tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-84394241284586283892024-02-20T12:46:31.047-06:00Ye Journal of Mad Anne Bailey American Frontier HeroineKnown as 'The White Squaw of the Kanawha Valley' to some, and 'Mad Anne' to others, Suzanne Dennis presents a first-person characterization Mad Anne Bailey; an American heroine.
** The first person writings herein are of Ms. Dennis' experiences in her portrayal of Mad Anne, not the actual life of Anne Hennis Trotter-Bailey.Mad Anne Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03219820685315057516noreply@blogger.comBlogger44125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8439424128458628389.post-91954463626331574952013-02-21T06:49:00.001-06:002016-07-24T20:17:42.189-05:00Anne's Story<br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 12.71875px;">Greetings to all who may be interested,</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 12.71875px;">I am Anne Bailey, born 1742 in Liverpool England, I traveled to this country, settled outside of Staunton, Virginia, married Richard Trotter and had a son we named William. October 10, 1774 my life was irrevocably changed when my dearest husband was killed at the battle of Point Pleasant. I found myself unable to take care of William, our son was only seven year old when I gave him up to the care of a neighboring family, Mrs. and Mr. Moses Mann. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Coming Home No More" by John Buxton</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 12.71875px;">Thus doubly grieved, I set out on my own to recruit men to fight against first the red devils who plagued us on the frontier and later against the red coats - Yes, my own country men! Over time I became known and admired as a huntress, a spy and scout. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKx6ezIGqn0tngSNCKioq_OLtUQjLwZepqvtK_bzc-P504hXzryiA7dnKPn0MqWJaP2P04woIx77gIOhVAhVzuaIoCXDphdskmFy_MUVdnVDVp33v4BuZxuse0PFlmk6dCx3kTRpRyqNwL/s1600/ready+to+fight.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKx6ezIGqn0tngSNCKioq_OLtUQjLwZepqvtK_bzc-P504hXzryiA7dnKPn0MqWJaP2P04woIx77gIOhVAhVzuaIoCXDphdskmFy_MUVdnVDVp33v4BuZxuse0PFlmk6dCx3kTRpRyqNwL/s320/ready+to+fight.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image by Harold Jerrell</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 12.71875px;">I was reputed to have been an Indian killer, a charge I'll neither credit nor deny.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiSZfksYhpdzr5fCnrE2vPsglmWvrr4ZbzvI69RTY3fZJNKLGco8vC3Ol0xpnQLOJwQPFOE0mD01cjOJxbuwCbxbzfk9fDWoDe3iKnoJ6GONAZmQhMAFgpN2BldpIi4hZ4IKBCxpKwxiaa/s1600/tim+jarvis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiSZfksYhpdzr5fCnrE2vPsglmWvrr4ZbzvI69RTY3fZJNKLGco8vC3Ol0xpnQLOJwQPFOE0mD01cjOJxbuwCbxbzfk9fDWoDe3iKnoJ6GONAZmQhMAFgpN2BldpIi4hZ4IKBCxpKwxiaa/s320/tim+jarvis.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image with Tim Jarvis</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 12.71875px;">I had the short lived pleasure of marrying again, to a Ranger named John Bailey. my happiness was, as I said short lived. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiidG-u7g4Y7zw_Jl16O2NaaksTfeSVidHb6ed6S2TJGJpWA3DUYP08TeGH7w0EromLejLLHcXXBULXK6M6PV-ivrZBxyb0bZRsBVqW_WuJ6bsyhRBv50EwCy_YJB2dZdN3JLOPGEAHQOmB/s1600/kiss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiidG-u7g4Y7zw_Jl16O2NaaksTfeSVidHb6ed6S2TJGJpWA3DUYP08TeGH7w0EromLejLLHcXXBULXK6M6PV-ivrZBxyb0bZRsBVqW_WuJ6bsyhRBv50EwCy_YJB2dZdN3JLOPGEAHQOmB/s320/kiss.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image with Kendall Thomson</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 12.71875px;">In 1791 Fort Lee was under attack by the Shawnee, I shall never forget Colonel Clendenen announcing to the assembled men and women forted up within the safety of the fort's walls, that we were out of gun powder - the powder magazine was empty! </span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigpF5mkjpcHtzTeuzj8CUmb8Ui_zgWTMY9cegaftFDDqOsa4vyCS7KqfL3Dqm7mfheYE7nuKLZ3Urksx1He_fPK6J7smrbDnTXhc6TyoFxzmLCvr6ADTFHyDXNHvLs_hJIlsHIOaHJLzp7/s1600/313413_249326511766532_971397_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigpF5mkjpcHtzTeuzj8CUmb8Ui_zgWTMY9cegaftFDDqOsa4vyCS7KqfL3Dqm7mfheYE7nuKLZ3Urksx1He_fPK6J7smrbDnTXhc6TyoFxzmLCvr6ADTFHyDXNHvLs_hJIlsHIOaHJLzp7/s320/313413_249326511766532_971397_n.jpg" width="263" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Defiance" by Steve White</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 12.71875px;">I waited to hear one strong young man volunteer to travel the nearly 100 miles to Fort Savannah in Lewisburg, but none did! Finally, I stepped forward and offered to make the dangerous ride. many who were there recall me saying I trusted in the Almighty, could only be killed once and I had to die sometime! I made that ride, all two hundred miles, alone at nearly fifty years old!</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2EmG2Dy7x8V_1cCoM5K7Xpet1tHwEmaccsn6rI5Z25cNpzv_M4LYbqYVcQ0y8Jk6otyT4Vqghf6ge4ustuRv46Gqzrno2y4JXLKTpFgdpne_XVa-sK966VW2PUnvyTlxCYT8jtgJothvv/s1600/anne+horse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2EmG2Dy7x8V_1cCoM5K7Xpet1tHwEmaccsn6rI5Z25cNpzv_M4LYbqYVcQ0y8Jk6otyT4Vqghf6ge4ustuRv46Gqzrno2y4JXLKTpFgdpne_XVa-sK966VW2PUnvyTlxCYT8jtgJothvv/s1600/anne+horse.