4/29/2008

Lounging

I forgot.

At first I meant to post who won the contest for Jane Kirkpatrick's books by Monday. But we were off to the coast to pretend an existence enjoyed by the likes of the bewhiskered critters above. Tim and I frolicked two sunny days. More pictures will follow.

If you've considered entering for a readerly prize, be sure and post a comment now, and since you're late like me you'll need to work a bit for the chance to win. Tell me in your comment whether or not you'd have traveled the Oregon Trail (imagining you'd lived in the 1800s) and why or why not.

Those who've already entered and waited, thanks for your patience. I'll select the winners' names by this Thursday. I promise.

4/21/2008

Now, for you, a nifty contest

In the previous post I reviewed Jane Kirkpatrick’s latest book and series.

At no cost to me (except shipping if you live far away, but I’d be glad to), I get to send fabulous prizes to two of you, as thanks from Jane’s publisher for reading about her good writing. So, yes, you’re hearing right, I’m offering free books. Want one, or three? As I just said, I highly recommend the story. And I already received my own freebies for reviewing. Those publishing people can be swell.

Here follows the contest rule: comment on this post or the previous one (either of the posts from today). I’ll put your name with the others in a hat (or on a coffee table) and draw two winners. (Of course, if only two people comment, you’ll win something!)

First Prize will be the complete Change and Cherish Series: A Clearing in the Wild, A Tendering in the Storm, and A Mending at the Edge. Second Prize is the last book. I’ll draw the winners in a week. Hope you have fun.

Emma's tale: a meeting in the past


I tend to find any story compelling when it’s been plucked from one intriguing line of a historical record. At the same time, I want to trust the writer who has turned an imagination-pique into a novel. I don’t wish to read in the author’s notes about how in reality our hero only might have taken that trip or parented this number of children or run off with so-and-so to discover that treasure.

Fortunately, when Jane Kirkpatrick creates a history tale she builds her speculations on a well-researched foundation. So I read with confidence the first two books in her Change and Cherish series, and recently when treated to her final installment, A Mending at the Edge, I was very satisfied to learn how things turned out for Emma Giesy.

In an interview at the back of the series’ first book, A Clearing in the Wild, Jane relates happening upon this sentence: “1853. Emma Giesy came as the only woman in a party of ten Bethel, Missouri, scouts to find an Oregon site for their communal society.” Jane then began a journey of discovery about a real woman who was certainly strong and capable, while most likely creative and resourceful.

In her books Jane has created a world with sense and texture regarding the ways we seek community and flee or withdraw from it at times. People: can’t always love 'em; it’s pretty impossible to leave 'em. I relate to this quandary within Emma. Her story never attempts to paint her family’s group as flawless, even though they’re portrayed as seeking to follow Christ and let their scriptural understanding guide them. The colony from Missouri founded what is now the town of Aurora, Oregon. We don’t discover them as folks on some outer fringe, either, within Jane’s imagery. I found a realistic balance as she wrote them as individuals.

At the back of A Tendering in the Storm, the middle book about Emma, Jane is again interviewed and is asked whether or not everyone got along as hoped for in Emma’s community. Jane responds, “There is strong evidence of dissention among the colonists, though what they portrayed to the outside world was a group of loving, supportive people. That’s not unlike most families (or even faith communities) where what we show to others is not always what we reveal to our closest friends.”

Jane reveals Emma’s character treading a path I readily accepted. Emma matures within a personality ever longing to stand out. At one point in the story Emma’s husband offers to hold a lantern for her at night as she searches for treasures along a bay shore. Emma replies, “I want to do it by myself, see what my light uncovers from the darkness.”

To step into these books is to discover what portions of both gloom and shining treasure Emma found.

4/19/2008

Every time's got a first thing

You know how last weekend we had summer?

This morning, it was a good thing Tim cut the lawn yesterday, because like he said the mower might get a bit clogged in snow.At least he sawed more wood and kept this going.
I'm fresh out of weather predictions for this year.

4/17/2008

Cringe of the wild

Heart thudding my ribs, I waken. I expel breath caught in my throat and sink into the pillow. Oh, brother, another bear dream. Fading now is whatever led to my dumbstruck stare into the animal’s furious face as it roared only yards from me. I'd glanced at a rifle in my hands and discovered it was made of lined notebook paper; the part I yanked down to cock it simply tore away.

I think I know what caused this rendition of a familiar nightmare. Near the woods last weekend my son parked behind an empty station wagon. We climbed from the car to scout for a trail. The car ahead of ours bore dozens of stickers on its backside – slogans promoting peace and candidates from elections long past.

I stuck some things in our trunk, in case we decided to hike. My son wandered a bit and returned to tell me this wasn’t the right place. He got in the car while I closed the trunk. I’d automatically locked my door (thanks to Tim’s training I’ve done this most of my life upon exiting a vehicle), so I aimed my key at the lock.

A low, labored Wuff sounded behind me. An animal of size. My imagination flashed on a just-done-hibernating bear empty of tummy and lengthy of claw. I spun to see a huskyish dog, head low, rushing at me.

