I DID IT!

 I believe that my last post in here was pretty depressing.  Today's post will happily change that.  I have now finished all eight books in this series.  They go chronologically as follows below:

 1.  Ardis

2.  Sarah

3.  Celeste

4.  Angela

5.  Lily

6.  Rose

7.  Beth

8.  Tapestry

 The time period of the series moves from 1861 to 1890.  These women are all connected in one way or another to The Drifting Anchor Ranch and Blake Calkin.  There are seven sheros in my series.  I call them sheros, not heroine (that's also a drug).  

Only two of them are published through Lulu.  That would be Celeste and Beth, which. you can above are not in chronological order.  Being the queen of random as I am I started toward the end and finally have finished.  I don't know any dates when the other six will be published.  There will be more listed here as the journey continues.  Thank you. 

 

 

Ardis Diary

 I haven't written in here for a very long time.  I reached a point where I felt like I was either complaining, or discussing the same topics, ad-nauseum.  Mother Bee caught a miserable chest complaint.  Now Billy has also gained it.  He's not the same bright, can't sit still for two minutes, Billy.  He is quiet most of the time.  He has lost weight.  His skin is pallid.  The worst is that his spirit seems so repressed.  It is as though the illness has swallowed the brightness of his soul.  

He has now joined mother Bee in the wagon.  Sometimes he rides the little mule that Papa Aidan brought with us.  The mule is almost as thin as Billy.  

It has become miserably hot.  There is no rain.  The edibles that the animals usually eat have dried up and drifted away.  So now...the animals are hungry, the humans are hungry, and I fear that some of the animals will wind up being somebodies meal.  Papa Aidan has become even more watchful over our few remaining animals.  I can tell that he recognizes the danger.  We had a dozen laying hens when we began our journey.  There are only three left.  We ate six of the others, and three mysteriously disappeared from their pen on the side of the wagon during the night.  I'm surprised that the other chickens didn't create such a fuss that it awakened all of us.  I guess we sleep so soundly after a day filled with exertion we didn't even awaken for that.

There is still no word from Tom.  I try to believe that if there were anyway to send us word, he would.  I don't really believe that.  I think the iea of going to war is so thrilling to him that he gives very little thought to those of us on this miserable journey.  He left us behind when we so desperately needed him.  I fear that I will be bitter about that for the the rest of our married life, if he ever does return.

 I'm not going to call my diary Felicia anymore.  It's a childish idea and there is nothing left of childishness on this desperate, hot, miserable, nauseating track.  It would help if I had joy for the end of the trail to urge me on.  I don't know this Astoria that we're traveling to.  It sounds frightening more than anything else.  I'm pretty certain that it's not a safe place to homestead and raise a family.  What on earth possessed Tom to buy a pig in a poke?  He had no idea what our property would be, beyond "One hundred acres of the most fertile earth God ever created."  That was the promotion that he succumbed to.  For a man with virtually no imagination Tom can be ridiculously gullible.  

I met the salesman once.  I immediately felt that something was wrong about him.  I couldn't give an exact description of what I thought was wrong.  That meant that Tom dismissed me.  He didn't even try to look at the idea from my point of view.  Honestly, if he repeats one more time that "Women don't have the intellect to deal with finances..." there may be another war....in our home!"  Is it a civil war when a wife goes to battle with her husband?

Ardis Diary

 A new life?  I felt the movement today.  It was very faint, like the whispery movements of a butterfly.  How marvelous is this...that a man and a woman can come together to create another human being.  It is hoped that the creation would happen in love.  I cannot say that love was the overwhelming feeling during my experience.  Tom makes love as he dances, with very little of passion and imagination.  I was always pleased when the experience was done.  

Well I must end that topic.  Billy can sometimes be sneaky.  I would not put it past him to try to find this diary and read what I have said.  This subject is far too advanced for him.  He still believes that somehow a baby mysteriously arrives.  He has no concept of the connection of man and woman that creates the child, nor the experience of carrying that child for nine months.

Mother Bee is also expecting.  She is not doing well with her pregnancy.  She is naturally quite thin.  Sick from her pregnancy she is almost gaunt.  Aidan is very excited at the idea of having another child.  At the same time I can see his concern about her as she vomits on and off all day long.  

I feel unsettled, my stomach roils but never to the point of vomit.  Sometimes I wish that I could throw up.  Surely I would feel relief for a short while after?  Actually, Mother Bee's biliousness doesn't seem changed when she does throw up.  She rides in the wagon most of the time now.  I don't think the oxen feel any difference when she is in the wagon.  Her weight is quite negligible to those noble creatures.

I try to do most of the chores so that Mother Bee can rest.  I did not tell anyone that I was expecting.  One day Father Aidan asked me about my pregnancy.  I was truly startled.  I didn't know how he could possibly have found out.  He assured me that he only knew from watching Mother Bee's symptoms during pregnancy.  He is such a sensitive, intuitive man.  I wish his son was more like him, and less like Mother Bee.

That's a terrible thing to say.  I should not put that in writing.  Mother Bee is just so negative, so much of the time.  She hasn't an ounce of imagination.  Life, to her, seems to be one long string of chores to be completed in an efficient, timely manner.  Sometimes it is more than I can bear.  I sometimes run as fast and as far as I can.  Then I come back more slowly to the plodding line of oxen who obediently follow our direction.

I plod just like the oxen most of the time.  It feels as though this journey will never end.  Day in and day out we perform the same chores, build a fire, make breakfast, or lunch, or dinner.  Oh, I forgot to mention, gather buffalo leavings to start the fires with.  I never in my wildest imagination ever thought that I would be gathering poop from another creature to make a fire.  This substance must be dried to get the fire burning.  I will not ever miss this particular chore at journey's end.  

Journey's end?  Sigh...will this journey EVER end?  I must end this missive.  Today is a day for washing our worn out, patched beyond recognition clothes. 