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 12.71875px;">I returned to the cheers and cries of Huzzah huzzah huzzah, we fought off those damn Indians and Fort Lee was saved! </span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2TwCVcLO4ClU3bfU-CB4wmFiivrsqW2jsEsHx_0QOB4VYP_R6tJJIRVvx9pUZ3X7UJwD4I1HGpxWsthv9O8dnkbp-N7rRmZPU1fAWC69SDoDJDLAtPTTnMY_gULJIF3LlY6IcRgnPFrav/s1600/fighting+savages.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2TwCVcLO4ClU3bfU-CB4wmFiivrsqW2jsEsHx_0QOB4VYP_R6tJJIRVvx9pUZ3X7UJwD4I1HGpxWsthv9O8dnkbp-N7rRmZPU1fAWC69SDoDJDLAtPTTnMY_gULJIF3LlY6IcRgnPFrav/s320/fighting+savages.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image by Harold Jerrell</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 12.71875px;">Later, they changed the name of Fort Lee to Charlestown and the great territory of Virginia was divided to include West Virginia and of course you know Charleston became the capital. My life was never easy, my dearest John Bailey was murdered, taken away from me too soon. I was still delivering messages and letters when the Treaty of Greenville was signed and we were told the Indian Wars were over. hmph! over? How is a war ever over when everything you've had and everything you've loved has been lost in that war? </span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-NBBdifZDw1BvxkC5ApfgS0vFhS7BF8aSK2XMUjsSP3RPstFbwOOwyTNgKUjaFH43MAyC0B_1T8JTuFkmV6gGwsqGlDgUYj4_yXJCVNFK6tnDubmYJwFonpAgVabLHY4LSHZM2qDxE4-j/s1600/Madd+Anne+H2r.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-NBBdifZDw1BvxkC5ApfgS0vFhS7BF8aSK2XMUjsSP3RPstFbwOOwyTNgKUjaFH43MAyC0B_1T8JTuFkmV6gGwsqGlDgUYj4_yXJCVNFK6tnDubmYJwFonpAgVabLHY4LSHZM2qDxE4-j/s320/Madd+Anne+H2r.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image by Harold Jerrell</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 12.71875px;">In any case ,one must make their way, and so I did. You may have even heard tell of my delivering a gaggle of domesticated geese to the Kanawah Valley? Indeed, times were tough, I told my tale of sorrow at many a home trading stories for a dram of whiskey, i do love my whiskey! I've even been known to indulge is a bout or tow of pugilism. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 12.71875px;">In my late 70s I made a home of sorts in a cave near 13 mile creek and there I stayed, making the local folk come to me if they wanted a tale of sorrow for the trade of a bit of bread or a wee dram. It was while living there in that wretched cave in 1818 my William came back to me. You see he had never forgotten his mother. He begged me to come to the Ohio Valley to join him and his family. ahhh, a family. I had grandchildren!! dear little ones to spend my last years with.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image by Luann Houser</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzeFyCE0V67dWhche2KruTSZK3lcX_yqLrR8gvIjjcCmStpGc9qgMY2kbSlxPMgCQ7QLGKmuCXfWJp4vssv5MR59vwlov2ngtH_exmMm-OHTNkkM1-j8YabO2lDrs1srQVd9WK_KNVjLCa/s1600/KR+pretty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzeFyCE0V67dWhche2KruTSZK3lcX_yqLrR8gvIjjcCmStpGc9qgMY2kbSlxPMgCQ7QLGKmuCXfWJp4vssv5MR59vwlov2ngtH_exmMm-OHTNkkM1-j8YabO2lDrs1srQVd9WK_KNVjLCa/s320/KR+pretty.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image by Harold Jerrell</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 12.71875px;">I left the beautiful Kanawha River Valley for Gallipolis in the Ohio Valley. William and I built a tiny little cabin for me to live in. I lived for a few very happy years within the loving comfort of my family. On November 22, 1825 I climbed into my bed with two of my beautiful granddaughters and finally went to rest in peace.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ7WF41UzESHwgpT34iM2MNxY_I9WTsgS_kV59sBGqmim-PX-Z4hzGKxWMgNNpGI4ygS7N8_FbJ5BnV4CZ9QeE9Rr_mgPNz5BpDLXI2EWU6_LSCPJVVZF70E1DZy7UZ832SkedLi-P-upw/s1600/shoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ7WF41UzESHwgpT34iM2MNxY_I9WTsgS_kV59sBGqmim-PX-Z4hzGKxWMgNNpGI4ygS7N8_FbJ5BnV4CZ9QeE9Rr_mgPNz5BpDLXI2EWU6_LSCPJVVZF70E1DZy7UZ832SkedLi-P-upw/s320/shoes.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: #edeff4; color: #333333; font-size: 10.909090995788574px; line-height: 12.727272033691406px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>Mad Anne Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03219820685315057516noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8439424128458628389.post-24906796577309696692013-01-14T22:32:00.000-06:002013-01-14T22:32:27.922-06:00The Hunch and Scrunch Scout<br />
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The summer heat was more than oppressive;
it was horrific, it was horrible, it was heinous! My shift clung wetly to my back and the sun hadn't even come up. I pulled my stockings up, fastened my garters and slipped
my feet into my shoes, trying hard to keep my toes from poking through the
holes in the bottom. My stocking heels had long since worn through, but fortunately my shoes
were quite comfortable and wouldn't rub, even on the long journey before me.
