It's almost time for Halloween....

I'm departing a bit from my usual 'cowboy theme' today.  Halloween has been a fond holiday for all my family. My children grew up planning their costumes beginning in March. It was almost as bad as the Allied forces taking the beaches at Normandy.

They always did book themes. The two oldest would set about picking books, reading, arguing, discussing what "characters" would be best. We didn't do store bought costumes. They pulled parts of clothing, asked for trimmings, went through my fabric to make their creations.

Halloween preparations would begin with costumes and then go further into the pumpkin carving. Of course, the seeds in the pumpkins are great for chickens -as a way to get rid of unwanted worms. Pumpkins or 'gros melons' as described by Jacquie Cartier, the French Explorer, or as the English established colonies and called them "Pompions" were used to carve scary faces to keep the evil spirits from the homes or to light ways to bonfires. (By the way, did you know Pumpkins are fruit?? Yep, they are members of the cucumber, melon, and cantaloupe family. Who knew!)

Trick or treating, became part of the American tradition in the late 1800's. Children soaped windows on merchant stores, or change street signs. In the west, reports of young hooligans opened gates to let cattle roam or tipping over out houses. Writers - here are some ideas for you!.

One of our best family traditions was to read or watch Disney's cartoon, The Headless Horseman or Story of Sleepy Hallow. Ole Icabode Crane the awkward school teacher falls in love with the beautiful maiden in the town of Sleepy Hollow much to Brom  Bones dismay. Bones is the heroic guy that everyone should want - aka like Beauty and the Beast story. Of course, the maiden chooses Crane of Bones to his dismay. When Crane travels home after proposing to the maiden, the Galloping Horseman of the Hollow chases him and he is never seen again.

Halloween should bring families together. It should be full of laughter and memory making. It should be a time of magic where mom's turn into fairy godmothers and children's fantasy are indulged. Whatever you do on All Hallows Eve, make it magical!

Happy Halloween!!!

I promise to return to a cowboy theme next month!

Tracking is an Art by Paty Jager

When I go on walks, I am constantly scanning the ground, watching for rattlesnakes. The benefit of that is I get to see all kinds of tracks in the dirt. Tiny, tiny dots that are prints from an insect, a squiggle whose width tells me how big a snake has crossed my path, the crutch of a bird's track, and the clawless print of a bobcat or lynx.

I enjoy seeing it all, seeing which direction they headed and thinking about where they are going and why.

It wasn't until I decided to make one of my characters a tracker that I purchased two books on tracking by Tom Brown, Jr. Reading the books has been fun! I bought them for research and have used much of the useful information when my character Gabriel Hawke is tracking a person.

What I love the most about the books and the author is the fact he was taught to track by "Grandfather" an Apache elder. This also works well for my character who is Nez Perce and Cayuse two American Indian tribes of Oregon. In my character's background I have that he was taught by his Nez Perce grandfather to follow the animal tracks and learn the ways to be scan an area and know where to find animals and in the case of Hawke following people, where a person might try to hide or look for water.

The most fascinating thing I discovered while reading the book and practicing making marks in the sand to see how you could tell which way a person or animal looked, is while I have a knack for seeing tracks and wondering, I don't have the patience to really be a tracker. I like finding and thinking about or making a story up in my head, but I don't want to get down on my hands and knees and really look at what may or may not have happened.

See the snake trail?

However, my character is focused and he does take the time and slowly piece together every morsel of evidence he can find.

There is so much that can be told by looking at a print. There are pressure points- seeing which way a person is looking; if they are carrying extra weight; injured; or how fast they are moving by the direction of moved dirt or debris.  Then there is the telling of how old the print is. That is the hardest for me to figure out and after reading how the tracker, Tom Brown Jr. learned to tell, I know I'll never be able to learn. Other than it's fresh, it's old. That's it.

He and his friend, the grandson of the elder Apache, would watch an animal make a print and then go look at the print every hour for twenty-four hours to learn what it looked like after so many hours. That is due diligence- something I don't have!

