money that badly.

I ran so much I had to stop and pant for a while. I have a very large long and beautiful tongue to pant with in case you hadn't noticed.

I got so hot running that I had to get in the creek to cool off. I ducked my head under water. Water dripped off my face when I came up for air.

After I had cooled off, I decided to investigate a hole.

Nobody was in the hole, so I decided to soak in the creek again. I love getting in the creek. This time Hubert joined me.

Then I found another hole to investigate. Again, nobody was there.

So I found another hole. There are lots of holes in our woods, but I couldn't find any creatures in any of them.

Finally, we started walking again. Here I am between where the spring branch connects to Standiford Creek. Hubert is up the hill. He found something else to sniff.

Mommy sat down on a log to rest, so I had to snap my teeth at her to tell her to get going. She knows when I snap my teeth, I am impatient. After I wuffed at her, she got up. She is very hard to train.

Finally, we started back up the hill. The truck is parked near the old cabin. I wanted to get my little orange football out of the truck and play with it some more. Did I mention it is my favorite toy?

Mommy was so slow that I had to go back and make sure she was still following us.

She was, but she is so slow. When we reached the truck, she got my ball for me and threw it for a while. I made Daddy throw it too so he wouldn't feel left out.

I really like my little orange football. And I like going to the farm where Mommy's grandparents lived.

$hopping $eason

2011-11-24T23:09:00.001-05:00

Now that Thanksgiving is over, the season of need and greed is upon us. In a few hours (at least as I write this) hordes of shoppers, tired from Thanksgiving festivities, will descend upon the malls to spend money that many don't have for things that many others likely do not need. But they'll get great buys! Thursday morning's paper was loaded with ads showing what great buys folks can get.

The paper was over an inch thick.

Here are the only sections I actually read. There really wasn't much to read in them since the Roanoke Times never prints much actual news.

These are the sections that I won't bother to read. Aside from the sports section, which I never read, they're all ads.

I'm not using three gallons of gas to drive in heavy traffic to Roanoke, fight the crowds, breathe mall air (and likely catch whatever respiratory disorder is currently going around), and spend money for the latest gizmos that ads say are a great bargain. I don't need anything that I can't get in Rocky Mount or at Westlake. Actually, I don't need anything.

One of the things I'm thankful for—not just on Thanksgiving, but every day—is that I already have everything I need. I have enough—probably more than enough.

Dylan might be looking through the ads, but he won't be shopping either.

At least I'm not driving him to the mall.

Heartwood Signing

2011-11-20T14:53:00.000-05:00

I've been on the road a bit the past few weeks. I did a book-signing at the VWC meeting on Nov. 5, went to Roanoke for a Pen Women meeting on Nov. 9, and did a reading at Riverviews Artspace in Lynchburg on Nov. 17. On Saturday, I took a longer-than-usual road trip—to Heartwood in Abingdon for a book-signing.

My table was all set up and waiting for me when I arrived.

Heartwood's book section features books by SW Virginia authors or books about the region. They carry four of my books—Ferradiddledumday (an Appalachian version of Rumpelstiltskin), my novel Stuck (which is set in Franklin County), The Girl Who Raced Mules & Other Stories (a collection of mostly rural stories) and Where There's A Will (a collection of Appalachian stories for kids).

In front of my table was this "tree" made of native woods of the region. TV screens showed videos of activities in the counties that make up the Crooked Road region.

Behind me was this display.

Other sections of Heartwood are devoted to music, arts, and crafts of the region.

Here I am at my table:

I met—or re-met—several nice people while I was there. One was Tammy Brown, whom I'd met at a Bedford Bookfest in 2006 where we both read from our books. Tammy wrote Too Sweet, a children's picture book to help young children understand diabetes.

Later, I saw Rebecca Elswick, whose novel Mama's Shoes won a Writer's Digest competition and will be out in a few weeks. I had originally met Rebecca at an Appapachian Writers Conference several years ago. It was nice to see her again and learn about her new book. Rebecca's blog is here.

I could have spent hours taking picture of all the neat things I liked at Heartwood, but I didn't. This picture of a bear was around the wall behind me.

But it's more than a picture; it's also a sculpture!

Is that neat, or what? Another neat thing is the drive to Heartwood. I went over to Rt. 58 to I-77 to I-81. I hate driving interstates, but I love taking Rt. 58 over the mountain. Because I get to see this:

Lover's Leap has to be one of the most beautiful scenes in SW Virginia.

Is that neat, or what?

Vines & Stones

2011-11-13T19:31:00.000-05:00

While I was at Smith Farm yesterday, I took a few pictures of the old grapevine. It looks like an alien being guarding the path up to the old graveyard.

A closer look:

It reaches across several trees and has encircled a few, causing them to die. I don't know how long the vine has been in that bottom. It was there when I inherited the farm in 1969.

Up the hill behind this vine is the old Bernard (pronounced Burn'-erd) cemetery where William Bernard and his wife Gillie Anne have lain for over a century.

When the Bernards were buried on the hill, the woods weren't there—only an open field. At the top of the path is Gillie Ann's original stone. It faces the path and the cabin William Bernard built in the early 1850s.