Ardis Diary

Tonight a different spirit was felt among all of us, the weary travelers.  One man plays the violin, a woman brought her treasured cello, another fellow plays the harmonica.  They had been practicing together in the evenings for the last week or so.  I was privileged to watch one of their practices.  I sketched the experience.  It was delightful to watch.  The cellist is so serious as she plays, the fiddler laughs and smiles endlessly, the harmonica player is a combination of the two.  Sometimes in a lively, spirited rendition he stamps his foot in a rhythmic tattoo.  Even though his mouth is thoroughly engaged in playing a song he still will smile around it.  It's the most interesting thing.

 Tonight they played and people danced.  I danced with Billy and Papa Aidan.  I was acutely aware of my husband's absence.  Mother Bee says that she doesn't care for the frivolity of dancing.  When she was dancing with Papa Aidan, I noticed that she couldn't keep a smile from her face.  She frequently burst into laughter.  This relief from daily, seemingly endless travel to Oregon was much needed.  At the same time, as I took my place underneath the wagon for rest, I was desperately aware of my lack.  

Why did Tom believe that a battle was more important than helping his family achieve this goal that was his alone?  I tried not to be bitter when Tom sold my parents home and land without even consulting me.  He said, "It never crossed my mind.  As  your husband, I am solely responsible for the financial details of our marriage.  Women do not have sufficient intellect to attend to such duties."  At that moment I sincerely contemplated attacking my husband.  He sold my birthright, MY birthright without even a consideration for me.  I certainly had no desire to travel this endless, miserable trek.  Uncertainty lies at the end of our journey. 

What will this place, Astoria, be?  I have heard stories in penny dreadfuls about men being shanghaied, kidnapped and sold as slaves.  It might be years before their family has any idea what happened to them.  They just disappear.  Some of them never return.  

Today, I'm going to sketch a picture of Tom. This picture will be a bit different than the usual.  Instead of making his face classically handsome, which it certainly is, I'm going to show him with a secret smirk.  He will somehow convey the selfishness of his soul on that face.  I suspect that it will help me somehow to make peace with the irony of my situation.  I'm on a trip to a place that I never wished to go.  My birthright was sold without my permission or knowledge.  The person who put me in this dilemma, LEFT, to fight, what he termed, "A glorious battle."  I know very little of the world, but I know that there is nothing glorious about men killing strangers, some men in THIS battle are family, but most wars involve total strangers killing and wounding each other.

 Sigh....I promised myself that I wouldn't again envision such grim thoughts.  It just helps me to have a safe place for my musings.  I certainly will never share with my in-laws these negative thoughts about their son.  Mother Bee would never even listen to a negative word about "Her Thomas," as she lovingly calls him.  Papa Aidan loves his son deeply.  I would not trouble him with these ideas.  Small brother Billy?  To him Tom is a hero of Scottish nobility.  I would never rob him of this ideal.

 So it is to you Letitia that I bare my soul.  Even though I gave my diary this name, it feels as though I'm chatting with one of my beloved friends that I left behind in Tennessee.  Thank you for listening.    Once again, I must spare my lantern from its kerosene usage.

Ardis Diary

 I awoke with my heart racing.  I turned to snuggle into Tom...only Tom wasn't there.  It was just me, alone, under the wagon.  I heard a wolf howling, that's what awakened me.  It took me a very long time to go back to sleep.  I try to protect myself by putting up things between me and the outside world.  I stack wood, or layer rocks that I've found during the day.  It might not save me but at least it would give me a slight chance of awakening before I'm attacked.  

I'm writing now in broad daylight.  I'm supposed to be eating my lunch.  I can eat my lunch while I walk.  That is what we do each and everyday, we walk, then we walk, and when we're sick of walking, we walk some more.  It's hot now, dusty, and an annoying wind often blows the dirt directly into my face as I walk endlessly.  

I have tried to repair the soles of my shoes.  I used some old newspapers when holes formed.  That didn't last for long.  So I tried ripping up an old dress and creating pads that I put on the inside of my shoes.  That worked the best, but finally the sole was so worn that the pad wouldn't stay in the shoe.  Finally I took the leather tops of my shoes, I turned them upside down so that I was walking on the side of the shoe.  I tied the two sides of the shoe together so that one side was on the bottom, when that wore out, I turned the last leather side to the bottom and tied it to my feet with the laces that had been in the shoes.  That worked for awhile.  NOW?  There is no leather left.  Even the rawhide ties wore out.  The ground is parched with heat.  My feet swelled.  Then they crack open and bled.  It was awful to look behind myself and see a trail of blood.  Finally, my feet are as hard and parched as the leather shoes that I used to wear.  I'm grateful.  Having my feet so leathery helps with the pain of step after step after weary step!

Ah Tom, where are you?  Are your shoes worn out?  Have you signed up with some union army unit?  We're from the south, but we are religiously against slavery.  We believe that ALL men WERE created equal.  That includes men, and women of all colors.  Why should we benefit from the sweat and toil of these souls?  Slavery needs to end.  

It's just hard for me to embrace war.  I do not believe that there is anything glorious about the action of young men fighting, wounding, and killing total strangers.  If they were to meet in a social gathering they might even become friends.  Instead, father is fighting his sons, brother is against brother, and the entire thing is a colossal waste of good men, horses, and life.  Instead of fighting each other, these men should be working to support their families.  They should be watching their children grow up, and helping those children to be loved, and strong.  Old men decide that we need to fight each other.  They sit in great comfortable offices and strategize.  They move the men around on the battlefield as though it was a game of chess.  A remarkable difference?  Nobody dies in a game of chess...NOT ONE SOUL!!

There is the cowbell.  That means that we walk on...and on....and on...and on!  When I reach Astoria, I will ride a horse anywhere I go.  I may never walk anywhere ever again!!!.