My fingers fumbled as I cried out. Just as I opened the door the dog halted in its tracks, turned, and ambled back the way it had come.

My son chuckled. “I unlocked the door for you,” he said. I hadn’t noticed.

“It’s just, it could’ve been a –.” I leaned weakly on the armrest.

He shook his head.

Maybe if I would actually ever see a bear in the wild, I’d get over my nightmare-spurring phobia. Truth is, we rarely spot striped chipmunks on our mountain-view ventures, let alone creatures of large girth. Oh, yeah, once we startled a fat toad, but that doesn’t much count.

Other hikers, though, tell me they’ve come fairly close to brown bears many a time. The animals are pretty shy, my friends who hike reassure me. They’d rather avoid me than eat me.

Well, sure, they can say so. They lack my experience. Every time I stayed home sick from grade school (after it had been a few weeks since I last missed, long enough to convince myself I really must be feverish and it was all right to tug on my dear mom’s sympathies), I read at least two books. Usually Charlotte’s Web came first (the animals, the humor, the love), and often next I opened Old Yeller. Fred Gipson’s tale was tragic, lovely, exciting. And the initial deed of adventure and bravery done in the book by the star, Yeller the dog, was a rescue of the little brother, Arliss, from a bear.

Of course, the story makes plain the lesson not to play with a bear cub by the creek as Arliss did, and certainly not to get so scared you hang onto the cub’s leg while its mother charges you. But I know. If a cub wanders away from its mother toward anyone, worrying the mother murderous sick until she finds her babe, that someone in the path at that wrong moment will be me.

4/13/2008

Summery day in April(!)

As we drove through town around 1:00 yesterday you could sense, if not hear, the exuberant thrum.

A swell of people appeared, pouring from doorways into yards brandishing trowels and clippers, or onto sidewalks hippety-hopping to the grocery store, or into every vehicle they could steer, like us, toward the highway. Outta here! We got blue sky, a warm, dry day for the first time in months. Gimme a stretcha road, scenery, places for fun, greenery!

We drove past Dexter, up the winding little highway, and then on to the road to Eagle's Rest. Higher, higher. I'd been craving altitude like a drug. We greeted tall firs, our old friends, on each side dangling a branch or two after winter's harsh treatment. We rounded curves into open air, imbibed the view.

Then we met snow, still bunched and blanketing the ascending road. A refreshing whiff of chill on a solar-stimulated day. We couldn't make it, yet, to the Eagle's Rest trail. But it awaits us, as does Mt. June much farther up, more deeply buried. Beneath whiteness, though, now stirs a warming sensation growing, set to reach the fever pitch felt joyously below in our town for this one out-of-season afternoon.


4/11/2008

Fun Globe Trekker style

Here's something new to me - YouTube! This video comes highly recommended, made by people from the zaniest family.

4/10/2008

Upon seeing

I’ve been writing about jumping out of an airplane. No, I’m not contemplating doing it – not probably ever again – but I did do it once, and so I’m reviewing old pictures as I piece together an essay related to memories and what I’ve seen.
What we see, I’m thinking as I write, we always come back to. Visuality. I don’t very often ponder why I pursue activities, readings, entertainment, obligations. I make commitments and step up to carry them through. And invariably something unpredictable takes place. Then I hang in space, suspended after the tumble, and at last I see things. Oh, it’s a patchwork. Oh, yeah, the earth curves. Much wider is the perspective. I’m such a tiny speck. Yet here I am, part of it all.
My skydiving experience took place before I had children. In fact, I recall wondering as I floated toward earth if the tiny seed of a person might be hanging suspended inside me. Tim and I – after five years of indecision – wanted to make a baby. But we would actually have to wait another six months or so to discover we were on the train to parentland.

As anyone fully engaged in raising a child knows, it’s quite a ride. A more awe-producing experience than the thrillingest extreme sport. And whereas for my parachute jump I received five hours training on how to keep my feet together and roll upon smacking the ground, no one could really teach me ahead which actions to take when encountering the realities of motherhood.

I’m thankful for moments, before and after the jolts of living, in which the view opened before me, broad and bountiful. I gained perspective, releasing foolish ideas that it was all about me. Yet the gift endured: I got to be a part of it all.

Saturday my two adult children posed (their grandparents in the background), for a snapshot of where we are now. My son had just finished his role as Friar in Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing (he played other parts, too). Victoria made it to the matinee performance. During the play, from several seats over, I listened to my daughter’s laugh ringing gusto and joy.

4/02/2008

Due to a long winter


Early last summer, Tim proudly showed off our woodpile. For the first time since he built the covered structure, he'd stuffed it full. We were more than ready for winter.

I'd clicked some pictures of his labor.Pieces of logs seasoned alongside the house for next year.

Last evening, the covered wood looked like this.

And here's where Tim has taken from this next winter's wood to chop those few chunks you saw above.

We burned it all. We're still burning on mornings such as this when the house shivers, because outside it's 28 degrees F.

Thankful for the wood we had, the man who could prepare it, and the efficient stove to burn it in, we try not to wonder what we'll do next. And summer, hey, you can't arrive too soon.

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