The aroma of fresh coffee wafted up into the cabin’s loft, causing me to hurry
a bit more while lacing my stays. Once tied off at the top, I dropped my
lightest weight petticoats over my head, slipped my arms into a shortgown, tied
my apron ‘round my waist and finally tied my hair up into a scrap of cloth. Another
long bead of sweat ran down my back, just one of many more to come I was sure. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Coming
down from the Morgan’s loft brought an immediate, but short lived relief from
the heat. As hot as it was, I didn't deny the cup of coffee Mr. Morgan set
before me. Mr. Morgan, proprietor of
Moon Valley Traders and I were joining a small group of men to explore the
viability of traveling the last 20 miles of the Blue River and gaining access
to the Ohio. We believed the area to be relatively safe for travel via canoe,
but wanted to determine if it would be passable for families traveling by
flatboat.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP4clWxvWyYibjV_z0msKM-bu-2o5yiFgHUU6OxrGkKZWxCZZNQZSeJFO23RaeIBGyueiATAif-HWbfjCTn4RtM2OP7b2Hy9sitKNHbsaOsHCc8QeK0YrWzse88EeHXB54QBY9V-nmdBqk/s1600/2012-06-16+10.44.28.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP4clWxvWyYibjV_z0msKM-bu-2o5yiFgHUU6OxrGkKZWxCZZNQZSeJFO23RaeIBGyueiATAif-HWbfjCTn4RtM2OP7b2Hy9sitKNHbsaOsHCc8QeK0YrWzse88EeHXB54QBY9V-nmdBqk/s320/2012-06-16+10.44.28.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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My sleep
sluggish mind was wandering when a certain mug caught my eye. It appeared to be
made by my dear friend Mr. Jay Henderson, the potter. Still more than half
asleep, I reached without thinking, picked up the mug, and turned it upside
down to see the maker’s mark. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK2Jm04HSehiGdBr7DPKqIg5a0kEwgr5ZKt_VOIu21LQB5Rne3_thP2txXsKOexUVaxOLVac5HEyZDZUJEKyysO_28wHj4t0bb7ooIMOw8y0JBh5djIxxGMpG9ICvevC9ZyxwnYF10C7kH/s1600/IMG_0937%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK2Jm04HSehiGdBr7DPKqIg5a0kEwgr5ZKt_VOIu21LQB5Rne3_thP2txXsKOexUVaxOLVac5HEyZDZUJEKyysO_28wHj4t0bb7ooIMOw8y0JBh5djIxxGMpG9ICvevC9ZyxwnYF10C7kH/s320/IMG_0937%5B1%5D.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://artifacts.brigandsfolie.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">J. Henderson Artifacts</span></a></td></tr>
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Of course, not having had my own cup of coffee
yet, my brain had not quite woken up and it certainly didn’t recognize the fact
that the mug under scrutiny was, in fact, FULL of Mistress Morgan’s coffee!
Nonetheless, recognized or not, the coffee was, in fact there, or at least it
was; until I turned the mug upside down and I poured the hot coffee on my feet,
skirts and the floor! Suddenly, I was wide awake and screeching as hot coffee
filled my right shoe. Fortune was with me and the coffee quickly ran out the
hole in the bottom of my shoe barely scalding my toes along the way. Mortified, my eyes immediately searched the
faces of Mr. and Mrs. Morgan to see how my folly had affected them. Thankfully,
they were nearly falling upon the floor laughing. I just shook my head, swiped
a towel from the table and set about cleaning my mess whilst they continued to
laugh.<o:p></o:p></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnxQwJbAXsdMn0h4fbN2zzhYQLVisDmXVc_Ki2XEpSSuw12JK_7E6YGA3iKJNISo9yBlDGU1lOVHqCrIFDzKhMrrqEsplX51jWM07TqmUVL4AE1dfCI08O4EgkkCn8FJKQd8hWo6uEnA-h/s1600/moon+valley+(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnxQwJbAXsdMn0h4fbN2zzhYQLVisDmXVc_Ki2XEpSSuw12JK_7E6YGA3iKJNISo9yBlDGU1lOVHqCrIFDzKhMrrqEsplX51jWM07TqmUVL4AE1dfCI08O4EgkkCn8FJKQd8hWo6uEnA-h/s320/moon+valley+(2).jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Morgan's ~ Proprietors of Moon Valley Trade Company </td></tr>
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Once
fully fortified with coffee, Mr. Morgan and I set off into the darkness to
begin our journey. Time passed quickly as we traveled in comfortable conversation.
Just as the sun began to peek over the horizon Mr. Morgan rudely broke right into the middle of the <a href="http://madannebailey.blogspot.com/2010/12/3-december-darkness-fell-upon-us-while.html" target="_blank">Great Moccasin Mishap</a> story exclaiming, “Where are we and how did we end up here?”</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Apparently, so engrossed were we in
the story of when I had burned an Indian's moccasin, we’d completely missed a turning and had gone several miles
past our destination. Knowing our friends Josh and Pit would be impatiently
waiting for our arrival hurried us along as we renegotiated our route. Finally,
only a few minutes passed the determined time, we arrived at our destination to
find Josh, Pit, and Pit’s dear wife Connie. Guns, foodstuffs, and supplies were
quickly stowed, and soon we were off shore, paddling along the shallows of the
Blue River, waving goodbye to Connie. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt8ha_1v-l5VMURKOVdiyeUCB6E0ynK4KL1pWNRBDJyaV0Xv1qKH0tF242rGM2140m72nmTzuBHP4o0kqzd9v76rLF7LxmrXaibyN16Webe9_ZKP7gS1RUnGOFFGTo68MC5Goac6RLj3lC/s1600/2012-06-16+07.51.54.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt8ha_1v-l5VMURKOVdiyeUCB6E0ynK4KL1pWNRBDJyaV0Xv1qKH0tF242rGM2140m72nmTzuBHP4o0kqzd9v76rLF7LxmrXaibyN16Webe9_ZKP7gS1RUnGOFFGTo68MC5Goac6RLj3lC/s320/2012-06-16+07.51.54.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEszkbS_JXZXaos958Is1RggkdK7U6Y8wnoeA7Gjq_A0EWR2SIiVtcSC6anpxAtXu8etQjL1qvLQnt1ojMQdFzwPrHr3V8ojcyoVlfYWgKWhocqHbc1xBijvS8Xrqg19u8xPqY6sI69Io-/s1600/2012-06-16+08.36.56.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEszkbS_JXZXaos958Is1RggkdK7U6Y8wnoeA7Gjq_A0EWR2SIiVtcSC6anpxAtXu8etQjL1qvLQnt1ojMQdFzwPrHr3V8ojcyoVlfYWgKWhocqHbc1xBijvS8Xrqg19u8xPqY6sI69Io-/s320/2012-06-16+08.36.56.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The rising sun sparkled off the
