Earthquake of ice in New Brunswick by Diane Scott Lewis

Spring, April, is a month to savor, especially after a long cold winter. In New Brunswick, Canada, the setting for my novel, On a Stormy Primeval Shore, the rivers, which have frozen solid, start to break up, the ice melting. The event is so powerful, people have described it like an earthquake.

All winter the rivers freeze solid and people travel by sled, sleighs and toboggans. With today's warming temperatures, sometimes the ice breaks up as early as March, causing floods, and roaring ice jams, which puts life and land in danger well before people are prepared. In the eighteenth century it was both a blessing (spring has arrived) and a curse (treacherous ice jams and floods). The settlers faced many challenges.

Excerpt from my novel when Amelia, a young Englishwoman, is about to meet her love's (Gilbert) Acadian mother. Here, she first experiences the breaking up of one of the rivers:

Amelia smoothed her hair with nervous fingers as Gilbert escorted her and Louise in a cart to a hamlet of houses and a gristmill. The Kennebecasis River was mostly frozen, a gleaming ribbon in the weak sunlight. The mill wheel was stilled in the ice. They approached a cedar-shingled, log home where smoke drifted from the chimney.

The ground started to quake, and a great cracking sound rent the air.

“Mercy, what is that?” Amelia asked, pulse skipping. She fidgeted to retain balance. Louise hunched close, staring at her feet as if they might fly out from under her.

“Only the ice breaking up in the mountains.” Gilbert chuckled, laying a warm hand on her shoulder. “It happens every spring, and is late this year.”

“Then I must get used to it.” Amelia laughed to disguise her amazement. He opened the door and she was anxious to leave the wind and any cracking ice, though cautious of what lay ahead.

Kennebecasis River Valley

 

To purchase On a Stormy Primeval Shore or my other novels at Amazon or All Markets: Click HERE

 For further information on me and my books, please visit my website: www.dianescottlewis.org

 Diane Scott Lewis grew up in California, traveled the world with the navy, edited for magazines and an on-line publisher. She lives with her husband in Pennsylvania.

 

Wedding Memories by Nancy M Bell

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My Goodness! Wedding memories...that's a long time ago I'm afraid. It will be 42 years next May 7th that we've been married. We got married on the first Saturday in May which is Kentucky Derby Day. Seattle Slew, who went on to sire many stakes winning offspring, won the Derby in 1977. Half my guests went home to watch the race between the ceremony and the reception. Us? We went to the barn to have pictures taken with my horse Brandy, Brandance Kaine if you want to be formal. You gotta love my Barbra Streisand hair, this was in the era of the Kris Kristofferson and Barbra Streisand A Star is Born. Ye gads, what was I thinking???

On our 24th Anniversary we went to the Kentucky Derby. Had to fly into Nashville and drive to Louisville. Got a hotel in Lexington and toured the beautiful bluegrass horse country. Saw Claiborne Farms, ABC Farms and so many more. It was an amazing adventure. Fusaichi Pegasus won the Derby that year. His bloodlines include Native Dancer on the top as well as Count Fleet (another derby winner) and Nasrullah, Polynesien, and on his dam's side he has Northern Dancer - the 1964 winner of the Derby and bred by Windfield Farms- Nearctic who goes back to Nearco, and Halo - who sired Sunny's Halo (a Canadian horse who won the 1983 Derby) and Sunday Silence who won the 1989 Derby, and Hail to Reason.
It was hot as all get out and all along the small side roads leading to the grounds of Churchill Downs were tents set up in small front yards selling BBQ and all sorts of amazing food. It was like all of Louisville was having a street party. We didn't have seats, just rush tickets so we staked out a place by the first turn. We could see the start gate and were pretty close to the finish line. The first turn in the infield is where families congregate, the Clubhouse turn is where the college kids hangout and is pretty wild. Lots of Planters Punch and Mint Julep consumed and it was not cheap! We got the souvenir glass but it was pretty small. Only one for us. LOL

Here are some photos from our wedding day. You'll notice Brandy is not thrilled about my veil flying in his face. Stupid thing stuck to everything including Doug's tuxedo jacket. Epic fail! LOL

The Wedding Party.

We were so young and so certain we knew what we were doing. I've never regretted it. I was 20 and Doug was 21. We met at a wedding on my 19th birthday where he was an usher and I caught the bride's bouquet. it was a wedding neither of us really wanted to be at (except in my case the free birthday booze as this was still in the era of free open bars at weddings. We got engaged on my 20th birthday and married the following May.

Until next month, stay well and happy.