Ardis. Diary

 I can't bear it!!  How will I continue to put one foot after another and keep walking towards the unknown without my husband?  I married Tom because of a promise that he made to my parents as they lay dying.  I love Tom, but not in the magical feelings of romance novels that I read.  I sneaked those books into the barn and read.  My parents would have been scandalized.  Just watching my parents relationship showed me how a marriage should be.  They were absolutely besotted with another.  I think they both died because they simply couldn't imagine any life without the other.  They had known each other for most of their lives.  They came to Tennessee as a newly married couple.  The only asset they carried with them was their love for each other and ten dollars.   

My mother told me that I would grow to love Tom.  Tom and I are so very different.  He is reserved. I am not. He has very definite opinions about a few things, but simply isn't even curious about anything else.  Our conversations are thence extremely limited.  I must admit that one of his favorite subjects bores me to tears.  Oh how he loves discussing the best types of seeds for the best harvest rewards.  He studies the soil obsessively.  

The only time that I found this interesting conversation was one time when he was plowing and dug up a beautiful statue.  It was carved from stone.  He gave the statue to me.  I treasure it.  It has a woman kneeling looking up towards the heaven that she is imploring.  

Tom simply said, "She's probably praying to some heathen God."  I don't believe in Tom's limited judgmental God.  His God only recognizes the pious Christian.  I was taught that even if we call our God a different name, chances are that we are still praying to the same Father in Heaven.  I was also taught that we are all brothers and sisters, children of the same God.  Tom is biased against anybody that is a different color, a different religion, or just plain different.  

I feel badly as I reread what I just wrote.  I'm going to now explain the things that endears Tom to me.  When my parents became desperately ill, Tom was at our home everyday doing all that he could to help me care for them.  He loved my parents as well as he loved his own flesh and blood.  When my parents died, I had nowhere to go, no family left, except in impossibly far away Scotland.  Somehow Tom convinced folks to watch over me for the last two years before I was old enough to marry him.  I often think that he married me out of a sense of duty to my dead parents more than any type of love.  Love is a most practical thing to Tom.  He cares for the duties of marriage in the same way that he cares for the duties of farm life.  I thought that lovemaking would be....well...more pleasurable.  Okay, no more of that conversation.  It makes me very uncomfortable. 

When I discovered that Tom was actually leaving to go fight in a war that has nothing to do with us?  I was furious.  Then I was desperate.  Finally I gave up.  Tom is the most determined human that I've ever met.  In other words stubborn!  He drives me crazy sometimes with his unwillingness to be flexible or see anything from other than one viewpoint.  Sigh.

I did realize that I do love Tom when I realized that I may never see him again.  He could actually fight and die in this dreadful war.  I can't believe that anybody thinks that it's acceptable to own another human, regardless of their skin color.  They have the same emotions, the same bodies, their skin is just a prettier color.  Tom and I do share this belief.  We think that it's unconscionable to profit from the sweat and labor of others with no remuneration.  

Tom has spent his life listening to tales of brave Scottish warriors.  His dad told him bedtime stories from Scottish history.  I fear that Tom went to sleep with battles painting the colors of his dreams.  This influence drives him to the idea that war is glorious.  Warriors are men that face their fears with bravery.  Oh Tom, why did you have to leave?

I'm beyond weary and tomorrow I will have to get up at the dawn of the new day.  I'm alone now under the wagon.  I start at every howl of coyotes or wolves.  I have a lamp here with me.  I must blow it out.  I fear that I'm being greedy with my use of our limited kerosene.  Good night.

My Sheros

Ardis, Sarah, Celeste, Angela, Rose, Lily, Beth, Tapestry.  These are the names of my seven Sheros.  Each book is stand alone, except for Tapestry.  A tapestry is a wall hanging made by weaving threads in and out to create a lovely picture.  I am doing the same thing in a literary fashion.  Tapestry will finish smoothing out the rough edges of my series.

Journal entries for all of the women will be posted on this blog.  This will help you to peek into the coming attractions of my series.  Each of the women named above will have their own book in the series.  I did not write my series in a chronological order.  I am a rather random writer.  I first began a book that I'm just now getting around to publishing.  Her story intrigued me and began first one book, then two, then three, on and on to eight.

I have published two books, Beth, and Celeste, of the Drifting Anchor Ranch.  You can see above that they were not written in chronological order.  I'm now working to rectify that.

I'm excited for everyone to meet Ardis, a lovely pioneer woman who travels from Tennessee to Calkington only to find that the land they had purchased was in the middle of the Columbia river.  She travels with a new husband and his family.  Her husband is excited by the idea of fighting in the American Civil War which breaks out shortly after they begin their journey.  He leaves, and Ardis travels on with her in-laws.  Shortly before they reach their goal, all of Ardis' family drowns in a rushing river.

Sarah is a Native American.  She is The Leader of The People, a tribe that lives on the top of Meleshe, a mountain top.  To protect their value system they are a closed society.  I have created some language for this group.  It exists only in my head.  It has been very enjoyable to design a vocal method of communication.

Please stay tuned for coming attractions. 

Celeste's Journal

Sunshine filled my soul and the day.  It's marvelous to sit in my sewing shop and design and sew dresses.  I actually wore a sweater as I went about my work yesterday.  It's June but the weather in our small town never gets very hot.

Lucille Bond came in today with her three girls, Willy, Bertie, and Alexa.  Lucille once told me that she had thought all three of them were going to be sons.  She only had boy names chosen for them.  The oldest would be Willard Jr., then Robert, and Alexander.  When they were born she shifted their male name to a female, Wilhelmina Elizabeth, Roberta Rae, and Alexandra Alice.  Personally, I think that she handled the situation in a very clever fashion.