In the photo below, it's beside the "new" stone their children bought for the Bernards in the 1940s or 50s. The new stone faces the opposite way. William's original stone is there, too, but it has nothing engraved on it.

Outside the Bernard plot, two babies are buried. One is Clyde Wesley Pasley, the son of my aunt Myrtle. Clyde lived for a few months in 1924. His stone has only been there since the 1970s when his brother Grady put it there. Before that, it had been in Myrtle and her husband Tip's barn.

The other is my brother, Robert Lee Smith, who lived for a few hours on January 17, 1941.

After Gillie Ann was buried, William Bernard cut a little window through the logs of the cabin, so he could sit by the fire and see her grave.

The clapboards weren't there when he cut the window. My grandfather, who had a sawmill, added them years later. This is how the cabin looks from in front of the grapevine.

To the right is what's left of a huge black walnut tree. Ever since I was a little kid, the walnut tree has been big. Did William Bernard plant it? I don't know.

To the left of the cabin is all that's left of Gillie Ann's kitchen house—a pile of stones from the chimney and the lilac bush that was likely beside her kitchen door.

Brown visaged Autumn sat within the wood,
And counted miserly his ripened wealth;
The last crisped leaves sailed sauntering to earth,
The gentle winds stole by, and made no noise,—
Stole by on tip-toe. . . .

—from The Hill of Stones and Other Poems, by Silas Weir Mitchell (1882)

While I walked my farm on this autumn day and looked upon vines and trees and stones, leaves indeed sailed sauntering to earth and the gentle winds stole by.

Nature's Gold

2011-11-12T19:35:00.001-05:00

Today, I wandered around Smith Farm and looked at leaves. Mother Nature did a pretty good job with the leaves, didn't she?

A few trees had red leaves, and there were some brown ones, too.

Most of the trees, however, sported golden leaves.

Seeing so many golden leaves reminds me of the first and last stanza of "Gold Leaves," by G.K. Chesterton:

Lo! I am come to autumn,

When all the leaves are gold;

Grey hairs and golden leaves cry out

The year and I are old.

...

In youth I sought the golden flower

Hidden in wood or wold,

But I am come to autumn,

When all the leaves are gold.

But, according to Robert Frost, "Nothing Gold Can Stay":

Nature's first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf's a flower;

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay.

In a few weeks, the trees will be bare. Nothing gold can stay.

But I'll enjoy the leaves while I can.

A Certain Slant

2011-11-11T09:06:00.001-05:00

Thursday looked like fall—clouds hung low; sprinklings of rain fell; the wind blew cold; lots of leaves skittered and scattered from the oaks. It felt as if winter was coming. By late afternoon, however, many clouds had blown away, and the sun—slanting low under the remaining clouds—made fall's muted colors glow with a new intensity.

Perhaps Emily Dickinson said it best, even though she was writing about winter, not fall:

There's a certain Slant of light

BY EMILY DICKINSON

There's a certain Slant of light,

Winter Afternoons—

That oppresses, like the Heft

Of Cathedral Tunes—

Heavenly Hurt, it gives us—

We can find no scar,

But internal difference—

Where the Meanings are—

None may teach it—Any—

'Tis the seal Despair—

An Imperial affliction

Sent us of the Air—

When it comes, the Landscape listens—

Shadows—hold their breath—

When it goes, 'tis like the Distance

On the Look of Death.

On to Richmond

2011-11-10T15:33:00.000-05:00

Last Saturday, I got up way early and headed to Richmond for the annual meeting of the Virginia Writers Club. Since I had a book published this year, I was eligible to display, sell, and sign books, which meant I had to get to the Commonwealth Club before the general luncheon attendees arrived.

Richmond is one of my favorite places. I went to VCU back in the days when it was still RPI. I used to walk past the Commonwealth Club, which was a mile or so down W. Franklin Street from my dorm, when I went to the Richmond Public Library. I always wondered what it looked like inside, but women weren't allowed in those days. I figured it must be elegant.

The sidewalk where I used to walk.

This is the doorway to inside.

The long curving staircase is indeed elegant.

Here's another view of part of the first floor. Elegant.

This carpet is in the elevator.

Even the ladies' room was elegant. I love the pink-flowered wallpaper

The meeting was on the third floor. We were greeted by VWC Executive Director, Linda Layne.

Authors displayed, signed, and sold books here:

My books, Ferradiddledumday and Stuck are here.

Here I am beside Gary Kessler. I wonder who the orb is in the chair on the other side of me?

A former member of the Commonwealth Club maybe?

Afternoon Nap

2011-11-06T14:28:00.000-05:00

Who spent several hours today napping under a quilt?

Dylan, that's who.

Buzzinga

2011-11-04T14:32:00.008-04:00

Warning: Today's post will be boring to anyone not a writer. And possibly boring to those who are writers. And to anyone who hates the overuse of parentheses.

Today's e-mail coughed up the following ad from a, er, book service that wants to help me Buzz my book. See?

First thing I noticed is that the email wasn't from an actual person—only the staff. Seeking names, I checked the "About Us" page of their website. No names or resumés—only a mention that the "marketing staff consists of two marketing professionals/book lovers, and one professional book reviewer." But they're "excited about what we do" and they enjoy books and "helping authors."