water, fish jumped, and squirrels chided us for disturbing their morning
routine. Together, our tiny flotilla of four people in 3 boats slid through the
water in relative silence, each of us enjoying the place and time in our own
way. The heat of the day pressed upon us
as we paddled our way along the river’s edge and as predicted my stays were
soaked through well before nine in the morning. Of course, the first time I remarked upon the
heat Mr. Morgan was kind enough to cool me down instantly with a paddle splash
of water! Pit and Josh instantly removed themselves from our immediate area as
a splash war ensued. The winner of this war would be impossible to determine as
we both ended up with mass casualties and quite a bit of water in our boat. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZbhIbxFYYHritLVt-SHkCUj_zPZmxTajkk-Z-oxCeV3-xjoVkREJlzq4wnmFDE5_uiTJ2NbHOXBoRj0fKTLBcvgzdk9ViTma8YjdK7PD72d7ZWAwirSvKx4RhzcJdvzruYo9DHAqF2suZ/s1600/2012-06-16+12.19.34.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZbhIbxFYYHritLVt-SHkCUj_zPZmxTajkk-Z-oxCeV3-xjoVkREJlzq4wnmFDE5_uiTJ2NbHOXBoRj0fKTLBcvgzdk9ViTma8YjdK7PD72d7ZWAwirSvKx4RhzcJdvzruYo9DHAqF2suZ/s320/2012-06-16+12.19.34.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpzs0SolkkQa-90mvJdZ_mR2HhmIvCgTOsjCSgkujFCMV-kqQtXZDLOeRVEEluB8g7_vBzrwqEaDf-O7sK1gw0ot90oEZpxYx-EgSDyaxWFq9WBnmeHB9QdkSGJzOW12hBTn7rURaRjUcj/s1600/2012-06-16+09.00.40.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpzs0SolkkQa-90mvJdZ_mR2HhmIvCgTOsjCSgkujFCMV-kqQtXZDLOeRVEEluB8g7_vBzrwqEaDf-O7sK1gw0ot90oEZpxYx-EgSDyaxWFq9WBnmeHB9QdkSGJzOW12hBTn7rURaRjUcj/s320/2012-06-16+09.00.40.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The real surprise for me came when
the water sloshed around the bottom of the boat and the skin of a large snake
appeared right between my feet. Not knowing if this skin was still attached to
its owner I began to debate my options. Knife?
Rifle? Jump out of the boat? Fortunately, my agitation caused more
sloshing and the remaining skin slipped into full view, thankfully, unattached
to anything. Now, you may wonder if I
screamed like a girl during this little episode. Because I am the writer of
this story I will say emphatically and unequivocally, “No! I did NOT scream
like a girl, and you’ve no need to seek verification thereof, and please
disregard anyone’s lies to the contrary.” Rather, I scooped up the remains of
the offending creature, rinsed it in river water and made a hatband of it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The day progressed; we paddled,
checked maps, kept watch for sign of hostiles, and occasionally were forced to
“hump and scrunch” as Mr. Morgan so eloquently called it, and I've changed to the more family appropriate "hunch and crunch" method. Perhaps you’ve an idea
of this? If ever the bottom of your canoe, bateau or pirogue has drug along the
bottom of a creek or river becoming momentarily stuck upon the shoals, you may
have found yourself coiling your entire body into a hunched position only to uncoil
rapidly, attempting to scrunch the boat forward bit by bit, using your paddle
as a lever. This trick was quite
effective for us, provided there was just enough water to carry us off an
offending rock or shoal. However, just about as nearly as oft, as not we were forced to abandon our seats, step out
into the water and drag our canoe along. Considering the heat of the day, these short
periods of walking the canoe along were not minded in the least. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRuktbfdNlrrxcwoAormJOKzvh8lP4H4PdjYLyvTw4XAy7l6QQrGIL4T0jUqI2QVmFIxGSx6Zp_kkGbJiOjoMo7rPVePbJo6A3KSD4_v4Ad4HAcS5bL7BAHJHs116Gak6ZqPGkQHjVObse/s1600/2012-06-16+10.02.41.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRuktbfdNlrrxcwoAormJOKzvh8lP4H4PdjYLyvTw4XAy7l6QQrGIL4T0jUqI2QVmFIxGSx6Zp_kkGbJiOjoMo7rPVePbJo6A3KSD4_v4Ad4HAcS5bL7BAHJHs116Gak6ZqPGkQHjVObse/s320/2012-06-16+10.02.41.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-0GLShVgdiVeOrT-vRXoqB7de2KYyV86lTLnoAHjU_gEkhwLaCe9HmO56gTBhRX7lYFS2LOo7Eeww3OQ0UdKMgn4wwOffsngYxSAh4O-GdxeiyDoHa_W-5unGrMta6aYZ9MrBhtR4FmFH/s1600/2012-06-16+10.04.36.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-0GLShVgdiVeOrT-vRXoqB7de2KYyV86lTLnoAHjU_gEkhwLaCe9HmO56gTBhRX7lYFS2LOo7Eeww3OQ0UdKMgn4wwOffsngYxSAh4O-GdxeiyDoHa_W-5unGrMta6aYZ9MrBhtR4FmFH/s320/2012-06-16+10.04.36.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The humping, scrunching, and
dragging went on for a few more hours without incident, until around half past two
when Pit’s canoe found its way into a snag he was unable to extricate himself
from. Mr. Morgan and I were surprised
when from behind us suddenly, a splash was heard, a curse flew to the wind, and
as we watched, Pit and all of his accouterments were unceremoniously dumped
into the river. Of course we immediately
stopped, as did Josh. Josh handed me a line to hold his canoe and I was left to
hold both boats while Dennis and Josh rendered aid to our dear friend. <o:p></o:p></div>
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As the menfolk pulled Pit and his
wool blankets, his pack and other gear dripping and soaked from the river, I
took in the beauty of our surroundings.