Landmark Roses and what I learned by Nancy M Bell

Writing Landmark Roses was a definite learning experience. Without Margaret Kyle who was my research go to person the book could not have been written. Margaret is a member of the Mennonite community in southern Manitoba and as such was invaluable in the construction of the novel. One of the most surprising things I learned was that there were a large number of Mennonites who migrated to Paraquay in the 1920's and mid to late 1940's. This was due to the Canadian government's plan to take over the Mennonite school system and have the children taught in English rather than their native Low German, and to not teach the religion in schools. Many of the families who made the long journey by rail and ship found themselves hacking an existence out of raw countryside. Also, the men who ran the communities were far more strict with the women and what rights they had than when they were in Canada. Some of the families made the long trek back to southern Manitoba and rejoined their original community where they still had extended family members and friends.
There was also an exodus to Mexico near Chihuahua for much the same reasons. There is still a large and vibrant Mennonite community there today.

Another surprising thing was my perception of the community. I grew up in south central Ontario where there are many Mennonite and Quaker communities. They tend to be very traditional, no cars, not electricity, TV etc and very conservative dress. More like what I see in the Hutterite communities in Alberta. Margaret told me her family drove cars, played cards and dressed like everyone else. She said her mother still had more clothes than Margaret does and takes great care to dress in the current fashions. I learned many other things during the research and writing of the novel, but these are the ones that stand out.

Excerpt from Landmark Roses:

Elsie straightened the new scarf, arranging it neatly on her head and smiled at her reflection. For a woman of fifty-five years she looked very well. The years may have etched fine lines at the corners of her eyes and around her mouth though the diffuse light filtering through the curtains softened them into nonexistence. She ran her hands over her still narrow waist and hips, smoothing the material of her best Sunday dress.
“Elsie, are you coming?” Ike’s voice echoed up the staircase. “I’ve got the buggy waiting by the porch steps.”
“Coming!” With one last appraising glance at her reflection, Elsie crossed the bedroom her heels clicking on the wood floor. No one could ever say Elsie Neufeld looked less than her best on a Sunday morning. The old house was quiet as she descended the stairs. Running her hand down the polished bannister, she smiled. The sunlit peace would soon be broken once the family arrived when Church was over. Her steps slowed momentarily when she entered the living room, ticking off the items prepared and waiting in the kitchen.
“Elsie…” Ike swung the screen door open and broke off abruptly when he caught sight of her standing in a golden beam of light.
“I’m right here, Ike. Come along, we’re going to be late if we don’t hurry.”
Her husband came to her side in two long strides and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Standing there all bright and golden you’re as beautiful as the day I married you.”
“Thank you, Ike.” Elsie giggled like a young girl and gave him a coquettish glance. “Sometimes it seems like only yesterday, doesn’t it?”
“Somedays,” he agreed moving toward the door and the waiting buggy.
Elsie went down the wide porch steps with her head high, pleased the long slender fingers of her hand looked elegant resting on her husband’s arm. Her wrist peeking out from the sleeve of her dress was still thinner than her sister Agatha’s. She patted at the strand of shining hair the prairie wind teased from under her hat, tucking it back safely where it belonged.
Ike handed her up into the buggy seat and waited until she was settled before going around to the driver’s side. He ran a hand over Polly’s hip as he passed and paused to straighten a strap on the bridle before joining his wife, the springs of the buggy squeaking in protest at the added weight.
“Giddup, mare.” Ike slapped the lines lightly on the bay gelding’s rump. The horse agreeably moved forward and obeyed the signals that sent her out of the yard and unto the dusty road. The September morning was warm with a slight edge to the air that said without a doubt that summer was fading. The breeze carried the scent of sun-ripened grain and last roses of summer nodding along the roadside. How she loved the smell of the wild roses that ran rampant over the rolling prairie. Overhead a pair of hawks circled in the autumn blue sky, bright in contrast to the golden prairie sweeping to the horizon. The creak and rumble of the buggy accompanied by the jingle of harness and the sound of the mare’s hooves striking the soft surface of the road was comfortingly familiar. Elsie turned and smiled at her husband of thirty-five years. Time had been as kind to him as it had to her, she reflected.
Ike tipped his head and caught her eye. “Penny for your thoughts?” He raised an eyebrow.
She shook her head and patted his arm. “Just enjoying the morning. It’s such a lovely day.”
There was already a line of other horse and buggies outside the church along with a scattering of automobiles parked haphazardly anyplace they could find space. Ike brought the buggy to a halt, set the brake and stepped down. He tied the horse’s lead to bracket in an open space on the hitching rail in the shade of a spreading tree. Elsie took his hand and disembarked the buggy, careful of her dress on the dusty wheel.
Together the couple joined the others entering the building, the white paint gleaming in the sun. Elsie nodded to acquaintances and scanned the gathering for her extended family. In such a small community it was impossible not to know everyone present and a hum of conversation buzzed around her. The men were handsome in their Sunday best and the women’s bright dresses fluttered like brilliant butterflies as they moved toward the open doors.
Elsie blinked in the sudden dimness of the small area just inside the porch. She shook her head when Ike glanced down inquiringly at her. Satisfied she was fine, he led her into the nave and waited for her to precede him into the pew with the female members of her family. Ike carried on to where his sons Ed, Jake, and Hank and the young men of the family were already seated. Elsie settled herself beside Agnes and glanced over at her daughters and granddaughters. She smiled to see Agnes, Susan and Helena had separated the boys young enough to still sit with the women. Sarah hadn’t arrived yet. Elsie frowned and turned to ask Agnes if she knew where her sister was. A stir at the back of the church distracted her and she turned to see Sarah entering leaning on her husband’s arm. She smiled as she joined the rest of the women in the pew. Elsie kept her expression carefully schooled, but noted the pallor of her daughter’s face and the faint sheen of perspiration on her brow. The building was warm and a bit stuffy, but she didn’t think it could account for Sarah’s pale face.
Perhaps it was just the pregnancy that was making the girl feel poorly. Elsie sent a silent prayer heavenward that it wasn’t the malaria rearing its ugly head. Not again, she prayed. Not when the dear child was carrying again.
The pastor began the service and Elsie gave her full attention to the matter. The Vorsängers were in fine form, the choristers leading the congregation in responsive singing. They sat at the front of the church on the left side of the raised platform where they called out the number of the songs so the congregation could find the selection in their Gesangbuch.
Elsie joined her voice with the others at the appropriate times, giving herself over to the oneness of community the combined voices invoked. With all present singing mindfully and in the moment, offering the music to God with heartfelt love and praise, Elsie knew she was more than just one person. She was part of the soul of the congregation enraptured by the strength of their combined voices and purpose, praising and following the glory of the Almighty.
“I was so helpless, full of sin, nothing good in myself I find,” she sang.