Lucille told me about an organization in Astoria that she's involved with.  It's called The International Order of Good Templars.  It began in 1851 as an organization for temperance.  I remember the Dragon Lady, Madame LeRouge hated the entire idea.  Her customers liked a combination of drinking, and women.  Some of those men had been at sea for long periods of time.  This gave them a huge appetite for these activities.  I have never understood why a man who is completely drunk thought that made them better lovers.  Instead it made them clumsy and fumbling.

This is an organization that I will never join.  I stay as far away from that part of Astoria as I can.  I have no desire to remember my experiences in that town.  I'm happy to report that it does seem to be improving.  It still has a long way to go.

Astoria has been so wicked that men will walk up behind somebody in the daylight and knock them out.  They awaken only to find that they are miles out to sea.  Their poor family will not know what happened to them.  Sometimes it takes them as long as six years to return.  Sometimes they never return.  It's a horrifying thing to treat human beings as mere beasts of burden.

Lucille prides herself on being a model citizen.  Unfortunately, in her mind, that means that she has the right to judge everyone else.  Her feelings of insecurity drive her to judgement of others.  She lost her entire family coming to Calkington, and married at a very young age.  She had very little opportunity for education.  She taught herself to speak English in a more educated manner.  I will admit that I admire her discipline, and her many talents.  I know full well that she could be sewing beautiful clothes on her own.  Somehow it makes her feel better about herself to have someone else perform that assignment.  I'm grateful for her business.  I just wish that she didn't treat me so poorly.

I'm weary.  I hear sleep calling me.  Bonne nuit.

Ardis Journal

One of the few things that excited me about moving to Oregon is that it is almost brand new.  There is no history of slavery, or other types of bigotry.  Well, even as I write that I am aware that there will always be prejudice in this world.  Most of the time those opinions are passed down to us from our parents.

My parents were two of the most loving people that I have ever met.  They didn't care what color your skin was, if you needed help, they would help you.  I was very frightened because they harbored escaped slaves on many occasions.  It frightened me so much that they quit telling me when they were giving assistance.  Da built two secret spaces in the barn, and two in the house.  The highest number of slaves that they had at one time was a family of ten.  There was the ma and da and their eight children.  Their owner (I shudder to call anyone the owner of another human being), was going to sell them all to different places.  I was very proud of my parents for keeping that family together.

Now our country is divided, and part of the country is fighting the other part.  The main reason?  Slavery.  Many rich folks in the south would not stay rich if they had to do all their own labor.  Some plantations have hundreds of slaves.  I will never understand how anyone can go to another country and kidnap men, women, and children.  Then they chain them in horrific conditions in boats and take them thousands of miles away from everyone and everything that they know!  They beat them, starve them, and let them lie in their own waste.  Some of these evil men wouldn't treat their own dogs so poorly.

So very ugly.  I'm writing it in my journal because if I ever have any children I want them to understand from this parent, slavery is NEVER acceptable.  It will NEVER be acceptable to force another human being to do things against their will.  It is NEVER acceptable to split up families.  It is NEVER acceptable for men to rape women, and then actually keep their own flesh and blood, half white but half African as slaves.

I know about these atrocities because of the many people that my parents sheltered over the years.  The family that I spoke about before were not just running away because they were going to be sold.  They also ran away because the landowner had caught their fourteen year old daughter and raped her.  She was pregnant.  I can't imagine giving birth to a child that was the result of such an act of violence.  If they believe that these human beings are NOT human, or LESS than human, what does it make them when they force them to have intercourse with them?

Well my writing about this is making me sick at my stomach.  I'm going to think of something lovely for a moment.  I'm writing this in the back of the ranch house.  There is a fairly level field.  Blake and Red cleared out most of the trees and brush.  They left some lovely maples, aspen, and oak around the perimeters.  There is a small creek that is on one portion of the ranch.  It freezes in the winter.  Blake and Red went skating on it the winter before I arrived.  I hope that I can skate on it.  I adored skating on our pond when I was a kid.

Blake chose the loveliest land in this entire area to build his ranch.  I'm very grateful to Blake.  Without Blake I would have died with my entire family in that awful river.  Sometimes when I miss them all so very much I kind of wish that I HAD died with them.  Then I remember that life is very precious.  I do my family a disservice by being unappreciative of my life.

The sun is warm, and I'm feeling sleepy.  I'm going to take a little nap here in the soft grass.

Ardis Journal

Mother desperately wanted me to become a southern lady.  A gracious, soft-spoken, hospitable, serving, loving, Christian lady.  She sewed me a lovely dress to wear when I married Tom.  It had yards and yards of fabric in the skirt with a hoop skirt underneath.  I did wear it to marry Tom.  It now is packed away.  What earthly good would a fancy dress with a hoop skirt do me now?

To be honest, I was rather a lost cause at being trained to be lady like.  I'd rather ride a horse bareback than sit side saddle.  When ma would call me in to instruct me on cooking, I would hide in our old haystack.  She would finally tire of trying to call me.  She rarely complained that I didn't come when she called.  I think she understood that I didn't take easily to the domestic arts of homemaking. 

Ma and Da came from serious poverty.  They came to America to make a better life for them, but especially for me.  They longed to own a big plantation in Tuckaleechee Cove.

To really attain such wealth they would need slaves to work the fields, whether they grew cotton or other crops.  The three of us just couldn't produce enough to compete with the big plantation owners, especially since some of them had the head start of a home and land passed through generations.  My parents wouldn't even consider having a slave.  They believed that honest work must be done with their own hands.  They were certainly financially stable.  They owned their farm out right.  Sigh, once again I feel harsh thoughts toward Tom.  He sold my birthright without even speaking to me.  Sadly, we lost everything.  It does give me a small measure of comfort that the evil villain that robbed us of land and money is now in jail and will be there for a long time.