This beauty was instantly and irrevocably marred by my observation of a
huge water moccasin! The snake, whose girth resembled the size of my wrist, lay
coiled just below the surface of the water less than five feet from my ankles,
its triangular shaped head just above the waterline tongue tasting the
wind. Now, once again, you may ask, “Did
you scream like a girl?” and this time I will honestly answer, “No! I was
literally too frightened to scream.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>TO BE CONTINUED....</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAKuM_ggDNCMOHXvkgPYLGSJu3NyDlMj2Zix3f9vQZ1S29pDksfNpp0uhVBCmOHZdmVXefl2SMz3iiQJndqIP4-F7zXW3z6icrn4vs1s3RKj2eSnDohNISRDdyff8WADin5UL75HbVkcwR/s1600/2012-06-16+11.11.16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAKuM_ggDNCMOHXvkgPYLGSJu3NyDlMj2Zix3f9vQZ1S29pDksfNpp0uhVBCmOHZdmVXefl2SMz3iiQJndqIP4-F7zXW3z6icrn4vs1s3RKj2eSnDohNISRDdyff8WADin5UL75HbVkcwR/s320/2012-06-16+11.11.16.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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To find the conclusion to The Hunch and Scrunch Scout look for an upcoming edition of </div>
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On The Trail Magazine. Click this link to subscribe to<span style="color: blue;"> <a href="http://www.onthetrail.com/subscribe.shtml" target="_blank">On The Trail</a></span></div>
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Mad Anne Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03219820685315057516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8439424128458628389.post-49284868660666859612012-06-08T22:55:00.000-05:002012-06-10T13:21:11.532-05:00Fear no Evil<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLS6I4rS__ZSN_Bb4b-aqEavLLeB-_TPCS1tedkZ0Ry54YV_4DvwWW78ZyDWtYFALZFbA-OBkHcuD1t3i9SEryWeAHOAE55NcIn3I1U4cIhSdK14wPQgW-tlhlmYPHoBVZasedPF_6XBGj/s1600/rainy+morning+martins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLS6I4rS__ZSN_Bb4b-aqEavLLeB-_TPCS1tedkZ0Ry54YV_4DvwWW78ZyDWtYFALZFbA-OBkHcuD1t3i9SEryWeAHOAE55NcIn3I1U4cIhSdK14wPQgW-tlhlmYPHoBVZasedPF_6XBGj/s320/rainy+morning+martins.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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“Yeh, though I walk through the valley of death I shall fear
no evil.” The voices in my head cried over and over without end. “I shall fear
no evil.” Again, “Yeh, though I walk through the valley of death.” And again…Yet,
I did fear evil, for how could I not, when its black fingers were curled around
my heart? “I shall fear no evil.” Lo, Powell’s glorious valley had once held
beauty, sweetness and light for me, yet I was terrified it would no longer.
Indeed, my deepest fear was Powell’s Valley and Mr. Martin’s station was now
bereft of all sweetness and light for me.</div>
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Days ago, the fear which pursued me during the first hours
of travel toward Powell’s Valley were slightly assuaged upon being joined by
Mr. Goodwin, just south of the Falls of the Ohio. Pitt made a fine traveling
companion, turning my attention toward lighter concerns. My other most dear, dear companion, Katie
Rose was sweetness her very self, asking a blue million questions about the
land to which we traveled and those whom we would meet. Her hopes were high we
would encounter a few friendly faces, whilst mine were merely that we not
encounter those with ill intent. As the hours passed, I admit my spirits rose
and I began to question if I’d overly concerned myself with ridiculous
concerns.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghmiWJjcDvAJRUY85oSU6Xzs609sgQRSPlh54L1sZo3jdC9fSzLEqRoDHn_wbNY3Y0wIxqty4HNEcyLjtbx8JcIeOjR1T9rJZVoDXXc56PlFRGXxX41HwAFtY8SDGKxOduBnHTWvClMRXI/s1600/kate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghmiWJjcDvAJRUY85oSU6Xzs609sgQRSPlh54L1sZo3jdC9fSzLEqRoDHn_wbNY3Y0wIxqty4HNEcyLjtbx8JcIeOjR1T9rJZVoDXXc56PlFRGXxX41HwAFtY8SDGKxOduBnHTWvClMRXI/s320/kate.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image by Harold Jerrell</td></tr>
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Indeed, upon our arrival at the station, it had seemed my
fears were entirely ridiculous. Captain Willyard’s Company had possession of
the station whilst Captain Martin and his closest family attended to mourning
the recent loss of his beloved grandmother. Captain Willyard showed Katie Rose
and me to a small but comfortable cabin safe within the ramparts. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWIMYE7TDHXpDZjUsc5sA8tuf-a7HVAFUn-JNWrqF1nN8uAmwvGUrziKi2l0bgVSh24mzEZeV7A4QuFCc6ke9hyHwVzFifGmBoTqalSFz9_8PMckMc_BiKVxkw9m7295L5EZ0lhcbNols-/s1600/home+12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWIMYE7TDHXpDZjUsc5sA8tuf-a7HVAFUn-JNWrqF1nN8uAmwvGUrziKi2l0bgVSh24mzEZeV7A4QuFCc6ke9hyHwVzFifGmBoTqalSFz9_8PMckMc_BiKVxkw9m7295L5EZ0lhcbNols-/s320/home+12.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Mr. Goodwin
was kind enough to sleep just outside our door to further ensure our safety. The
hour being very late, Kate and I set our belongings aside, unrolled our
blankets, and crawled gratefully into the straw tick mattress as quickly as
possible, paying no attention to the mites, bits, ticks or lice within. “Yeh,
though I walk…”</div>
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All too soon the cock began to crow and the sun began to