They apparently love exclamation points because they used three of them twice in the e-mail and several times on their website.

So I'm not impressed so far. But what really burns my bacon is the book they want to promote is one that I vanity-PODed back in 2005. (2005!!!) Since then, I vanity-published another book in 2007 and had two more published with a small press in 2010 and 2011. Where There's A Will is old news.

Nevertheless, I was curious about what the nameless "marketing professionals/book lovers" and the "book reviewer" would provide for $99. Hmmm. First thing I spotted was the over-use of exclamation points again: "We focus on Postings, Press, & Reviewers!!!"

Seems like if I cough up $99, they'll put my info about my book on a bunch of online sites (where anyone can put up info about their books themselves—for free), send out press releases (online, of course) through "three different PR portals" (again, authors can do this themselves), and post my book to "online sites," such as this one.

I decided to give that online site (where anyone can list a book for free) a try and see if I could find info about some popular books there: Maybe The Help, Unbroken, and The Book Thief. Searching for The Help yielded three titles that had nothing to do with Kathryn Stockett's book. Only one had any info about the book's contents—and it had no info as to where to actually get the book. There were no results for either Unbroken or The Book Thief. My visit to this site clued me that readers probably don't go there and major publishers don't bother with it.

But back to the, er, book service site. Another thing they promised for the $99 is to "send information about your book to up to 50 book reviewers (depending on the topic of your book) at major newspapers/magazines." Big red flag flapping here: Book reviewers at "newspapers/magazines" don't—or at least so rarely that it's big news when they do—review self-published or vanity-published books. And they don't review books six years after they're published.

The, er, book service also promises to register author's websites with search engines (people can do that themselves) and to send info (and what would that be?) "about your book to 100 bookstores and book clubs that might be interested in your book." Even bigger red flag flapping here: Bookstores aren't interested in POD books because those books are not returnable and they don't have a distributor. And how would the, er, book serviceknow if a book club might be interested or not. Are there lots of book clubs devoted to reading obscure books by unknown authors? Somehow, I don't think so.

The home page of this er, book service, has pictures of books they're promoting. Most of the books seemed to be from self-publishing services (such as CreateSpace) or vanity companies, including some that are on the Writer Beware list of publishers to avoid.

Speaking of avoiding, if you're an author, you really want to avoid spending $99 (or more) to get involved with a company like this.

Back to my book they want to buzz: Where There's A Will was buzzed locally in 2005 when it first came out and for about a year thereafter: See here (for the book's debut), here (for a story in the Roanoke Times Neighbors' section), here (for a story about an appearance I did) and here (for its listing on the publisher's website).

Now, if you'd like to buy the book, it's available on Amazon.com here and B&N.com here.

Talent, teamwork, everyday miracles, and dreams that do indeed come true—from the 1770s through the 1950s and beyond, the young protagonists in WHERE THERE'S A WILL learn important lessions in life.
With accompanying study guides based on the 6th Grade Virginia Standards of Learning by Kay McGrath and an additional study guide for one story based on the 3rd grade Virginia Standards of Learning by Charlotte Webb.

Buzzinga!!!

Edited to add this post by Lynn Price of Behler Publishing: Clearing the air about promotion—POD vs Mainstream, which gives a good explanation of the short-comings of POD.

Mystery Malady

2011-11-01T16:35:00.001-04:00

For most of the month, my mare Melody has had a mystery malady.

Something is wrong with her left hind end. At first she just walked slower than usual. Then she lifted her leg awkwardly when she walked—almost as if she was peddling a tricycle. Then, for a while, she lifted her leg much higher and in a more exaggerated manner.

There was no swelling or heat anywhere on the leg. Mel didn't seem to be in any pain. Her appetite was good. She just didn't move right.

At first, the vet suspected a hoof abscess because there was a bit of heat in her left hind hoof, she reacted to application of the hoof testers, and there was a hoof crack where infection might have begun. Her hoof was packed and bandaged, but the suspected place never drained.

For a while, when she was jerking her leg high, we thought she had stringhalt. For a couple of days, she moved just like this affected horse in a You-Tube video. Stress can produce stringhalt, and she'd been pretty stressed about her pasture-mate's death in August. Plus, being an only horse for the first time in her life had to be stressful.

I Googled, I posted on an equine line I subscribe to, and I posted on Facebook. I received much advice (mainly for stringhalt) but, after a few days, Mel didn't look very string-halty anymore. She was still way off in her stride, though. I suspected neurological damage of some sort. Did she have lyme disease? The beagle had just tested positive for lyme, so that was a possibility. The vet pulled some blood, just in case.

It was possible that she'd eaten something she shouldn't—false dandelions maybe, so I closed her out of the front field. Since migrations of small strongyles can cause stringhalt, she was wormed heavily—and produced a load of pinworms but no strongyles that I could see. I switched her feed to a lower carb, higher fat type of pellet.

A few days later, her movement wasn't as exaggerated, but it was still awkward. This video taken last week shows her walking awkwardly.