My wedding day was grand.  I managed to convince Tom's mother not to tie my corset so tightly that I could not breathe.  I still maintain that corsets were invented by men to keep us dominated, subverted.  The dress was lovely, bright, feminine.  I felt lovelier than I had ever felt before.  I even had been assiduous in treating my work roughed hands and face so that they were very soft.

I never wanted to be a boy.  I enjoy the types of outdoor work they do.  Gardening has always seemed like an excellent way to create.  To me it's a way to create beauty.   I've always like bright, shiny things, and pretty clothes.  I just also enjoy riding a horse, playing with our old dog Bright, and playing kick the can with Tom and the neighbor boys.  Sometimes I lose track of time when I sketch someone, or something.  My sketches of people are much better than my sketches of places.

I am grateful to state that most of the time I understand and like myself.  The good Lord has blessed me with gifts that I hope to use to his glory!

Ardis Journal

I have been knitting some hot pads.  Blake picked up a pan by the handle the other day and burned his hand quite severely.  I asked him why he would do anything so foolish.  His response was, "I don't have anything to hold the handle with."  Gratefully I have Mama's knitting needles, and lots of yarn as well.  I'm making a simple pattern.  I've heard it called the basket weave.  I decided that was a little too simple.  In the pattern I'm making I'm creating triangles in a square.

Mama could make anything.  She didn't need a pattern, or someone to show her how to make it.  It would just show up in her head, and it would be perfect each and every time.  She made me the most beautiful dresses.  I have out grown most of the gowns she made me.  The ones that still fit, well they were torn to shreds as we came from Tennessee to Oregon.

I have saved as many scraps as I could.  I'm going to sew them together to make a quilt for Tom and I to put on our bed.  I am trying to think in a positive manner.  Even though he has not written, I am certain that fighting in a war leaves very little time for letter writing.

Maybe some day, some time our child will put the quilt over their child, and mama, papa, Tom, and I will all live on.  I fear that I am in a melancholy mood this evening.  No matter how many times I try to reach for positive ideas, all that comes to mind are the deaths, the failures, the home that we left behind.

When Blake burned his hand, I did not speak a word to him.  I took him by the other hand and pulled him with me to the well.  I pulled up water.  Next I continued to pull him forward to the ice cellar.  I used the ice pick that is always kept there and chipped off some ice.  I put the ice in the bowl of water.  Next I sat Blake down and put his wounded hand in the cold water. 

Blake looked very surprised.  He said, "My mother always said that butter should be put on a burn.  I never understood.  Butter seemed to make my burns hurt worse."

I replied, my mother always put burns in very cold water as soon as they were burned.  She made us hold our burned anatomy in the cold until it began to feel better.  I was always amazed at how that simple action helped most burns to heal quickly.  Blake you just stay here until I send Red to fetch you.  I'll finish the meal and then we'll eat.  Blake didn't even bother to reply.  It was easy for me to see how the cold water relieved his pain.

Well I don't know that I cheered myself up much, but I'm so tired I'm going to try and sleep anyway.  Nightie night.
 

Ardis Journal

Rain is drumming on the ceiling over my head.  I'm ever so grateful to know that whatever Blake builds, he builds to outlast rain, snow, or wind.  Tonight the pounding is not soothing.  It just feels like the world is going backwards.  The Bible speaks about Noah and how wicked the people of his time were.  God washes away everybody but Noah, his family, and the creatures they take on the ark.  He gives those wicked folks many opportunities to repent, they won't listen.  I wonder right now, are we all as wicked here in this place that seems to be getting washed away?

Tonight I'm so tired and sad.  I remember strongly the final peace I felt when I was trapped in that creek.  I felt that death was close and I wasn't fighting any more.  I felt love, richer, fuller, than ever before.  It was a rude shock to be jerked back into living.

I believe that there is not an end to our essence, or spirit.  I have never doubted the existence of God, the Creator of heaven and earth and all that is in them.  I believe that he created this beautiful, harsh planet for us, his children, to live on, and learn from.

During the daytime I keep myself busy and push away these deeper philosophical thoughts and emotions.  It also helps me to sleep quicker and more deeply if I work hard.  I haven't been recording anything in this journal again for a long time.  I've tried on many nights.  I wind up tearing up the drab dreariness that falls off my pen onto the paper.

Blake Calkin is a very good man.  I worry, often, that people in the town will assume that he and I share more than a platonic friendship.  After all, so many men in this area have moved Indian women in with them.  They don't worry about the Christian ceremony of marriage.  Some of the men have more than one woman living with them, all of the women giving his children life.  Knowing these facts explains why some of these folks assume that is the situation with Blake and I.

I am eager for a white woman to move in somewhere close by.  I need to have a woman that I can share a place with. I hope that I can move away from this male dominated household. 

Blake is a wonderful, unselfish man.  He's well traveled, self-educated, and very thoughtful.  Nonetheless, writing this down makes me feel guilty.  After all, I have a husband, a man who deserves my loyalty, my allegiance. 

It is a very harsh thing to me is that I don't know if Tom is alive?  Sometimes I can't even remember what he looks like, except that he is considered very handsome.  To me, I miss a certain lack of imagination and mischief that never shows on that handsome face.  He is constant...and often I have found that very boring.  Now I'm feeling negative.  I'm going to try and sleep.    

Ardis Journal

I have not written in here very much lately.  Wintry gray has begun erasing all of autumn's glory.  I'm grateful that it does not snow very much here in Oregon.  Cold weather has never been my friend.  My mood tends to follow the seasons. 

In Autumn the brilliant colors fill my soul with buoyant joy.  There are mostly evergreen trees here but every once in awhile a brilliant fire maple will peek out from among the more sedate greenery.  There is a road near Blake's ranch that is lined with golden leaves on both sides.  I walked it every single day before winter set in.