lighten the eastern sky. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_BCDMPe_oWVFDtKOSeEXLuinWW_ZHNk3PceqYNEojfbCwC3KS4ImV-W-vuRe0ToqozhwDGnuD3zyu8vrRlinWiK6GCnJZ94PpIe8IFMgP7DcQP_AknH-x-dJEW04bTflMU349ErqSYkje/s1600/cock+at+martins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_BCDMPe_oWVFDtKOSeEXLuinWW_ZHNk3PceqYNEojfbCwC3KS4ImV-W-vuRe0ToqozhwDGnuD3zyu8vrRlinWiK6GCnJZ94PpIe8IFMgP7DcQP_AknH-x-dJEW04bTflMU349ErqSYkje/s320/cock+at+martins.jpg" width="320" /></a>
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<span style="text-align: center;">The morning began with a hearty laugh from me as Pitt
poked me repetitively in the head with a long stick through a small window in
our cabin. He was intent upon waking me to obtain his pack which he had safely
stowed in a corner of the cabin. Luckily I was already awake and highly amused
by his prodding. I swung my legs off the
bed, scooped my skirts from the peg upon the wall, quickly laced my stays and
opened the door to a cold and hungry Pitt. It seems he had left his stockings in his pack
and desperately wanted them! Laughing I swung the pack at him and pulled the
door of the tiny cabin shut to allow Katie to rest a few more hours.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDrO-lH7oKtO8VbgGWJo1yZHJJA_Gage_-_Avp2P5JsPQkTmRtCo6tkRN0GDhrlBY3IcXF9TOHzaRjVBzYWGeeowxJZkqhz5wmOiq3HmlAOGvhTK0ELuJiY9qqYJTlVpObCZMyCSfvXKto/s1600/home+at+Martins+12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDrO-lH7oKtO8VbgGWJo1yZHJJA_Gage_-_Avp2P5JsPQkTmRtCo6tkRN0GDhrlBY3IcXF9TOHzaRjVBzYWGeeowxJZkqhz5wmOiq3HmlAOGvhTK0ELuJiY9qqYJTlVpObCZMyCSfvXKto/s320/home+at+Martins+12.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Fortune or a helpful soldier had smiled upon us and there
were a few embers still aglow in the fort yard fire. Soon the women of the company
began to gather their resources and cook for all assembled. As coffee is more important
to my disposition than food, I made my own kettle of coffee and soon began to
feel a bit more civilized. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlaOZ9wi4dP3BeTJawoLnoKB2uDg51u5pksOxPctFLOBH63NeWazYPpdF7V-K9Et3BU1RKFXiCVxZEH_0Glvi_4TZRMdGh87jDssEJaMDxQ_M4Q2fkLVmzvlC_rqIv6FyxUIAgsepfDFHu/s1600/breakfast+close+up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlaOZ9wi4dP3BeTJawoLnoKB2uDg51u5pksOxPctFLOBH63NeWazYPpdF7V-K9Et3BU1RKFXiCVxZEH_0Glvi_4TZRMdGh87jDssEJaMDxQ_M4Q2fkLVmzvlC_rqIv6FyxUIAgsepfDFHu/s320/breakfast+close+up.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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My dearest girl slept on, oblivious to the cock’s
crow, the smell of rashers, or even my meddling within the small confines of
the cabin. Eventually however, her pretty green eyes greeted me and a slight
smile curled her lips, while curls of blond hair spilled unruly across the
blankets. My mind raised the mantra once again, “Through the valley of death…”
Upon rising, Kate had the chore of bringing in water. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_mjJIrsUcEUFin0lJoYOZYeJbXPh2gnoYMF-OAwgxACJpFQ0kPfu1a9KzqwNbLO59-gXjG1D8a6DelelFJsD8xxK-dagMQ5sZmo5zWwbe1P4R2pE1g4tYdsxx9WgWfS10T9D5rV9lpwr0/s1600/water+girls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_mjJIrsUcEUFin0lJoYOZYeJbXPh2gnoYMF-OAwgxACJpFQ0kPfu1a9KzqwNbLO59-gXjG1D8a6DelelFJsD8xxK-dagMQ5sZmo5zWwbe1P4R2pE1g4tYdsxx9WgWfS10T9D5rV9lpwr0/s320/water+girls.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5OdWDaq6XHuJ459YZwsGSMioRaWWEeSdGsbOL4uFBHbLq-3i3htUDb19IqpsNou9zO-UVduo_bt8y1FuItgkMSJiN-QJBiDUPLQ6pw3tyzjz0b7O5ib3Zu_YlzWKt8d4Ylk8Dfa8grsvD/s1600/katie+carying+water.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5OdWDaq6XHuJ459YZwsGSMioRaWWEeSdGsbOL4uFBHbLq-3i3htUDb19IqpsNou9zO-UVduo_bt8y1FuItgkMSJiN-QJBiDUPLQ6pw3tyzjz0b7O5ib3Zu_YlzWKt8d4Ylk8Dfa8grsvD/s320/katie+carying+water.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Once finished with her few chores she immediately set about searching for young ladies such as herself
and was soon out of my sight. “I shall fear no evil…” my stomach knotted at the
loss of her, even knowing she was safe and sound nearby.</div>
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I too found others such as myself, temporarily seeking the
station’s shelter. Mistress Phyllis Preston, who had very recently suffered the
loss of her dear husband Bradley, was found at the fire side. My most sincere
condolences were heartfelt for her and her son Christopher. Her demeanor in
receiving these paltry words can only be described as regal. Ah, one such as
she is to be greatly admired. The strength of her grief belied by her fine comportment. A
truer lady I've not seen in some time. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLdB69Ptxj9N-GyKK55Z9wtQ7ql9M8UE2ua8nYgtvzmadcvdtwybqn5kZZKHguUWkRs65UQ6X67gHsiZYqg_Q0N4qojtRV6UrSOCUat0_EbUJNykpFPFljKW159fOQxs0_Qp52nFWEdS3c/s1600/Phyllis+Preston.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLdB69Ptxj9N-GyKK55Z9wtQ7ql9M8UE2ua8nYgtvzmadcvdtwybqn5kZZKHguUWkRs65UQ6X67gHsiZYqg_Q0N4qojtRV6UrSOCUat0_EbUJNykpFPFljKW159fOQxs0_Qp52nFWEdS3c/s320/Phyllis+Preston.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0xjTgAOcrJDqKCG4v3zycei3ZLWgSVJ4Y5GSWPsPQ5OmiSYxCmXN5VLOcCRYe5VsxoDBiTMiFWzXlbRjrs2aovi_7JqMieVaR5Q7TYpk6EZaoH1s4VujufSyJIB85NCIWk-nhEFUuVxC7/s1600/breakfast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0xjTgAOcrJDqKCG4v3zycei3ZLWgSVJ4Y5GSWPsPQ5OmiSYxCmXN5VLOcCRYe5VsxoDBiTMiFWzXlbRjrs2aovi_7JqMieVaR5Q7TYpk6EZaoH1s4VujufSyJIB85NCIWk-nhEFUuVxC7/s320/breakfast.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Other women gathered in the fort yard,