Figuring that some body work would make Mel feel better, I emailed Ruth Mitchell, a myofascial release specialist who's worked on me, a couple of cats, and Mel in the past. Ruth had to be out of town and wouldn't be able to see Mel until last night.

Meanwhile, I told Ruth where to find Mel's video I posted on Facebook. She looked at it and emailed back that it looked like fibrotic myopathy to her. I Googled fibrotic myopathy and found videos of horses who walked like Mel here, here and here.

When Ruth came, she found the problem pretty quickly. When she put my hand on the affected place, I could feel its rock-hardness. Ruth said the muscles affected were the Biceps Femoris, Semitendinosis, and Gracilis. Here's approximately where the affected area is:

While there's no cure for this condition, it can be alleviated. Ruth worked on Mel for an hour. For the most part, Mel loved the treatment.

Afterwards, I could notice a slight improvement in how Mel moved. The stride wasn't as short. The goose-step wasn't as exaggerated.

Here's today's video:

Melody has another treatment scheduled in two weeks. We'll see how it goes then.

Winter's Hint

2011-10-30T14:52:00.000-04:00

Most of October has been mild, but the first hints of winter have now arrived: Friday night a cold rain swept in. We turned on the heat. Yesterday the wind blew hard, and the air was raw. Last night's heavy frost was still visible this morning, and a skim of ice was on the horse tubs.

The fall color hasn't been spectacular this year. Colors are muted, not vivid. This was my view yesterday yesterday from the deck. . .

. . . and from the front porch.

Last week, Smith Farm looked almost summery:

Well, except for bare branches on the walnut trees.

No wild bright colors—just green giving way to gold. Enough of a hint to let us know that winter's coming. Maybe this poem by Robert Frost is appropriate:

October

BY ROBERT FROST

O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes’ sake, if they were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost—
For the grapes’ sake along the wall.

"Release one leaf at break of day."

The Map of Me

2011-10-27T15:54:00.002-04:00

Yesterday, there was a news story about a five-year-old who, upon getting off the school bus and finding her mom missing, got in the car to go look for her. The girl ended up backing onto a neighbor's lawn, returning to her house, and calling 911. Apparently, even though the girl at first lied to police, her story ended happily.

Coincidentally, I just finished a book about a girl whose mom goes missing and who goes to look for her. Tami Lewis Brown's middle grade novel The Map of Me, arrived in the mail last week, and—because I'd loved Tami's picture book, Soar, Elinor— I couldn't wait to read it.

I just finished the novel and found it delightful. I like stories told in the first person, and The Map of Me is narrated by sixth-grader Margie Tempest. Margie has problems: her nine-year-old (and much smarter) sister Peep is in the same grade—and the same class. When Miss Primrose, having read the class The Hobbit, assigns her students to draw a map of themselves, Peep receives and A and Margie, who never finished the assignment, receives an F. Margie knows she will never measure up to her little sister.

Then their mother, an avid collector of all things having to do with chickens, vanishes. She leaves a note on the refrigerator: "I HAVE TO GO." Margie thinks she knows where Mama went—to the International Poultry Hall of Fame in a town not far away. When Margie and Peep go to their father's business, he's busy with a customer and doesn't have time for them. Margie "borrows" his car and her odyssey along the backroads of Kentucky begins.

Margie disregards Peep's protests and, when Peep offers her a map, Margie flings it out the window. After driving for miles, with the gas tank almost empty and rain pouring down, Margie realizes she's headed in the wrong direction and turns around. But that's all I'm going to tell you about the plot—or whether or not Margie's story ends happily.

The book is not only about Margie trying to find Mama, but about Margie finding herself. The Map of Me is a good book for sixth grade girls—they're at the age when they're questioning themselves and their abilities. And it's a good book for adults, too, who might need a reminder of how children sometimes misinterpret what's happening. The Map of Me would be a good choice for a mother-daughter book club, or for a mother and daughter to read together.

On her website, Tami Lewis Brown has a neat activity kit for The Map of Me: http://www.tamilewisbrown.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/08/The-Map-of-Me-activity-kit.pdf

Jack Tales and App Lit

2011-10-26T15:49:00.002-04:00

When I was a kid, I loved the old-timey stories. At the time, I didn't know that some of those stories were officially known as Jack Tales; I only knew that the main character in a bunch of them was called Jack.

More than a half century after I heard those tales, I was privileged to to meet two tellers of the Jack Tales, Lynn Salsi and Anne Chase, at the Children's Literature Association Conference at Hollins University last June. We three were on the "Sense of Place, Sense of Home: Retelling Appalachian Folktales" panel.

Anne, who is a wonderful story-teller in her own right, is the daughter of Richard Chase, noted in Appalachian literature for collecting the Jack Tales. I've owned her father's book for years, so it was an honor to sit next to Anne.

I've owned this book for years.

As part of her presentation, Anne told the "Sody Sallyratus" tale. I was lucky to have a front-row seat to her animated and enjoyable rendition.

Lynn Salsi talked about her retold Jack Tales. Here are two of her books:

Lynn's stories are a delight. The illustrations by James Young echo the homespun feel of Lynn's tales.