My other books can be found at my BWL Publishing webpage

My latest release is Wild Horse Rescue, a YA novel set in southern Alberta.

In the Name of Love, oh My! by Nancy M Bell

Click on the cover for a buy link.

Soooo....when I was young (but old enought to know better) I had a HUGE crush on a boy a few years older than me. He treated me like a kid sister and I shamelessly followed him around like a puppy dog. They had a cottage across the channel from ours and our families were good friends.
Any hooo...to get to the crazy part. He had an old car, a Pontiac with a Cadillac engine so we all called it the Chevyac. One weekend he left the Chevyac parked behind his cottage and rode home with his parents. In a very pathetic attempt to feel close to him, me and my BFF who also had a crush on the guy climbed up the hill to spend some time with the car. I know, sad and pathetic.
The car was unlocked (his first mistake LOL) so we got in and just kind of sat and gossiped. Then when we were leaving by a different route, we planned to walk out the long drive through the bush rather than go back down the hill and we came across a squashed gartersnake. I know, gross and yuck. It was flattened and had been laying there in the sun for who knew how long.
So what did us two enterprising young ladies do? Why of course we scooped it up on a piece of bark and put into the car.
We laughed like loons and giggled all the way back down to the lake. But...after a few days and as Friday night drew nearer we had serious second thoughts. So, back up the hill we went only to discover that we had accidently locked the doors so now there was no way to get the stinking thing out of the vehicle. Panic ensued, but we were hooped.
Friday night rolled around and my heart sank and my stomach curdled when the lights went on in the cottage up on the hill. Nothing happened that night except I didn't sleep for worrying about what my dad would do when he found out what I'd done.
Saturday morning was no better. I just wanted to throw up and hide, but no chance of that. My BFF was a no show all morning. The object of my affections showed up around ten in the morning and I tried to play it cool. Of course he knew who the culprit was.
I got off with a dunking in the lake (which wasn't all that bad as he came in with me hehehe) but I did catch heck from my parents AND I had to clean the car.

So I guess that's the craziest, dumbest thing I've ever done in the name of love.



For a more sedate expression of that celebrated emotion Love, here is a short excerpt from Landmark Roses.

This is Elsie and Ike's first date being set up:

On an afternoon in September, much like this one, she’d been dancing with girlfriends to polkas on the windup gramophone. Oh, the fun they used to have. Her cousin, Anamarie teasing her about Henry Penner, saying how he was planning to ask her out. Elsie had snorted through her nose at the thought. Henry was nice enough, she supposed, but to go out with him…? Now if it was Ike Neufeld who was doing the asking…that was another story. He was tall and handsome with a shock of dark hair that persisted in hanging over his forehead. His broad shoulders and narrow hips struck a chord deep within her that Elsie hadn’t fully understood at the time.
Her fingers stroked the top of the back of the sofa absently brushing off a speck of dust. She let her gaze roam over the polished mantle-piece where a small clock ticked off the time.
It was later that same long ago day, after they’d worn themselves thin dancing and laughing that Ike approached her. Elsie and Liz were gathering up the faspa remains and taking them to the kitchen. Ike held the door to the summer kitchen and to her surprise followed the two girls inside. She’d been further nonplused when he’d shooed Liz away to get the rest of the dishes.
Elsie pressed a hand to her breast in memory of the tumult that exploded in her chest that long ago day. She closed her eyes to better remember the deep timbre of his voice.
“Elsie, I’ve been thinking…” he’d paused and his ears had flamed red.
“Yes, Ike? What are you thinking?” Her pulse had thundered in her ears and she’d had to bury her hands in her apron to hide the trembling. Even her knees had gone weak.
“I was wondering if you’d like to go with me to the dance next Saturday. I mean, it’s okay if you’ve got plans already…” his voice trailed off and his big booted feet shuffled on the clean-swept floor boards.
“Well, aren’t we all going together? Fred’s borrowing a car from a friend in Landmark and we can take the buggy…Why wouldn’t you come with us?”
Ike blushed deeper and shoved his large hands into his trouser pockets, dropping his head so she couldn’t see his face. “We always go together. But I didn’t mean like that…I meant would you go with me, like just you and me, just the two of us? If you’d rather not, I understand. It’s okay.” He turned to leave as Liz returned with a basketful of table clothes and napkins, topped by the last of the dishes.
“Oh, you’re still here, Ike?” She’d halted in the doorway, her gaze darting to Elsie’s face.
Elsie had tried to shoo her away, but she must have misunderstood as she stepped past Ike and began to fill the enameled washbowl with water heated in a copper tub on the stove.
“I was just leaving.” Ike stepped over the threshold into the bright evening sunlight.
“I’ll be right back, Liz.” Elsie dried her hands on her apron and hurried after him. “Ike. Wait.”
The tall young man halted and half turned back toward her. “Yes?”
Taking her courage in her hands, Elsie swallowed hard against the sudden dryness in her mouth. “Ike, I would like very much to go to the dance with you. Not as part of the group, but just you and me, going with the rest of them.” She laid a hand on his arm, the long muscles hard under her fingers.
“Really?” Ike had tipped his head back. Elsie could still see him as if he stood in front of her. The sun picking out the strong contours of his features, his blue eyes bright and intense on her face.
The memory still quickened her heart and brought a smile to her face.
“Yes, really,” she’d answered him, a smile breaking across her face.
“Good.” He cleared his throat. “That’s good, then. I’ll be by to meet you beforehand. Before Fred gets here with the car. I can hitch the wagon for you.”
Elsie had laughed, she remembered. “I think I can harness Polly. I’ve done it a hundred times…” she’d faltered at the expression chasing across his face. “But, if you’d like to do it for me, I’d appreciate it. Save me from worrying about getting my dress dirty. Thank you, Ike.”
“That’s set then. I…I…I gotta go.” He strode across the short grass by the house, eschewing the path beaten in the dirt. If he’d gone any faster the poor boy would have been running.

Me and a few of my favourite photos to round out the post. Until next month stay well, stay happy.

Haunted Ontario by Nancy M Bell

His Brother's Bride: The youngest child of the local doctor and evangelical preacher, Annie Baldwin was expected to work hard and not protest. Life on a pioneer farm was tough so neighbors helped each other. George Richardson the underage Doctor Bernardo Boy, orphaned and shipped to Canada a few years earlier, is loaned to the Baldwins to help bring in the hay. Younger brother Peter Richardson was placed with another neighbor, so the brothers stayed in touch with each other. The Great War brought a lot of changes to life even in the back woods of Ontario. In spite of the differences in their social standing, George and Annie fell in love. When George departed for France they had an understanding and he promised to return to her when the war was over. Like so many others, Annie waited and hoped, carrying on as best she could. Only time would tell if her dreams would come true.
Click on the cover to be taken to buy links.

Since my book is set in Ontario in Haliburton and Machar County I thought I'd share a few hauntings with you. One is not in Haliburton but in Durham Region near where I grew up. My older sister lived at the end of the Island Road on Port Perry Island which lies in Lake Scugog connected to the mainland by a narrow strip of land, and that is where one of the haunting is situated. I have actually seen this phenomenon myself many years ago.

The Ghost Road legend begins around 1968 with a young man who crashed on a motorcycle and, in some versions, was decapitated on a rusty barbed-wire fence. Now, a big round white light speeds down the road before turning into a small red light, sometimes accompanied by the sound of a motorcycle.

This is borrowed from Paranormalseekeers.ca

One of the best known haunts of Ontario is Scugog Island’s Ghost Road, just outside the quaint village of Port Perry. This has been the sight of many interesting phenomena, as well as the birth of many legends. One version of the legend goes that, sometime in or around the year of 1957, a young man was testing the limits of his motorcycle on an old concession road up on Scugog Island. He was on a straightaway and pushing the engine as fast as he could. The road is short, so he soon realized he was running out of room and was quickly approaching the intersection where the 9th Concession meets. About 100 meters from the south end, near a large tree, he lost control and plowed into a field. He caught himself on an old rusty barbed-wire fence and was decapitated. Some say his head bounced off the rock! Some also say that he simply banged his head on the rock that is still located on the road, and met his end that way. It is this story that goes along with the reports of the large round white light heading down the road that, when it passes you, it then turns into a small red light. There are also occasional reports of the sounds of a motorcycle to accompany the light. This location was also home to a well-traveled Native footpath.