Spring is all about renewal...plants wake up, green creeps through the winter gray and silver.  I love getting in the garden and planting seeds, then watching the crops grow.  Summer?  Summer brings sweeping landscapes of every kind of new plant and flower.

That brings me to the one season that I don't enjoy very much.  Oh I like Thanksgiving, and then the Christmas Season.  It's January through half of March that I could live without.  This ceaseless rain feels as though it's pounding a drum against my head.  All of my sorrow seems to eclipse any joy that might leak through. 

Sigh, I had to force myself to write in here tonight.  There is icy rain beating against Blake's two room ranch house.  Instead of feeling cozy and comfy lying here in this warm bed, I feel a chill run down my spine.  The chill is due to all the death I have witnessed in the last few years.  First it was my parents.  I still think that it was cruel that they died...and left me behind alone.  Well, not quite alone because then I had Tom, my husband, and his family.  Now they are gone as well?

I wonder if Tom is on some horrifying battle field not only fighting the cold, but the Confederates as well?  Does he wonder about me as he shoots and defends himself, and our country?  Why doesn't he write me a letter?  Is he dead, wounded, left behind anonymously?

I have heard that some soldiers get tattooed with their name, and their military information.  I have never cared for the gaudiness of tattoos.  It doesn't seem like those that choose to pollute their bodies in this fashion can be truly refined.  I've changed my mind after reading the headlines about this dreadful war.  These designating tattoos help wives and families to be notified when a soldier dies.

I think worse than death would be for Tom to wind up in a Confederate prisoner of war camp.  Horror stories have leaked into the newspapers about them as well.  I don't think the Union has better detainment facilities.  Just because our Union ideals are positive it does not mean that we can treat our enemies in a more positive manner than they treat us.  That is the very nature of war, to kill or be killed.

Usually when I write in my journal it helps me to sort out twisted thoughts.  It isn't working tonight.  I just feel more twisted than ever.  I'm going to attempt to get some sleep. 

Ardis Journal - Today I Choose Happiness

This morning I was awakened by jolting upright in my bed.  The dream that I had was very real.  I was home again...home with mama and papa in Tennessee.  Mother was reminding me that happiness was a choice.  Both of my parents were positive examples of looking for the best in life.  Even when they were laid low by the disease that took their lives, they still laughed, and found ways to help me prepare for being alone.

I have been laid low by so much of death and loss.  I do fine most days.  There are just some days that come along where the grief swirls me about as though I am caught in a tornado.  I saw a whirlwind once.  It was random.  It completely destroyed our neighbors barn, and drove pieces of straw into the logs of their home.  Somehow it did no further damage to their log home than those straws driven in along one side.

I asked Red how he handled his grief over the death of his beloved wife Ruth, and his sunshiny darling, his daughter Angela.  He explained that as a man he feels that he must suppress those emotions when he is around others.  He also explained that his grief had driven him to drink as a way to escape his pain.  The problem was that then he had two big problems, grief, and drinking to take the bitter edge off the grief.

I know that is not a solution for me.  Losing our baby...it was still just a dream.  It had not yet seemed quite real this new human forming inside my body.  I was excited to think that Tom and I could create something positive together.

I now feel like I should never have married Tom.  I did not love him the way that I witnessed his father and mother loving.  I will never forget Tom's father Aidan risking his life, and then losing his life trying desperately to rescue his wife Fiona.  I gain a tiny bit of comfort from my knowledge that they are together in heaven.  I just wish they were here with me instead.

Brother Billy.  How I adored that wonderful young boy.  He made me feel important, loved.  He was every bit as handsome as Tom.  I have no doubt that he would have grown into a marvelous loving man.  Why couldn't I save him?  He and I were riding together on the same horse.  I tried over and over to find him in the rushing, roaring river but I couldn't.  His illness had already made him weak.  The near drowning finished taking away any strength that he had left.

Where does all of this leave me?  Anger helps drive away the feelings of isolation and loneliness.  I'm angry at Tom because he sold my parents home and land without even consulting me.  I'm angry at J.P. Fowler for causing such vicious harm to so many people.

I started this journal post with my beloved mother's tender, melodic voice in my head.  "Today I choose happiness."  It would be far easier to let the rage, the vengeance that I long for take the forefront of my life.  In doing so I would be dishonoring the two greatest parents the world has ever created.  SIGH....trying to put all the negative emotions aside and choosing happiness takes a vital amount of energy.  Yet, usually when I work to focus on the good instead of the bad, I'm amazed to remember all the good that still exists.

An example?  I was left completely alone in a place with no home.  All of my life savings is gone.  Yet Blake Calkin and Red O'Toole have given me home and family, much to their inconvenience.  I CAN be happy, even if it is through darn hard work!  I CAN and I WILL!

Mother also said, "Don't give UP, give IN, or give WAY!"  She then added, "Do give LOVE, give JOY, give HAPPINESS."  Thanks mama and papa.  Today I will do my best to remember your excellent advice!

Ardis Journal

I love to sketch.  When my fingers are able to connect to paper, to connect to the force that brings the human body to life, to the expressions, the ideas in a persons eyes, this is a very real joy for me.

I had so much fun drawing a portrait of Dr. John Stone that shows who he is inside as well as outside.  I tried to show how he protects and rescues everyone around him.  It was interesting to me that in showing his goodness his exterior features were heightened.  The old saying is true, "Don't judge a book by its cover."  It's true for many people.

I drew a picture of Fowler.  Physically he was not an ugly man, but I'm not a fair judge because I know the evil that lives inside him.  When I portrayed his inward thoughts and actions, he truly did become evil, and frightening to look at.

I have wanted all of my life to draw beautiful pictures of God's earth as I experience it.  I have tried, tried, tried, and tried again to make mountains look as I perceive them.  I've tried to capture a picture of the magnificent space where the Columbia River meets the Pacific Ocean.  Truly to me that place is every bit as sacred as a church building.  To me it testifies that there IS a God.  There had to be a master creator for that space to exist.