Mistress Willyard, Mistress Seacrest, were known to me, but there were others
as well. We shared a greeting and soon I wandered out to the dogtrot to see my
friends Randy Wolfe, Tony Baker and Tom Conde. All seemed to have
weathered the winter well. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc2B4Bj45P7JIGPewM6ON4EXImlrYIrWdtZlr2dgu8Jb6zq11Qmx3ACRTfusKaTrYqcJ5fIpaSt9MFAb1JmpeDEit9_g2M5ziD0SablBawe2-zvTCewgGv4OuGefjTImpvpWSTL8D_rjyF/s1600/conde+and+Belue.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc2B4Bj45P7JIGPewM6ON4EXImlrYIrWdtZlr2dgu8Jb6zq11Qmx3ACRTfusKaTrYqcJ5fIpaSt9MFAb1JmpeDEit9_g2M5ziD0SablBawe2-zvTCewgGv4OuGefjTImpvpWSTL8D_rjyF/s320/conde+and+Belue.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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As is his usual manner Mr. Conde was intent upon his
weaving, yet he took time away to greet me warmly and convey kind words. So,
too Misters Fourman and Wolfe; Randy inquiring after Katie Rose’s curdog who had been a pup in the
Wolfe pack. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbBLgiVDSfjd1U5A2oriSeboYUTngyUUXfqx0WW0mRzXyUuv6AJgtWGFfuHV2SmCuS2wdI9Lq2v53a0o0ntdJGzgfaPlno6P0-oOZAhMj8XFh3QNaNQjpXnAJbjtDdI6Ataep-1CRdmULb/s1600/randy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbBLgiVDSfjd1U5A2oriSeboYUTngyUUXfqx0WW0mRzXyUuv6AJgtWGFfuHV2SmCuS2wdI9Lq2v53a0o0ntdJGzgfaPlno6P0-oOZAhMj8XFh3QNaNQjpXnAJbjtDdI6Ataep-1CRdmULb/s320/randy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Mistress and Mr. Selter arrived at the station and I was heartily
glad to have their company which is of such comfort to me. Mr. Boone himself was traveling through the
area and made a fine companion as well.<o:p></o:p></div>
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We friends passed the time telling stories in the fortyard
until a bevy of girls burst like quail upon us with skirts flying and incessant
chatter. Kate had found a covey of Doctor Robert’s girls; Lucy, Molly, Rosie
and Sophie, as well as a few others, some of which were previously unknown to Katie
Rose but with whom she had already become fast friends and had been adventuring
with. A quick peck upon my cheek and once more they flew down the hill. <o:p></o:p></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFcEzzm2kEaao-5c4yvUvBQN3kfnhTaYnjgfNPw8-WAoGa57chx0iu-QEb8XPlNwmDC_-VmC5hOXbeOZDGzzpm9aas3unNkJgoYsC5AmVWzHU0O3-3svUs9Dxs4UoZm0OZBbmPs_SLVSLb/s1600/happy+times+at+martins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="164" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFcEzzm2kEaao-5c4yvUvBQN3kfnhTaYnjgfNPw8-WAoGa57chx0iu-QEb8XPlNwmDC_-VmC5hOXbeOZDGzzpm9aas3unNkJgoYsC5AmVWzHU0O3-3svUs9Dxs4UoZm0OZBbmPs_SLVSLb/s320/happy+times+at+martins.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image by Mark Selter</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0scB9UX6GjjnGD9L9xp1f6U9fBzWZyjxFZAM1JzUHj3JJS0uUXCzPBp8Iy9gT-Fx3_BU6SLFiBmSgboLIFu2smWAZyiSG0n4npIXSKiBe8-W7RYpOft_lYCKzMbk8Ep-83Y0claRKpw6y/s1600/happy+girls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="182" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0scB9UX6GjjnGD9L9xp1f6U9fBzWZyjxFZAM1JzUHj3JJS0uUXCzPBp8Iy9gT-Fx3_BU6SLFiBmSgboLIFu2smWAZyiSG0n4npIXSKiBe8-W7RYpOft_lYCKzMbk8Ep-83Y0claRKpw6y/s320/happy+girls.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image from Chetworth del Gatto (Floyd Foster)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Time seemed almost idyllic in its sweetness. Memories of
other sojourns in this place flooded my mind and constant reminders of times
gone by were brought upon the lips of others. Still, my heart remained true in
my resolve and I politely nodded, said little, and remembered fondly. Day safely
slipped easily into night, friends were reunited, songs sung, stories told. The
night became full with the song of laughter, soft firelight flickered within
the walls of the station, and all seemed right in the world. My sleep with my
dear girl snuggled up beside me, was unblemished by nightmares, memories,
tears, or fears. Heavily, I rested until
the early, early morning cock’s crow.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijukoae-AWJb2A7LybTswyKKcBmn_8TzGhKpOf5eTKtLpYmiYpVOZRnnnN-UNrehXhercD55BduAXdY1eaxPll8BSJHJJp5lhInxE7r5hMakzHquUMgWLafvnHPBjw9pes4nOwjCMnL1yR/s1600/261610_227890577243459_8097939_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijukoae-AWJb2A7LybTswyKKcBmn_8TzGhKpOf5eTKtLpYmiYpVOZRnnnN-UNrehXhercD55BduAXdY1eaxPll8BSJHJJp5lhInxE7r5hMakzHquUMgWLafvnHPBjw9pes4nOwjCMnL1yR/s320/261610_227890577243459_8097939_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Morning came slowly upon the camp and I sought the refuge of
coffee amongst friends. Captain Martin had returned to the station and I conveyed
my most sincere condolences upon him and his dear wife learning of the loss of
the captain’s beloved grandmother. Later, I strolled with my basket to see if
perhaps there was a bauble or some such thing to be purchased from one of the
many suttlers, but returned to the station with no such prizes. Though much the
better for having spent time among friends. Once more, my sweet girl was slow