There have been many artifacts, including Native remains unearthed in the immediate region. With many psychics over the years visiting Ghost Road, many have reported that there is other strange paranormal activity that is present there. Some Durham College students went out and caught the phantom lights on film, so this does exist, and the light can be seen from either direction. For decades (possibly much longer) people have been reporting strange and inexplicable phenomena occurring on ‘ghost road’. The most common of these is the mysterious white ‘light’ (the headlight of a motorcycle according to legend) and a smaller red ‘light’ (the tail-light). Other anomalous phenomena include the sighting of ‘ghostly beings’, cars being pulled forward and backwards by the phantom children, electrical anomalies (like stopping under the big tree or the weeping willow and having your car go dead, only until it’s pushed away from under it, batteries draining and equipment (i.e: cameras) malfunctioning, UFO’s, strange sounds, no cell range or cell phones suddenly dying when batteries were full, and other various strange occurrences.

In 1827 the town of Lindsay was founded by Mr. William Purdy and his sons Jesse and Hazard. The town was first known as ”Purdy’s Mills”. Purdy built the first dam in the winter of 1827 to power his gristmill. The dam was 10 feet high, and located on the Scugog River, in Lindsay. The dam flooded the area near Port Perry, creating a lake and Scugog Island (location of Ghost Rd) was born. Now, our experiences on Ghost Road have been quite different. We observed the light coming from the North, not the South. We have also witnessed several other beings on the road. Please watch our TV Show premiering on Halloween on Rogers Cable to learn more of what The Paranormal Seekers found on Port Perry’s Ghost Road! ***Just a note*** the information stated above is collected from various other websites who have all repeated the same information…not knowing who has direct ownership to the original wording. We have just merely copied what they have documented***

And this from the Scogog Heritage site:

One of the best known haunts of Ontario, Scugog Island's Ghost Road, just outside the quaint village of Port Perry, has been the sight of many interesting phenomena and many legends.

The legend goes that in or around 1968, a young man was testing the limits of a motorcycle on an old concession road on Scugog Island. He was on a straightaway pushing the engine as fast as he could. The road is not too long and he soon realized he was running out of road and heading far too fast for the spot where the road meets with the 9th Concession. About 100 meters from the south end near a large tree, he lost control, plowed into a field, caught himself on an old rusty barbed-wire fence and was decapitated.

Of course, we've also heard that he simply banged his head on a rock still located on the road and met his end that way. It is this story that goes along with the report of the large round white light heading down the road that when it passes you, turns into a small red light. There are also occasional reports of the sounds of a motorcycle to accompany the light.

The light, as examined by several Toronto ghosts researchers, actually does exist but does not, as stated, travel down the road. It appears above the road and only if facing south. The image has been caught on film but the pictures belay the fact that the light ain't much to look at. It appears as if it was a small plane some miles in the distance but hovering.

Now on to Haliburton.

Buck Hill is near Killaloe, Eganville and Golden Lake, all places mentioned in His Brother's Bride.

Buck Hill has a legend about a logger’s family during the Depression. The daughter vanished one night while chasing the pet dog, who had run off. Theh logger searched for her and eventually went mad. His ghost still searches for her, and his lantern is seen as ghost lights in the area. The balls of light, seen at close range, are baseball-size white, amber or green lights that will occasionally flare up to much larger.

Bala Bay Inn, Torrence Ontario, is located 33 km from Sprucedale, Ontario where much of His Brother's Bride is set.
Bala Bay Inn is rumored to be haunted, and was the locale where E.B. Sutton died (in Room 319) and lay in state. Ghostly activity reported here includes poltergeist activity, including rumbling and rattling doorknobs, unusual sounds and TVs working that were not plugged in.

In Parry Sound, Ontario. (Home of Bobby Orr!)
Under the 100-year-old trestle bridge that floats over the mouth of the Seguin River has a chilling side to its story.

Suicides on the bridge; kids playing chicken with the train; high school kids who believe the water is deep enough to jump from the bridge — one survived, barely. Their ghosts apparently still hang around.

In a parking lot nearby, the ghost of a native woman is sometimes seen wandering, likely killed going to or from a nearby trading post documented in local history books as on Bob's Point.

Strange and creepy. But I've even had experiences myself. Before my grandmother died I had a dream where her oldest sister (who wasn't always a nice person- at least in my opinion) came to me trying to tell me something. The wind was howling and leaves and sticks blowing around and I couldn't hear what she was saying, but I knew it was her. My grandmother died within a month.

Often my maternal grandfather will appear at the corner of my vision and I often hear his voice when I'm doctoring sick or wounded animals.

We lived in a very old farm house just outside Uxbridge, Ontario. The old Byam place it was called. The house is now an art gallery, Buckingham Fine Arts. When we lived there, I once work up at 3 in the morning to see an old man and woman standing by the open door of a big linen closet in our loft bedroom. I wasn't scared, just kind of surprised. I remember asking her what they were looking for, although I don't think I actually spoke out loud. She smiled and said, "Don't worry dear, we're just looking for something we left here." I went back to sleep but in the morning the door was open and I know it was closed when we went to bed. I often saw the old man out in the barn when I was mucking stalls and especially in the hayloft. I loved that big old barn with the huge roof beams.