And not only did you need to see the track each hour but you also had to learn how long depending on what the animal/person walked through. Because, grass will spring up as will some plants, while others will break. There is mud - different types which act differently; dirt - same as mud; sand again different types will act differently. dry grass, straw, bark,leaves. It all reacts differently over time.

tracks I made on the beach to see details in direction

Tracking isn't always about what you see.Sometimes it's about what you don't see. There was a discussion in the book about how when trying to track across rock you don't look for something left by the shoe, but something that is displaced by the shoe. The author told about trying to track an ant across a rock. Just tracking an ant is a feat in itself in my mind! But he said, that by getting down on his hands and knees and looking across the rock, he could see where the ant had crawled by the tiny spots of dirt missing in a path across the rock.  That's good eyes!  Luckily my character doesn't track anything as small as an ant!

I love knowing all of this an having read this man's books on tracking. It helps me feel like I give my character a real basis for the things he does in the book not only while tracking in the wilderness but also when he is following leads to find the murderers.

If you like mystery novels that deal with the outdoors, horses, mules, and dogs, you might like my Gabriel Hawke series. There isn't a romance, but there is a budding male/female friendship that may end up in romance....

Paty Jager is an award-winning author of 42 novels, 8 novellas, and numerous anthologies of murder mystery and western romance. All her work has Western or Native American elements in them along with hints of humor and engaging characters. Paty and her husband raise alfalfa hay in rural eastern Oregon. Riding horses and battling rattlesnakes, she not only writes the western lifestyle, she lives it.

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The History of Dream Catchers ~ by Kristine Raymond

When I moved to Arizona in the early 90s, one of the first things that captivated me, aside from the glorious expanse of blue sky and feeling of openess, was the Native American influence that infused every shop and roadside stall.  Now, I know what you're thinking; what did I expect relocating to that part of the country?  Truthfully, I hadn't given it much thought.  All I knew of the region I'd gleaned from watching T.V. westerns and reading historical romance novels.  Neither had prepared me for the wonders I discovered.

Visit any tourist shop in the Southwest and you'll find the same items - turquoise rings, bracelets, earrings, and bolo ties; Kachinas in varying sizes; colorful, hand-loomed rugs; and dream catchers.  It was this last item that sparked my interest.  Aside from their beauty, the meaning behind them captivated me.

©Deposit photos

According to belief, Asibikaashi ('Spider Woman'), as she was known by the Ojibwa Chippewa tribe, was a spiritual protector of both adults and young children and babies.  As the tribe spread across the nation, Asibikaashi instructed grandmothers and mothers to weave webs made of willow and sinew to protect their loved ones from harm.  Feathers, beads, and other embellishments were added to further enhance the web's apotropaic magic.

©Deposit photos

It wasn't until the 1970s that the name 'dream catcher' became mainstream, appearing in non-Native media.  By the early 90s, around the time I made my trek west, they were considered one of the most popular and marketable craft items available; though oversized and made of plastic and synthetic fabrics, they bore little resemblance to the hand-crafted charms of the Ojibwa. 

The most accepted meaning of the dreamcatcher's shape is that the round circle represents the earth and moon, although newworldencyclopedia.org makes reference to the hoop representing the sun.  The web's eight connections to the circle symbolize a spider's legs, and the feathers are thought to allow good dreams to float gently to the sleeping individual while any bad dreams get caught in the web, evaporating like dew when the morning sun hits them.

©Deposit photos

While many believe that the dreamcatchers of today are a violation of the culture, beliefs, and traditions of Native Americans, I must admit - I still find them charming.

The Old Faithful Inn--a National Historic Landmark

by Andrea Downing

Yellowstone National Park is world-famous for its geology, beauty, and wildlife, but it often seems that the one place visitors wish to go see is Old Faithful.  If one has only a day,  it may make sense to go there and walk the surrounding basin as well as wait for the next eruption.  But with so much to see, viewing Old Faithful has become almost Disneyish with the benches surrounding it and the postings of its next spurt.  Luckily, there is something else of fascination to see there…and it happens to be manmade.

The Old Faithful Inn is on the National Register of Historic Places and is designated a National Landmark.  The over-300 rooms enjoy full occupancy for the months the hotel is open, from the first weekend in May through the first weekend in October—many rooms being booked a year in advance. The hotel has survived a 7.5 magnitude earthquake in 1959 (which shook it loose from its foundations), 1988 forest fires (saved by, among other things, a sprinkler system just installed the previous year), as well as the notorious winters the Rockies offer. 