Blake convinced me that I should embrace the gift that I have, sketching people, and not focus so heavily on the gift that I haven't, bringing God's earth alive through my sketches.  I know that he's right but I will still keep trying to expand that ability.  After all, if we never try to improve, we'll never know what is possible, right?

I painted portraits of my parents to give them on our last Christmas together.  We didn't know that it would be our last Christmas.  Those sketches are carefully stored at the Drifting Anchor Ranch in the bedroom space.  They are not very large, so they don't take up a great deal of space.  I am proud of the images that I captured of my beloved parents.  Mama was a true beauty inside and out.  I'm grateful that I inherited her deep brown hair, and her dear smile.  I am not quite as thrilled to have Papa's fair skin.  It burns so very easily.  I'm grateful for these images that I will carry of them through the rest of my life.

I am beyond tired.  I fell asleep for a moment so it's obviously time to close this missive.  Good night journal.

Sheros of The Drifting Anchor Ranch Series

The following description is a synopsis of the Books in Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch, series.   
Ardis - Tall for women of the mid 1800's.  She has lovely thick chestnut brown hair.  Her eyes are golden-brown and seem to reflect the warmth of the sunshine, even on rainy days.  Her sketching of humans capture the true essence of the individual.  Skills of rising to any situation make detective work natural for her.

Sarah -  She is The Leader of The People.  The People have a home on the top of a mountain called Meleshe.  She is petite at five foot two inches but she is strong of body and mind.  She can sing beautifully and she is extremely unselfish.  Members of her tribe that are much older than she is rely on her wisdom and judgement.  It is time for her to be joined with Vanque.  Is he the man she will spend her life with?

Celeste - She is born in France.  Her father is the master vintner.  He is the fourth generation of master vintner's from this vineyard.  He will never own any land if he stays in France.  He has a dream of owning his own vineyard.  The family packs up and leaves for America.  Celeste has hair of red sunshine, and green eyes.  Her features are lovely, and her nose tilts up just a tiny bit at the end.

Angela - Left on the doorstep of an orphanage one very cold wintry night, Angela has no idea where she comes from.  She's adopted by a man who turns out to be a thief and a murderer.  He uses her to steal.  Attempting to rob a safe from a private home she is wounded.  Angela has waist length strawberry blond hair, naturally curly.  Her eyes are crystal blue.  Her skin is fair.  She is not aware of her own natural beauty  

Lily - Dressed in a tattered, patched old dress, Lily is painfully shy.  Her family is large, with seven children and two parents.  Her father is an angry alcoholic who drinks away any money that he makes.  Her mother works very hard to try and support their large family on very little.  Lily is beginning to show hints of womanly curves to come.  Her smile radiates joy, but she doesn't smile very often.  Her hair is shiny blue-black, like the wing of a beautiful bird.  Lily lacks self-confidence.

Rose - Her husband Owen died, leaving her a ranch that makes her the richest woman in western Oregon.  She wants to marry Blake Calkin.  Rose has beautiful blue eyes, and black hair.  Her skin is fair as a pink rose.  Curvaceous in the same style as one of Rubin's paintings, she covers her feelings of inadequacy with a bold facade.

Beth - Starting out life as Wilhelmina Elizabeth Bond she is known as Willy, sometimes Wicked Willy throughout her childhood.  She is very unusual looking.  She has platinum blond hair.  Her eyes are gray, like a stormy day in western Oregon.  She is almost painfully thin.  Eric Calkin will be her husband, she has set her mind that this will happen.  As an adult she is known as Beth.  Eric will marry her, right?

Tapestry - Just as a tapestry is usually a textile woven to show a picture, this last book in the series is the only book that is not stand alone.  This book will weave any missing threads of the series together to finish the image.



  

Ardis Journal Entry

A beautiful day.  Blue skies, puffy little white clouds, and a perfect temperature of 75 degrees.  I don't care for heat.  Heat means wearing a bonnet, or getting sunburned because of my fair Scottish skin.  Today?  I didn't care about a sun burn, and I refused to wear a bonnet.  I spent most of the day outside.  I love to hike about the area where Blake's ranch is located.  The mountains are almost in the backyard.

Now that I live in town with Will and Lucy, the mountains are a little further away.  Today, the three of us went for a picnic.  Will is always so busy.  Lucy and I talked him into taking a day off.  I wanted them to see Fern Falls, and the mysterious place that John Stone, Blake, and I found  above the falls.  I warned them that it was a long drive, but none of us cared.  We told tall tales, laughed, sang silly songs, and laughed some more.

Lucy and I had made fried chicken, and a potato salad.  We also ate some bottled peaches.  The dessert was Red's amazing chocolate cake.  I finally convinced him to give me the recipe.  I can't believe that I managed to make it myself....with some help from Lucy.  She's an amazing cook.  She has tried to help me to understand how to gauge the heat caused by wood stoves.  Honestly, I wish that someone would figure out how to make an oven cook at the temperature you want!  It's hard when you're adding wood, and stoking the fire to keep it just right.

Anyway, Will and Lucy were just as amazed at Fern Falls as I am.  After we ate our delicious lunch, the three of us trooped up to the circle room.  Lucy was fascinated by the art work.  Will not quite as much the art work as the sliding door to get into the space.

 I still wonder, "Who were these people?  I have never heard of any Indian tribes that lived in this area.  I know that when Astoria was first settled, there were several tribes of Indians that lived in this area, at the mouth of the Columbia river.  They were very wealthy because so many tribes would travel the Columbia to come here and trade.

It's awful to me how poorly many of the native tribes have been treated.  It seems like the fur trappers marry the women, and then who did the native men marry?

I feel asleep in the back of the wagon traveling home.  Lucy had to work hard to wake me up and get me to bed.  It was truly a wonderful day!