Here are a couple of photos of the house after it became the gallery.
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I think that's enough spook for now. LOL Stay safe, stay happy, stay healthy.
ON a brighter note, here are some photos of the country near where His Brother's Bride is located.

Nancy M Bell is a proud Canadian and lives near Balzac, Alberta with her husband and various critters. She is a member of The Writers Union of Canada and the Writers Guild of Alberta. She has publishing credits in poetry, fiction and non-fiction.

A Diverse Group Supports my Writing, by Diane Scott Lewis

I have many people to thank for their wonderful support over the years. My mother, and my English teachers are the earliest. Recently, for my Canadian Historical Brides book, On a Stormy Primeval Shore:

Here's the blurb: In 1784, Englishwoman Amelia Latimer sails to the new colony of New Brunswick in faraway Canada. She’s to marry a man chosen by her soldier father. Amelia is repulsed by her betrothed, and refuses to marry him. She is attracted to a handsome Acadian trader, Gilbert, a man beneath her in status. Gilbert must fight the incursion of English Loyalists from the American war to hold onto his land and heritage. Will he and Amelia find peace when events seek to destroy their love and lives.

First and foremost I’d like to thank Nancy M. Bell, my fellow author, who sent me research documents, websites and kept in touch with people at The New Brunswick Museum while writing her own novel in the series. She also critiqued each chapter and offered suggestions.



Nancy M. Bell

 

 

I thank my Beta readers, all three of them. So I guess they’d be Gamma and Delta, too. Ginger Simpson, Norma Redfern, and for my final draft, Kathy Pym.

 

My two on-line critique groups. I’ve been with many of these people for over a decade. Their suggestions and expertise is invaluable. These writers include fellow BWL authors Kathy Pym and Anita Davison. Also, authors Maggi Andersen, AnneMarie Brear, Ursula Thompson, and Lisa Elm. In my other group I have Carolyn, Randall, Karen, James, Harry, Lindsey, Kathy and Jane.

Nancy's contacts at The New Brunswick Museum, who guided her to rare documents: Jennifer Longon; Gary Hughes; Ruth Cox.

 

The Internet, what would I do with you? Formally, I’d research in libraries, including the fantastic Library of Congress. I’d get Library Loans of difficult to find books. I still enjoy libraries, that unreplaceable smell of books, but where I live now in rural Western Pennsylvania the choices are limited.

My publisher Jude for believing in and promoting this series, and the Government of Canada for funding it.

Now for who supports my writing in general, my husband, family and friends. I've dragged my husband off to England through the wilds of Cornwall, over to France, and up to Canada, in pursuit of my research. He's waiting for my million-dollar book deal; he really wants that vacation house in the tropics!

Bio: Diane Parkinson (Diane Scott Lewis) grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area, joined the Navy at nineteen and has written and edited free-lance since high school. She writes book reviews for the Historical Novels Review and worked as a historical editor for The Wild Rose Press. She’s had several historical novels published. Diane lives with her husband in Western Pennsylvania.

 
For more on my novels, please visit my BWL Author Page

And my website: dianescottlewis.org

Who Am I Thankful For? by Nancy M Bell

Landmark Roses is the November release in the Canadian Historical Brides Collection. I'm writing under Marie Rafter for this one. You can find more here.

Elsie Nuefeld loves to sit on her porch and watch the children grow in the Mennonite community near Landmark, MB. Returning to the area after moving to Paraguay for a time, Elsie is happy to be living on the wild rose dotted prairie of south-eastern Manitoba. Her granddaughters are growing up and getting married, it's an exciting time. Secure in her long standing marriage to Ike, Elsie is content to observe the community from the sidelines and rejoice in the joys of the young ones. She often walks with her daughters and granddaughters through the graveyard abloom with wild roses and shares the stories of the ancestors sleeping there. It’s important, she feels, for the younger generation to feel connected to those who went before. Elsie hopes when she joins those resting beneath the Landmark roses the tradition of honouring the memory of the forebearers continues.

So now, who am I thankful for? First, I guess is my long suffering husband who puts up with my weird habit of getting up in the middle of the night and tapping away on the keyboard. Also, I have dragged him to some, shall we say, different places in pursuit of authenticity for my story.

We went to England where instead of hanging around London we took the train to Penzance. Then I dragged him all over the Penwith Penninsula to visit stone circles and quoits. His constant comment was "Are we going to look at more rocks?"

Below are a few picture of our Cornwall excursions.

These are the Hurlers stone circle on Bodmin Moor.

The first is Lanyon Quoit then the Men an Tol and the moor. All of the above places are visited by readers of Laurel's Quest.