James Young's illustrations in Jack and the Fire Dragon are especially effective.

For my part of the panel, I told a shortened version of Ferradiddledumday, my Appalachian version of the Rumpelstiltskin tale. It doesn't have Jack in it, though.

I used my Powerpoint presentation to help me tell Ferradiddledumday.

Before Anne, Lynn, and I did our presentation, the Ferrum College Jack Tale Players performed a couple of stories.

Another neat "Jack Tale" thing happened that morning. Charles Vess, an artist and illustrator who designed the brick sculpture Jack Tales Wall at Southwest Virginia Community College in Richlands, just happened to be there. Tina Hanlon, keeper of the Ferrum College AppLit website, invited him to say a few words. And he told us the story of how he came to design the wall.

If you're not familiar with the old-timey stories, you might want to look into reading a few.

Summer Slipped Away

2011-10-21T17:57:00.000-04:00

I think fall color is at its peak in my neighborhood, but most of the colors are muted. Not the burning bush at the end of my bottom driveway, though.

The days have mostly been warm, although the nights are chilly. We haven't had frost yet, but the weatherman says that might change soon. Summer is slipping away

A poem by Emily Dickinson is appropriate for today:

As Summer into Autumn slips
And yet we sooner say
"The Summer" than "the Autumn," lest
We turn the sun away,

And almost count it an Affront
The presence to concede
Of one however lovely, not
The one that we have loved --

So we evade the charge of Years
On one attempting shy
The Circumvention of the Shaft
Of Life's Declivity.

Here's what the trees look like in my neighborhood:

The redbud in the front yard.

The trees at Polecat Creek Farm

Prodigal Cat

2011-10-19T19:03:00.002-04:00

Jim-Bob (the two-year-old kitty who's missing his left hind foot because of a birth accident) is going through a rebellious phase. About a week ago, for instance, he got his ear pierced.

Lately, he wants to forego his house cat status and become a barn cat like his half-siblings, Sherman and Spotz. With their mama Twiggy, Sherman and Spotz hang out on farm equipment and do other fun stuff.

Jim-Bob has been watching from the edge of the pasture as they inspect the flatbed trailer.

He's been watching them in action as they do field work.

He even sat on a hay bale to get a different perspective.

He contemplated a bale from another angle while half-brother Sherman inspected the pasture.

Jim-Bob envies the barn cats their freedom to come and go. He hates that he has a curfew and has to be inside before dark.

Lately, he's been picking fights with another cat—Ab from next door. Ab often invites himself to breakfast and supper with the barn cats. Sherman has challenged him, and so has Jim-Bob. That's probably how Jim-Bob got his ear pierced.

Saturday, Jim-Bob came in with a swollen paw, and he was limping more than usual. He spent most of Sunday confined to the house. Since he doesn't have a paw to spare, he went to the vet's on Monday. The vet said the puncture on his paw was probably from fighting. He received an injection of antibiotics and wasn't happy about it.

As soon has he was back home, he rolled joyously in the grass. Then he disappeared.

Monday evening, Jim-Bob missed his curfew. His mama Olivia waited up for him, but he didn't come in.

HIs sister Chloe was so worried that she was a basket case.

Way after dark, he still hadn't shown up. Across the cow pasture, coyotes howled. Everyone assumed the worst.

Morning came and still no Jim-Bob. Chloe and Dylan had slept by the door to let him in if he returned. From the state of Chloe's quilt, she apparently tossed and turned all night.

Jim-Bob wasn't waiting on the deck to get in. He didn't show up when the procession of house cats went out for their morning constitutional. He wasn't with the barn cats when they were served their breakfast. There was no trace of him anywhere. His humans left for Kroger's and assumed he'd be back when they returned. He wasn't.

Finally, a little after 2:00 PM, a "meow-meow-meow-MEOW" sound was heard on the deck. Soon a tired Jim-Bob appeared at the door. He didn't mention where he'd been or what he'd been doing. But he ate a hearty late lunch. (Note: When the prodigal cat returned, we didn't slay a fatted calf. But we did open a can of Friskies cat food.) Then he took a long nap.

We don't know how to handle Jim,-Bob's rebellious phase. What will he do next? Get a tattoo? Get a stud or ring for his pierced paw? Roll catnip joints?

Take to strong drink?

Should we get him a cellphone so he could call in periodically if he violates curfew again? Or would he just text other cats and ignore us if we called?

Writer's Essential Tackle Box

2011-10-12T20:25:00.001-04:00

The Writer's Essential Tackle Box is the book I wish I'd read ten years ago. Of course, it wasn't published then, but still. . . .

Last July, because of a comment I left on a post of publisher Lynn Price's Behler Blog, I won a copy of her book, The Writer's Essential Tack Box, published, of course, by Behler Publishing. It received a cat scan from Chloe before I could open it.

This book was packed with useful info about "getting a hook on the publishing industry." I could have used a lot of this info before I self-published a novel in 2001 and vanity-published some other stuff years ago. Even though I've worked my way up to small press publishing, I still learned a lot from The Writer's Essential Tack Box.

The book was published in 2009 and—given all the changes in the publishing industry since then—I thought its information might be out of date. It isn't.