There had been a previous hotel on the site, The Upper Geyser Basin Hotel, which burned down.  The Yellowstone Park Company had originally approved a turreted  Queen Anne hotel, but Harry Child, President of the company, had met a young architect, Robert Reamer, whom he admired.  He instructed Reamer to design a hotel with the feel of the ‘camps’ in the Adirondacks.  The lobby and the original guest rooms, now known as

hallway of The Old House

The Old House (rooms without baths but with plenty of atmosphere) were built over 1903-1904 and the Old Faithful Inn welcomed its first guests on June 1, 1904.  The East Wing addition was completed in 1913—these are the rooms you would want in order to have a view of the geyser—and the West Wing

Landings of the half-stories of the West Wing

was finished in 1927, forming a hotel that is now 700 ft. long.  Local materials have always been used:  lodgepole pine, rhyolite rock for the lobby chimney, and local artisans were employed for the clock and sandblasted glass windows of the dining hall and lounges.

It is really an honor to be able to sit in the lobby, glass of wine and book in hand, live music drifting down from one of the upper galleries.  Every so often there is a blast of icy air as the front door is opened, people come and go, chatting in about every language of the world, as a fire blazes beneath the chimney clock.  And outside Old Faithful shoots up night and day on its fairly dependable schedule.

  I hope you enjoy the photos. 

A Horse of a Different Color

I don't know why I'm thinking about this today, maybe it's because we're fast approaching the holiday season and it makes me think of my very first Christmas book ever, but I've been thinking about the Appaloosa horse.

The Appaloosa or Appy, as it is often called, is most widely known for its spotted coat or blanket and spots across hips. This color pattern, in general, defines the breed, but not all Appaloosa's have color and you guessed it they can change over time.
The Appaloosa horse was a breed perfected by the Nez Perce Indians who lived in what is now Eastern Washington and Oregon and across Idaho. When Lewis and Clark traveled through this area and encountered the tribe they were quite taken by the horses and the quality of breeding they saw in the herds. They did, however, also note that though some horses were "pieded" or multi-colored, the majority were all one color. It is an odd characteristic of the Appaloosa that they truly are a horse of a different color. They can be born a solid color and over time developed the famous blanket and spots, or be born with the blanket and spots and later in life end up a freckled roan with spots everywhere.
For years there has been a controversy about Appys and color with one side saying that if the horses don't have spots they can't be considered an Appaloosa, while others trace bloodlines and feel that that is enough. This led to the ApHC's decision in 1982 to allow "non-characteristic" horses to be registered.
The history of the United States has largely been built on the backs of the humble horse. Their value as transpiration, labor, and freight animals shaped the nation and many of its people. Today though most horses are kept for recreational riding or as pets, their legacy continues.
As we approach the holiday season, looking toward Thanksgiving and Christmas, it is interesting to think about the contributions of those who were here before us and this remarkable horse is one of them.
In my very first Christmas story Christmas Kringle my hero rides one of these lovely horses. He's a kind-hearted man who catches an angel as she falls to earth; even his horse Chester falls in love with the sassy Saraphina Adams.

 Seraphina Adams has always loved the outdoors, so when she is asked to help fetch the family Christmas tree she is thrilled, but a sudden accident and a chance meeting with the boy next door change everything in an instant.
Rafe Dixon barely knows his nearest neighbors; a strong fence and a family feud having separated them for years, but when he hears the anguished cries for help he answers the call with an open heart only to have it stolen by an angel as she falls.
Can two, star-crossed-lovers find love in the season of peace, or with their parent's ancient war banish them forever?

Most of my readers know by now that I'm a horse lover extraordinaire and that my horses often play a huge role in the stories I write. At one point a good friend asked me which character I was in my books and I replied, "I'm the horse. I'm always the horse." However, in this particular book, there is a bit of me as I actually did what sweet Saraphina did at Christmas, though I was perhaps a tad safer than she was.

Here is my own tale: 

Christmas tree hunting was a tradition for my family, even when I, as the baby, was the last kid still at home; we still had the hunt for just the right tree. Dad and I would collect the tree and mom and I would decorate it under dad's supervision of course. That was right up to the year dad decided the big Douglas Firs along the road had gotten too tall. It was true; they had grown so big you couldn't see the river anymore. They were big, healthy trees, each standing between thirty and forty feet tall. So that year everything changed and a new yearly adventure began. On the day we were to 'top' the tree dad came up out of the basement with the trusty hand saw and a length of rope. Together mom, dad and I bundled up in coats and gloves then walked the ten or so yards to the trees. Dad looked at the trees critically and chose our first victim. Mom, muttered about the height and how would it come down but let us begin. Dad tied the rope around my waist, hooked the saw to my belt and with a big grin gave me a boost into the lower branches. An old hand at tree climbing I love my way between the thick evergreen boughs and up the trunk. The higher I climbed the more strident my mother’s voice became. "Pete, it's too high. What if she falls?'