Than I dragged him to Glastonbury and we climbed the Tor. Which is a very steep hill but well worth the effort. At least I think so. LOL

I am also grateful for my sons. They don't read my work but they do make my life richer.

All the people who read my words and buy my books. Without you my stories would never escape the closed pages of my books.

Nancy M Bell has publishing credits in poetry, fiction and non-fiction. Nancy has presented at the Surrey International Writers Conference, the Writers Guild of Alberta Conference and When Words Collide. She lives near Balzac, Alberta with her husband and various critters. She loves all animals and fosters and works with rescue animals. Nancy is a member of The Writers Union of Canada and the Writers Guild of Alberta. Her latest novel is His Brother’s Bride which is part of a series celebrating Canada’s 150th birthday. Each book in the series is written by a different Canadian author and every province and territory will be featured in separate titles.

http://www.nancymbell.ca
You can find her on Facebook at http://facebook.com/NancyMBell
Follow on twitter: @emilypikkasso

Find out more about the Brides books here.

Casting Characters by Nancy M Bell

His Brother's Bride click here to learn more.

Who would I cast to play my characters...hmmmm good question. I have honestly never connected my characters to any actor or actress. I think it would be far too easy to let the characteristics associated with a particular actor take over my character in the novel. I'm not sure the reactions and actions would be true to my character or coloured with the traits of the real life actor.

That being said: Here's go at it

For His Brother's Bride Lord, I don't know! This one is very roughly based on my grandparent's story and I'm having a hard time finding actors who suit them. I don't need anyone too pretty and delicate. It's getting hard to find good character actors anymore.

Okay, I'm digressing because I'm coming up with a blank here. Okay back to the task at hand.

His Brother's Bride

For Annie Baldwin Amanda Plummer

For George Gary Oldman

For Peter Eddie Redmayne

None of these really look like what I pictured when I was writing the story but they were the closest I can find. I guess it would help if I watched more movies? My grandfather was a lot like Leonard from The Big Bang Theory so maybe Johnny Galecki might be a better choice for Peter.

Sorry faithful readers, that's the best I can do with this one. Until next month, stay well, stay happy and keep reading!

Just for fun, this is a picture of my grandparents, my uncle and that's my mother , the little one on the floor. This was taken outside Sprucedale Ontario near Doe Lake on my grandparents farm. My great grandfather Capel Baldwin St. George owned the land just across the lane from them. Photo was taken by Aunt Lottie (Charlotte Hines nee St. George

I Remember When...by Nancy M Bell

To find out more about this title click here.

The theme for June is "I Remember When..." which seems fitting. Springtime always makes me think of the cottage we had in Ontario in the Kawartha Lakes district. Easter weekend marked the first trip north of the season. It was often still chilly with ice on the lake, but the north country bush never failed to cast its spell over me. To this day I can still hear the crystal bell like chiming of the porous ice pack being pushed by the wind on a sunny April afternoon. Like no music I have heard before or since. Every Friday night we drove two hours from the east part of Toronto, we lived in a smaller community called West Hill. As the season progressed I could watch as week by week the soft pink-green blush of the new born leaves cloaking the rolling hills become lush and green. Barley and wheat sprouted and grew long and graceful, dancing in the wind as we passed. Slowly the fields of green turned golden as August approached. Fields of clover and alfalfa sent their sweet perfume wafting through the summer air before falling to the mower to be stored in hay mows as security against the coming winter.

Most of the happy memories of my childhood revolve around the time spent at the lake. There I met my first boyfriend and received my first kiss at the top of our drive under the maples. My heart yearns to turn back time and relive those soft velvet starlit nights, firey points of lights reflected on the sable water, the bonfire flames leaping highlighting the faces of those gathered there who still live safe in the corners of my heart. Everyone sang, it didn't matter if anyone was off key, it was the unity of the voices lifted together that was important.

I can still name all the little islands in the lake. In front of our first cottage was Blueberry Island, because of course it had tons of blueberry bushes on it, Round Island which was straight out from out small bay topped with tall spruce trees, the small Volcanic Island in Hair Pin Bay, Cat's Island with its 3 big spruce trees, Rocky Island which was more a rocky outcropping from the shore. It was a magical place for a young girl to grow up with.

My early memories even find their way into my poetry. This one is about driving in the dirt road from Norland, Ontario.
Green and Gold Days of Summer

There is a field on the Buller Road
That runs between Norland and the Miner’s Bay Road
In Haliburton County, Ontario
The small pasture sits in the cradle
Of the bend in the road where it meets
The Spar Lake Road.