The book is divided into the following four sections: Interviews—Casting the Flyrod; "Forget the bait, pass me the Maalox": The Submission Process; "Chuming the Waters: and The Writers' Survival Style Guide. Each section was packed with info.

I especially liked the in-depth questions and answers in the interviews with agents in section 1—Andrea Brown, Rita Rosenkranz, Laurie McLean, Peter Cox, and others. Also extremely helpful was the information about the different review sources.

Throughout the book, Lynn Price defines—as well as explains—a lot of terminology. She tells writers what they need to know whether they're seeking commercial publication or self-publication. Clearly she's done her homework.

I highly recommend The Writer's Essential Tack Box to anyone seeking publication. It's easy to read and, well, essential.

Here's the book trailer:

Country Lessons

2011-10-09T22:10:00.001-04:00

A couple of days ago, we had some city folk—my college roommate, her husband, daughter, and son-in-law—visit us from the flatlands of eastern Virginia. They arrived in the midst of haying, which is a lot later than usual because of this summer's dry spell followed by several rainy days.

For y'all city slickers reading this blog: to make hay, grass is cut by a tractor pulling a haybine. Next, it's left to dry for a day or two. Then it's raked and finally baled. This is what raked hay looks like:

My husband, a former city slicker from New Jersey, has been a country boy for four decades. Last week, he spent three days raking hay:

Ever eager to share his skills, he was willing to let our guests try hay-raking:

This gave me a idea: why not open a country college for city folks? We could offer classes in haymaking, such as Haymaking 101: Driving a Tractor and Haymaking 102: Actually Raking Hay. Below, my husband offers instruction in both sections of the course:

The city folks caught on pretty quick and did a pretty good job raking. They deserve an A.

See the nice neat row? Definitely A work.

In our country camp, we could also offer—at no extra charge—some photo opportunities, such as posing on a tractor with baler attached:

. . . or walking across a newly raked field. The picture below looks like it should be some kind of commercial, doesn't it?

Then there's Fruit-Picking 101—Harvesting the Mystery Pears.

The pears—thanks to identification today by a horticulture major—are actually Chinese Sand Pears, so they're no longer a mystery. However, they are hard to reach. Maybe picking them should be worth a PE credit, too.

Then there are the animal management classes, such as Cat-Herding 101 (not pictured) or Horse-Grooming 101, taught by Melody who will graciously volunteer her time for educational purposes. And food. Mostly for food.

An optional class is Feeding Horse Treats 101. Melody especially likes teaching this class. (Note: No fingers were lost during Feeding Horse Treats 101.)

Sometimes, for Equine Anatomy 101, Melody will demonstrate just how big a horse tongue is:

Then there'd a separate course in 4-Wheeling. Farmers need a fast way of checking fence lines, etc., so an ATV is essential farm equipment. First a little instruction in 4-Wheeling 101:

Then you're good to go!

Tools are important on the farm. You never know when you need to fix something, tear down something, so we'll offer a Tool Selection Seminar: Harbor Freight 101. Naturally there'll be a lot of hands-on experience as well as in-depth discussion.

Of course, we'd have to offer Crop Identification lessons. Can you identify this crop? (answer provided at the end of this post)

And finally, we present Art Appreciation: Yard Art 101 for methods and materials of decorating concrete statues of farm animals, with emphasis on selecting decor appropriate for the season.

Are you ready to sign up, or what?

Answer: The crop pictured above (and also behind the cow) is tobacco.

Foggy Morn

2011-10-08T10:45:00.001-04:00

The fog rolled in this morning—sometime between when I fed Melody and the yard cats at 8 and when I fed the dogs at 9:15.

I found little Ruby Sherwood, who'd earlier been cavorting around with a dog from down the road, huddled and shivering on the front porch.

The little oak in front of the sidwalk was visible but not the road, field, or woods beyond it.

Same for the other trees:

A spiderweb in the evergreen was silvered with dew.

Other spiderwebs adorned the same tree:

Beyond the pasture was whiteness.

Later the fog lifted.

October's bright blue weather soon returned and my world was visible again.

Mountain Spirits Festival

2011-10-04T16:43:00.001-04:00

Last Saturday the Mountain Spirits Festival that some of us had worked on for nearly a year actually happened. Despite the gale force winds that day, everybody involved seemed to have a good time.

The idea began a year ago in June when I came home from the Galax Leaf and String Festival and mentioned at a library board meeting that Franklin County should do something like that. Librarian David Bass contacted Debra Weir, the county's Tourism and Special Events Manager, and meetings ensued. Somehow I became "literary coordinator," which meant I was the person who invited authors to sit under a big tent. So, I invited a bunch of authors, most of whom had written something connected to the region. And I started a blog. Debra started a Facebook page. Joyce Tukloff of the Franklin County Library invited some story-tellers. Ibby Greer assembled a bunch of artists. Mary Wray, owner of the Artisan Center Along the Crooked Road came on board. Before long, the festival was taking shape.

A few weeks before the festival, a couple of authors cancelled because they had other commitments. Well, I still had plenty to fill the big tent.