"She'll be fine Mary." My dad replied calmly.

A little halfway up the tree, I took a moment to look down. I've never liked heights but for some reason, it always feels safe nestled in the branches of a big pine. I looked down through the deep green, fragrant branches to see dad standing tall and calm on the ground, carefully feeding the rope out to me while mom stood hunched in her winter garb, wringing glove covered hands. I couldn't help but smile. I scrabbled the last ten feet up to the top of the tree, untied the rope from around my waist, (you didn't think it was for me did you?) Tied it around the top of the tree and then began sawing. As I cut deeper and deeper into the narrow width of the tree, dad pulled back gently allowing the saw to continue its path without binding. I quickly worked my way through the slender trunk. Then gave a shove. Dad pulled on the rope and our first treetop Christmas tree landed with a soft thud in the snow thirty feet below me.

We did this for the next three years and mom never did get any more comfortable with my scrabbling up those scaly trunks.

Whatever you might be thinking of today, I hope you remember how you got to where you are.  Looking back at blessings as we look forward to a new holiday season. 

The Wild Woman Singer who became a Dame of the British Empire

By Jacqui Nelson

How far can talent and an adventurous spirit get a person? Sometimes you need to leave home to change not only yourself but the world.

Meet the historic opera singer whose pursuit of education and opportunity led her to become a Dame Commander of the Order of the British Empire plus Lucy Maud Montgomery's inspiration and more.

Dame Emma Albani 

( born Marie-Louise-Emma-Cécile Lajeunesse in 1847 
in the United Province of Canada, present-day Quebec ) 

When Marie-Louise-Emma-Cécile was five, her father started her on a regimen of up to four hours a day learning the harp and piano. In 1856 when her mother died, she continued her education in a Montreal convent-school (run by the Dames du Sacré-Coeur) where her father held the position of Music Master.

Emma - age 5

Nine years later in 1865, she moved to Albany, New York because she was unable to finance a musical education in Quebec–where singing was considered an unsavory career for a woman. 

In 1868, she traveled to Paris and then Italy where she studied opera singing. Under the guidance of her elocution instructor, she changed her name to the simpler and more European sounding name Emma Albani. In 1870, she made her Italian debut and in 1872 her London debut. 

Emma - in 1870

Her career at Covent Garden lasted twenty-four years. In the 1880s, she toured Europe and North America and finally sang professionally in her birthplace of Quebec. 

In 1897, she received the gold medal of the Royal Philharmonic Society. 

Emma in 1899

In 1901 after Queen Victoria died, she sang the solo role at the Queen’s final service.

In Lucy Maud Montgomery's Anne of Green Gables (published in 1908), the prima donna Madame Selitsky was inspired by Emma. Montgomery also included Emma in the non-fiction book Courageous Women (published in 1934). 

In 1925, Emma was made a Dame Commander of the Order of the British Empire.

In 1911, she released her own book, Forty Years of Song, a memoir about her youth and her career complete with advice on singing. 

In 1939, the Historic Sites and Monuments Board of Canada mounted a plaque at her birthplace. And in 1980, Canada Post commissioned a postage stamp honoring her everywhere in her birth country.

Not bad for a woman who was born in a place and time where…singing was considered an unsavory career for a woman.

Dame Emma Albani

In my new release, A Bride for Brynmor, my heroine was born in Canada then she became part of a traveling songbird troupe that took her to many places. But in Colorado 1878, she seizes an opportunity to reach for what she craves most. Unfortunately, things don't go as planned...

Can a sister who’s lived only for others find freedom with one man? Family has always come first—for both of them. He’s never forgiven himself for letting her go. She’s never forgiven herself for almost getting him killed.