There used to be a little farm house on the corner
Of the opposite side of the meeting of three roads
From the field.
On Friday and Sunday nights every weekend
In the summer, we would pass this little place

The summer sun would lie like a golden blessing
Across the rumpled grasses where they dreamed
In the slanted light of late evening
Golden dust raised by the tires of passing cars
Hung mistlike in the heavy heat of summer

The scent of crushed grass and sunshine
Came through the open windows
Along with the pungent dry smell of disturbed gravel
Magic seemed to haunt the green and gold pasture

Fairies and other fey creatures danced in the
Slanted rays of the molten setting sun
As you came around a gentle bend and
Down a small incline to where the green and gold
pasture held sway over the encroaching bush

Sometimes a family of deer would be there
Half hidden in the long verdant growth
It holds me enthralled still in memory
Now in the autumn of my years
I can still dream of the Green and Gold
Days of Summer

This one is about my Grandfather (not lake related but he taught me to be kind and to respect all life, not by telling me but by showing me by example)

Grampa P

I was young when you left us
But I remember still your quiet ways
The way you bore the scars of the Great War
That stole your health and your youth
Not to mention your brother, Joe

I have the pencil written letter on crumpled paper
From his captain telling you of his death
You never spoke of it or the war
I can still see you picking shrapnel from your cheek
As you stood at the sink shaving

You taught me by example
That all life is sacred
From you I learned to nurse the sick and wounded
Animal, plant and human
And how to catch a bee in a cloth against the window pane
Carry it to the door and let it fly free again

I was only young when you left us
But thirteen is old enough to remember you
And your ways and your lessons that weren’t meant as lessons
It was just you going about your life
You walk with me still

This one recalls the summers I worked at Rouge Hill Stables near Scarborough, Ontario and the horses I loved.

Forever Young

In my heart I am still sixteen
All grown up, at least in my own mind
My world is taken up with horses
And riding through the Rouge River valley

Though the years have travelled on
I can still name every horse in the barn
In those long ago days
I can still ride the myriad trails
In winter and in summer

I know where the river course has changed
Where the hollow tree stump
Presides over the fairy pool at the end of Mosquito Alley
Where the apple blossoms glow ghostly in the moonlight
Below Spy Glass Hill, even though the Glen Eagles Hotel
No longer perches on the ridge

In my heart I am still that young woman
With the whole world before me, holding destiny in my hands
You, who never knew me then,
See only the lines in my face and the calluses on my hands
Glance past the bright blonde hair now gone silver in the sun

Few of you will look past the limp and the cane
And recognize the spirit unchanged with the passage of the seasons
In my heart I am forever young
And so I will be forever

This one August at the lake.

August Slow
When I was a child
It always seemed that June passed
In impatient anticipation of July
July is remembered
As a jumble of memories and visions
Action filled and swift with movement
Somehow August just happened
One day the frenetic pace of driven July
Just stops
And the lovely slow swim of August begins
Hot August sun baking our bodies
Where we lay supine on the front deck of the boat
Rocked into somnolence by the lake waves
Long August nights draped in black velvet and star fire
Our bonfire blooming brilliant in the night
As we toast marshmallows and taste first love
On the rocks at Green’s Point
Silver dollar August moon turning
The glass smooth lake to ice
And topping the trees with summer snow
The delicious cool touch of deep dark water
That holds us as we float on our backs
And trace the slow circle of the constellations
Liquid silver dripping from our hands
And sluicing over our bare shoulders
While we swim in the silver and black world
Following the argent trail of moonshine
Glittering on the still surface
Our eyes full of moon light silver
And our souls on fire with peace
There is no beginning and no end to us
The water that breathes against our skin
The air that feeds our lungs
The wide black satin of the sky
The star fire and the moon light
The forest that surrounds us
The shine of quartz in the granite rocks
The sleepy presence of fish below us
Harmony and peace cycle through us
In this slow silent August moment

This is written about the lake and the times we sang by the water's edge.

Every weekend we would drive two hours
Through the Friday night sunlight
As the day faded from blue to black
North of Toronto to the lake
We spent long summer evenings fishing
Then going to the dump to look for bears
Later we would gather around the bonfire
The flames reflecting off the black lake water
Family and friends gathered in the circle of light
Setting our marshmallows afire and dousing them in the lake
The mixture of hot marshmallow and cool lake water
Sweet on the tongue
Then, someone, usually Daddy
Would start to sing and the music would echo
Across the still water; hanging in the velvet black
Soon we all joined in, the sweet voiced and the not so much
Daddy always sang Old Shep
And he always cried and so did the rest of us
Wabash Cannonball, Casey Jones, Cheating Heart
So many others that have faded from my memory
Some would say it was a simpler time
But there was nothing simple
About growing up in the Sixties
Or being a teenager in the Seventies
Flower child, hippie
I am woman, hear me roar
Mini skirts, hot pants and granny gowns
It’s cool to have sex. You’ll burn in hell if you have sex.
No, nothing was simple then
It just seems sweeter now to remember
All the faces that were part of the circle in the firelight
More than half of them are gone now
And the rest of us are old
But until we are all gone as well
The circle of firelight will hold us all
In our memories.


My goodness, they should never have gotten me started on this nostalgic bent. I better stop now before I've bored you all to death. LOL

I hope you enjoy my reminiscing. Til next month, stay well, stay happy, stay healthy.