Friday afternoon, I went to Rocky Mount and put up tables, which I then labeled so the authors would know where they were to sit. The weather forecast was for high wind on Saturday. Uh-oh.

Friday evening, two more authors cancelled. Uh-oh. What if no one showed up?

Early Saturday morning—as the breeze was picking up—I was there to help authors find their places and to show them where they'd park in the Franklin Center parking lot. But there was a BIG truck blocking many of the Center's parking spaces. An Asplundth truck. They're tree cutters. Uh-oh.

I talked to the driver who told me he was waiting for the crew chief and the rest of the crew to come so they could cut the tree beside the tent. Beside the tent?! (You can see the branches in the picture above.) As we spoke, a bunch of guys were putting up signs on the sidewalk to keep people away from the tree-cutting site. Uh-oh.

I spied Debra and told her what was going on. She talked to the crew chief and explained a lot of people would be soon be under the tent and on the street. The crew took up their signs and left. Whew!

Before long authors arrived and set up. Then visitors came to the tent. Despite the cold and wind, things went pretty well. Some authors were old friends; some met each other for the first time. As two Appalachian authors chatted, one realized that the other had shot and slightly wounded her uncle during a raid on his still. Small world, huh?

A lot was happening in town, but I spent most of my time in the tent with the authors. Since the music stage was beside us, I did get to hear some wonderful music.

Gary Noestner and Amanda Cockrell (hidden by flowers)
were the first authors folks saw when they entered the tent.

Lake Writers: President Chuck Lumpkin, Susan Coryell,
Sally Roseveare, and Mike Davis.

The Lake Writers made some sales.

Pocahontas Press had some good bargains.
Beside them, Bruce Bytner displays his Park Ranger books.

Charles Lytton displays his New River books.

Piedmont Writers came from Martinsville.

Lynn Dudley and Margaret Adkins.

Books buyers mingle with authors.

Appalachian authors Peggy Shifflett and Jack Powell share stories.

Farther down the street, all sorts of things were happening. A horse danced while its rider, Aspen Black, sang.

Lots of artists displayed their paintings, pottery, sculpture, and jewelry. My favorite painting was this one by Carol Yopp:

And down in the farmers' market—at Farmer Appreciation Day—this model captured the spirit of the festival:

If you don't know what it is, you surely ain't from around here.

More pictures are here.

Living History

2011-09-24T21:24:00.000-04:00

I'm the third generation owner of the family farm in Union Hall where my grandparents, Joe and Sallie Smith, lived for over 50 years. The main part of the cabin was built in 1852 by William Bernard. Later another "pen" was added and an enclosed dog-trot connected the two.

After William's wife Gillie Ann died in 1897, he cut a little window by the fireplace so he could see her grave on the hill.

The cabin is no longer in liveable shape, but it's mostly still standing. I can remember visiting my grandparents there when I was a kid. I was intrigued that they had no electricity and no running water (save in the spring down the hill). My grandmother walked down this hill a couple of times a day for decades:

The spring was a hundred feet or so into the trees. In the 1950s, my grandparents lived pretty much as the Bernards had lived during the 1860s. Maybe this is where my fascination with old-timey stuff started.

Ever since I can remember, I've wondered what it would be like to live in an earlier time. I'm especially fascinated with life in the 1800s. So, when some Civil War re-enactors were going to set up camp at Lake Watch, I knew I wanted to see what they were up to. They were going to stage a battle, too, even though no actual battles had been fought in Franklin County.

Their campsites looked like this:

Some had signs that told which company was camped where.

Some displayed their tack beside the tent.

And some displayed other things that might be needed during—or after—a battle:

The tents were roomier inside than I expected, but they were still a bit cramped.

Cooking was done on open fires.

An anachronism seems to have slipped into the ashes below. . .

. . . but rumor has it that Saturday evening a horse-drawn artillery cannon went through the Bojangles drive-thru. Bojangles is just across 122 from Lake Watch where the encampment took place. (Wish I'd seen that!) I wonder if this was this the cannon:

Just outside the camp area on Sunday afternoon, artillerymen prepared for the battle:

Guns and flags stood at the ready:

The group posed for formal pictures before the battle began:

Notice the lack of yankees in the picture.

However, just before the battle, some Confederates returned to their tents for a change of clothes—to blue.

The confederate cavalry practiced a few maneuvers:

Soon the battle began. It was loud!

The horses were remarkably calm during the cannon fire. I was impressed!

In the background, a large crowd had gathered to watch the battle.

After the battle, the soldiers rode toward the spectators.

I was glad that, for an hour, I could slip back into time and get a glimpse of what life might have been like 150 years ago. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't like to live back then, but it was nice to visit for a little while.

The Ballad of Tom Dooley

2011-09-23T22:07:00.001-04:00

. . . a book review (with cats) of a ballad novel by Sharyn McCrumb

I finally received my copy of The Ballad of Tom Dooley that I'd pre-ordered from Amazon.com months ago. It was worth the wait. I really enjoyed the book.

When I was a teenager and folk music was in, the Kingston Trio's "Ballad of Tom Dooley" was popular. However, the song wasn't exactly historically accurate. McCrumb sets the record straight. Though her book is a novel, her meticulous scholarship shines through. That's one reason I like it.