When Lark and her songbird sisters are separated fleeing their cruel and controlling troupe manager, only Brynmor Llewellyn can help Lark save her sisters and escape to the far west. But Lark wants more. And so does Brynmor. When they’re stranded in a spot as difficult to guard as it is to leave—a rustic cabin at a train junction between Denver and the mountain town of Noelle, Colorado—they find themselves fighting not only for survival but for redemption, forgiveness, and a second chance for their love.

Will the frontier train stop of Songbird Junction be Lark and Brynmor’s salvation? Or their downfall when her manager, a con artist who calls himself her uncle but cherishes only his own fame and fortune—demands a debt no one can pay?

Welcome to Songbird Junction where Welsh meets West in Colorado 1878. The journey to find a forever home and more starts here. Brynmor, Heddwyn, and Griffin Llewellyn are three Welsh brothers bound by blood and a passion for hauling freight—in Denver where hard work pays. Lark, Oriole, and Wren are three Irish-Cree Métis sisters-of-the-heart bound by choice and a talent for singing—in any place that pays.

Read the opening of A Bride for Brynmor on my excerpt page. 

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The Not so Hygienic West by Rhonda Frankhouser

Image Copyright to Owner

How can something so sexy, be so stinky?

As western romance writers, it's our job to 'romanticize' cowboy lore when much about them, and what they endured in the Old West was anything but romantic. The scruffy beard, the dirt covered boots. It's all irresistible, but let's think a minute. If he's scruffy and dirty, might he be in need of a bath!

In Ian Harvey's article in the Vintage News, he tells of the disgust experienced by the Native Americans when they first encountered these foul-smelling western travelers covered in heavy, non-breathable fabrics.

The Natives were accustomed to the harsh conditions, so they knew how to survive, find food, shelter and water and how to keep themselves clean. They bathed regularly, and tended to personal hygiene, while these emigrants moving through their lands, sometimes went months without a proper bath. 

It's a well documented fact that those journeying across the hot desert of the old west, battled many foes. The relentless heat, the barren, dusty plains, the over abundance of insect invasion which led to illness and disease, and most importantly, the lack of clean, fresh water. 

Once settled, keeping the water clean and sanitary was yet another difficulty they faced. The seepage from outhouses often contaminated the only source of fresh ground water to be found for miles. Water saved in barrels and ponds became stagnant as dirt and germs infiltrated. Without knowledge on proper storage and disinfection practices, the much-valued water became a source for infection and disease.

Melissa Sartore, outlined ways water was preserved in her article in Weird History. Sponge baths were often the best they could do, if they could manage to salvage even that much water. Families would share one bathtub, and clothes and dishes were washed in what remained, if they were washed at all. 

Ewww, right? But water was more valuable than gold!

Water became big business. Entrepreneurs took advantage of the thirsty people, and sold gallons of water for ridiculously high prices. Ian Harvey further shares that a cup could be sold for a dollar, five dollars, and in some very destitute places, up to a hundred dollars, while a pound of meat went for a penny. Puts things in perspective, for sure.

Copyright to Owner

So it appears smelling good wasn't the priority back then that it is today. I suppose no one can blame the cowboy of the old west for being a little stinky, when dehydration and death was the alternative. Who knows, maybe women back then, with a lack of bathing choices themselves, might've found something primal and sexy about a man drenched in his own sweat.  

For me, I'll continue to write strong, handsome cowboys who smell enticingly of horses, leather and Sandlewood, so my readers can continue to appreciate when his boots get kicked off and his well worn jeans finally hit the floor. 

Thanks for listening. 

Rhonda 

About the Author

After fourteen years in hospice care management in central California, award-winning author, Rhonda Frankhouser now writes full time from her lovely Atlanta, Georgia home. Rhonda's Ruby's Ranch Series, earned a finalist honor in the Uncaged Review Raven Awards; a second runner up in the prestigious InD'Tale Magazine RONE awards and a Book and Benches, Reviewers Top Pic ~ Books of Distinction award. Her follow up Shadowing Souls Series and Let Yourself Believe Series, have captured the attention of both romance and mainstream readers alike. Rhonda is a happily married stepmom to 3 beautiful daughters; 2 adorable pugs and a lazy Labrador named Dutch.

Follow Rhonda on Amazon, Bookbub, Goodreads, Medium, and subscribe at www.rhondafrankhouserbooks.com to get a free copy of Seasons of Love, a Children's Story.

Watch for her new release, Christmas at Ruby's Ranch, coming soon!

HAPPY HALLOWEEN TO ALL!