Ardis Journal

Lucy and Will are so crazy in love with each other.  It's hard to live with them for two main reasons. 
1.  I miss Blake and Red like crazy.  OK, I miss Blake in a different way than Red.
2.  It's really hard to witness Will and Lucy's affection while I'm stuck in limbo.  I don't know if Tom is alive or dead, and I'm in love with another man than my husband.  OK, there may actually be more like three reasons.

This place is so very beautiful.  The excess of rain that we have had this last year has created a green that seems to explode in intensity from the inside to the out.  There are many different shades of green, and together they seem woven in a most beautiful tapestry.

I once saw a tapestry when I was in Astoria.  I don't remember any more who it was that showed it to me.  I do remember that it was amazing to me, a weaving of colors, patterns, and even textures that created art work.  There were young girls cavorting about a field.  They were all dressed in an old fashioned way.  I think they said that the tapestry was from the late 1700's.  It was definitely not from America.  The girls wore high curled wigs that were the whitest white I've ever seen.  It seemed an odd fashion for young girls to have old lady WHITE hair? 

I have spun fabric before.  My mother felt that every young lady should know how to spin her own fabric.  She especially wanted me to have the skill to use after I was married.  She would say with a gleam of excitement in her eye (she LOVED to spin) "Ardis Kay...spinning is a wonderful skill for a woman to have.  There may be times of poverty in your life.  I, of course, hope not.  Nonetheless, part of the reason that your father and I have prospered economically is that I could spin our fabric, and sew our own clothes.  I could do the same for others in the community as well.  I feel that its a very important skillset."

Granted, spinning and sewing is a bit different from the weaving of a tapestry but they have many features in common.  You spin wool to turn it into thread.  You then use the thread to sew with, or your weave it in to fabric.  Most of the fabric that you handcraft you do not weave artwork in.  That is far beyond my skills.

Yet both weaving fabric, and weaving tapestry involves threads, a loom, needles and a great deal of training.  I can't imagine that anyone could train themselves to spin, or to weave...and definitely not to design and create patterns, let alone sew garments from all of that process.

It is a marvel to me that many women no longer even do these processes.  They either go to a seamstress, or purchase ready made clothing.  I enjoy the designing and sewing part of that process.  I do not enjoy the shearing of sheep, the carding and cleaning of the wool, and then the spinning and weaving.  I love figuring out how to create pattern pieces to create a dress just the way that I want it.

A tapestry is created by interwoven threads that craft art, pictures of life.  I often wonder if God has his angels busily spinning and weaving the tapestries of each of our lives.  My goodness, that would be a very large tapestry!  Imagine depicting just one day of life, now we add different colors representing another life woven through mine, and then the images, and all of the adventure and challenge that I've faced....that would be a most interesting picture!

Well now I'm going to weave myself into a tapestry of slumber!

Ardis

Red is helping me to understand the vagaries of Blake's wood stove.  I really don't care for cooking.  It annoys me that three times a day food must be prepared and eaten, then cleaned up after.  It feels as though this takes the majority of the day.

Getting a wood stove to stay at a consistent temperature is not pleasant, but it is marginally easier than cooking over an open fire as we did in our travels from Tennessee.  It was so beastly hot in the plains as we crossed, but we still had to burn a fire to cook with.

As a young girl I enjoyed eating.  I didn't have to cook to create the food.  I DID have to help my ma clean up after the meal.  I didn't mind that too much.  Ma and I would talk and laugh, and sing songs.  Sometimes she would sit in a chair and keep me company while I did the dishes. 

I have been making a fruit crisp lately that Red has taught me how to make.  You can make it with any type of fruit, but if you use berries you may need to add a Tablespoon of cornstarch to thicken it. 

FRUIT CRISP

1 cup flour
1 cup oatmeal
1 cup sugar (I prefer to use brown sugar)
1 cup sweet cream butter

Blend all of these things together, creaming the butter into the other ingredients.  If you're using fresh apples peel them, core them, and slice them.  Place them on the bottom of your pan.  Add vanilla, or lavender water, or rosehip water on top, and then sprinkle cinnamon over the fruit.  Next add the other ingredients over the top. 

Bake at 400 degrees (the hottest you can make your woodburning stove) for forty five minutes, or until the crust is golden.

Serve with sweet cream, or ice cream.

This is a dish that I actually enjoy making.  I think I enjoy making it because I enjoy eating it so very much! 

Ardis

Honestly, if this rain doesn't quit soon we'll need to build an ark like Noah in the Bible.  I used to think that rain drumming on the roof was calming, peaceful.  Now I do my best to shut out the image of the original location of Calkington being washed away, and people dying in the shanties on the other side of town. 

Last night I felt a though the drumming of the rain was drumming directly on my head.  If it rains this much in Oregon?  How does anyone farm, don't the crops just wash away?  How is there enough sun light to make anything grow?

I'm exhausted.  When I finally fall asleep I'm wakened by nightmares where I'm trying to outrun a flood that is gaining on me every second.  I have had this nightmare every night for the last week.

My mother was very good at interpreting dreams.  When she would explain what they meant it really helped me to understand how to use my dreams to make my life more productive.

I think that she would tell me that this nightmare means that I constantly feel that I'm on the edge of disaster.  I rush through my day filling it past capacity with activity.  I know that I'm trying to keep from thinking deeply.  This means that I'm always on the edge wondering when the next tragedy will happen.  In three years time I've lost my parents, my in-laws, my in-law siblings, my baby, and I'm pretty certain that Tom is dead as well.  It is a lot of loss.  Sometimes my heart feels too heavy with sorrow to beat properly. 

Oh dear, my tears have begun to fall.  I can't cry and write at the same time.  The ink will smear all over the page, and I don't want to waste paper or ink.  I must find a way to release some of this pent up anguish.