Another reason I like the book is McCrumb's use of alternating narrators—Pauline Foster and Zebulon Vance—telling their stories in first person. Pauline Foster, a cousin to Laura Foster who was murdered and servant to cousin Ann Melton, is a villainous poor girl who feels little empathy for anyone around her. Zebulon Vance, former governor of North Carolina, is the court appointed attorney for Tom Dula, a ne'er-do-well ex-Confederate soldier accused of murdering Laura.

None of the characters are likeable, but they're doggone interesting—and therein lies the tale. Beautiful and vain Ann Melton, although married to James Melton, has an affair with Tom, her true love. Pauline, suffering from "the pox," seeks out a doctor and the means to pay him, so she ends up working for the Meltons. Tom is not faithful to Ann. Pauline, who transmits the pox to Tom and thence to Ann, fuels Ann's jealousy of Laura, whom Tom also beds. But I don't want to give away too much of the plot, so I'll stop here.

The setting—the mountains of North Carolina just after the Civil War—isolates the characters and contributes to their hard-scrabble lives.

I like the style of the story. McCrumb lets it unwind slowly, the way an old-time story-teller might do. The dialogue is believable, and the characters take plenty of time to tell their stories. What the two narrators say and how they say it reveals much about them—Pauline's disdain for anyone and Zebulon Vance's ambitions, among other things.

I've heard Sharyn McCrumb speak of telling the truth—"But tell it slant"—in fiction. The Ballad of Tom Dooley certainly rings true. In many places, I forgot I was reading fiction and truly believed I was reading history.

If you love Appalachian literature and a rattling good story, odds are good you'll like this book as much as I do. It won't put you to sleep.

Note: While Chloe, Jim-Bob, Eddie-Puss, and Camilla posed with the book, no cats actually read it, although the above cats napped on me while I read it.

Now, little Chloe would like you to guess what book title she's thinking about in the picture below:

Did you guess?

It's Mew-tiny on the Bounty, of course!

The Battle of Lakewatch

2011-09-18T19:36:00.000-04:00

No actual Civil War battles were fought in Franklin County, but a Civil War reenactment took place this weekend at Lakewatch Plantation (which was not what the farm was called in the 1860s; for one thing, the lake didn't even exist until over a hundred years later).

My husband and I went to see what was going on. Turns out my cousins Gloria and Joyce were there. Joyce's son Anthony was a reenactor, so we ended up watching the battle from the camp.

My favorite part, of course, was seeing the horses. I took a look at them while they were tied to the picket line. They were incredibly well-behaved.

Soon they were saddled and ready for action.

I especially liked the gray horse in the foreground. (More about him later.)

The gunfire and cannon fire didn't bother these horses a bit.

When his rider was "killed," the gray horse took off for the woods. I was worried the gelding was going to run away.

"That's Garth," said a woman near me. "He'll go right back to the picket line and wait. He always does."

I turned around to see Garth making his way through the camp. He looked like he knew where he was going.

The woman invited me to go with her to see him. Sure enough, he was waiting at the line.

Meanwhile, another gray horse was at the reenactment. Looks like General Lee and Traveler made it to the battle.

Clearing the Trails

2011-09-14T21:20:00.000-04:00

This morning my husband left on his smaller tractor to go down the road and mow the bottoms at Polecat Creek. After a while I went down to check on him and bring him home for lunch.

He was mowing the far bottom field to the left when I got there—the field I think might be a little bit hainted. Getting to this field requires crossing two creeks.

I took some pictures of the local flora (didn't see any fauna). See the paw-paws on the tree below?

Here's a closer look:

Some of the weeds were up pretty high. Below, he's in the closer field—the one between the creek and the graveyard hill.

Paw-paw trees grow along this side of the creek, too.

After he'd mowed part of this field, he parked the tractor near the branch and came home for lunch.

When I brought him back, he started to mow the small bottom on the right side.

He crossed the little branch and went past the black walnut. I don't think we have paw-paws on this side.

The first swath he cut shows how high the weeds were.

Below, he circles the field and comes back along the creek.

He didn't mow one spot. It's a bee-hole. Even though something (a skunk, probably) had dug out the hole, it was still full of bees. They looked kind of like yellow jackets, but they could have been hornets. I wasn't about to get close enough to make a positive identification.

Meanwhile, he continued mowing.

I decided to return home. But I left the Tracfone with him just in case.

Good thing I did. About a half hour later, I got a call. I couldn't understand much of what he was saying. Reception in the bottoms in non-existent, so he had to walk to the high field. I could understand just enough to know that he wanted me to come get him.

When I got to the bottom, I saw this:

He'd been mowing on uneven ground covered by weeds that made the terrain look even. The tractor slid sideways and down. Luckily it didn't overturn.

There was no way to get it out with my truck.

So, we headed home to get the BIG tractor. It didn't take him long to hook the tractors together.

Soon the little tractor was free. Luckily, it wasn't a bit damaged.

As I left, I could see him start bush-hogging again.

Now the bottoms are ready for horseback riders and hikers.

And a certain border collie and her beagle sidekick.