to rise and quick to leave my sight, off on her own adventures. <o:p></o:p></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5SEcUHQPPx7vUpokkbrk9h9QQdEg5d7ow5OoJoEJPXZEVxGQM4-ZxHNZ4cNp-T7TuXcOgJfI20WUYWi3QrR9k5N_DdTrFqtQRm2YWHj8kPVv9YLWcSLITqQKj4aWmnB4XByqVpRkHFIw0/s1600/shopping+at+martins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5SEcUHQPPx7vUpokkbrk9h9QQdEg5d7ow5OoJoEJPXZEVxGQM4-ZxHNZ4cNp-T7TuXcOgJfI20WUYWi3QrR9k5N_DdTrFqtQRm2YWHj8kPVv9YLWcSLITqQKj4aWmnB4XByqVpRkHFIw0/s320/shopping+at+martins.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image from Tim Massey</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Reports of savages arrived on the lips of our scouts and
spies and once more the refrain began within my head “I shall fear no evil.” One
may choose not to believe in evil, but the denial there of is no better
protection than burying one’s head in the sand. For indeed, there was evil in
Powell’s Valley and its face was painted black of night and red of blood.<o:p></o:p></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyI7tMAt7BiVw8qG9m_AXG8sdpoDQIs6Q1ChpkoeAMkVVh99G9qEETxrN9_0rMmm64T-GOiWEnHj2pCYnLv7FTFR-QP83EWEGVVPr4Iy0gnMyCB1M7MySnrIDtsl7Tb7eBEkg-6X1w9OUq/s1600/ndn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyI7tMAt7BiVw8qG9m_AXG8sdpoDQIs6Q1ChpkoeAMkVVh99G9qEETxrN9_0rMmm64T-GOiWEnHj2pCYnLv7FTFR-QP83EWEGVVPr4Iy0gnMyCB1M7MySnrIDtsl7Tb7eBEkg-6X1w9OUq/s320/ndn.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image from previous year</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSXveDDqMTGWOH4p8xi1HtSP8q6sC13mzvC8z2Rbmgxgv3n7EZ3WVAbl_vGNFGTqq4Nnlk6-VTWstuOrPLHtOJ1Xd_93N9kV3mhMhSGpUfXBpg_WZgutKrjnmDZvDRO0QQnEK68H6RNR79/s1600/savages+ron+melton+Jr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSXveDDqMTGWOH4p8xi1HtSP8q6sC13mzvC8z2Rbmgxgv3n7EZ3WVAbl_vGNFGTqq4Nnlk6-VTWstuOrPLHtOJ1Xd_93N9kV3mhMhSGpUfXBpg_WZgutKrjnmDZvDRO0QQnEK68H6RNR79/s320/savages+ron+melton+Jr.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image by Mark Selter</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
The first whoop of a war cry sent women and children running
for all they were worth to the protection of the stockaded station. My recent
losses were so keenly felt I did not join the women’s flight but rather,
snatched up my firelock “Lucky” and set off toward my revenge. The emptiness of
my heart made my choice an easy one for there was nothing, save my sweet girl
whom I’d already seen safely within the walls, the savages could take from me.
Howling my anger, my shots rang true and brought down a dog or two who’d
intended to nip the heels of our men. Safely tucked beside a cabin, my back to
the wall, I loaded round after hot round, pouring lead upon the heathens. <o:p></o:p></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKTgW-3WVLU7PnVf3WAwNxbWhNo6VpBR3TL64Ep0zBegxr2Rfz6O41031jG1RunGb77lIFzBz7tBfLRtBmJswIZCKMYy9sHLvcTWun5CXG_D4PhObb4PqIGtoZtRWpVT-3UVjwIL5NIl1F/s1600/battle+undeway.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKTgW-3WVLU7PnVf3WAwNxbWhNo6VpBR3TL64Ep0zBegxr2Rfz6O41031jG1RunGb77lIFzBz7tBfLRtBmJswIZCKMYy9sHLvcTWun5CXG_D4PhObb4PqIGtoZtRWpVT-3UVjwIL5NIl1F/s320/battle+undeway.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image from Chetworth del Gatto (Floyd Foster)
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Whilst I had thought all the children had made it safely
within the confines of the station walls, I was sick at heart to see one of the
good Doctor’s own children snatched and carried in the arms of a giant savage. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZA31GXRwCeZxtYOp-I-mYVikYTGuVqEYErkci-9WtXVUFnRTy92U_qs0-_C7i5f2fmnchxZNrodRM6kCwbB5Kg4zzQqijI9k9KOdrWd0tDEbo5cySP6_mCcCweD61ibO06uMfji_rbwr5/s1600/lost+child.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZA31GXRwCeZxtYOp-I-mYVikYTGuVqEYErkci-9WtXVUFnRTy92U_qs0-_C7i5f2fmnchxZNrodRM6kCwbB5Kg4zzQqijI9k9KOdrWd0tDEbo5cySP6_mCcCweD61ibO06uMfji_rbwr5/s320/lost+child.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image from Chetworth del Gatto (Floyd Foster)
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So quickly did this bit of trickery take place
I was caught in a rare moment unloaded and helpless to save the poor child. My
screams of utter frustration mimicked those of the savages and for one split
second a thought burst through my skull; perhaps it was this kind of loss which
caused those red dogs to howl so heinously. Quickly this treasonous thought was
squelched as images of the savages burning, killing, maiming, and squealing
like wild pigs burned through my mind.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvG1ygY_BhuO3kZ3vbK69lugP4o-2cgdzqFcIyOar_Ao5jpgmgi9IF7eGAb3q9f8wvjMkM5YtZaWbnKxINuRYLCtx08wtNz15fsvtfr6xNdyJIPyR8zoqoeHvG3QaxrhZMaEVaaN0KBjwv/s1600/damn+indians.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvG1ygY_BhuO3kZ3vbK69lugP4o-2cgdzqFcIyOar_Ao5jpgmgi9IF7eGAb3q9f8wvjMkM5YtZaWbnKxINuRYLCtx08wtNz15fsvtfr6xNdyJIPyR8zoqoeHvG3QaxrhZMaEVaaN0KBjwv/s320/damn+indians.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">iImage from Chetworth del Gatto (Floyd Foster)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEaKJvmV-cCUy5i7-gid-0jNZq5Td4a2NtsHqy92M8pDTwoRUXR_xNgpKG3mG_XXOn6SPf5aet9r0H9LETNIYbfqinCqdGEHK32H8xng46prUODotik0A5-medZe2eq1TG_n0sbmeGkx8q/s1600/girls+captured.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-size: medium; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEaKJvmV-cCUy5i7-gid-0jNZq5Td4a2NtsHqy92M8pDTwoRUXR_xNgpKG3mG_XXOn6SPf5aet9r0H9LETNIYbfqinCqdGEHK32H8xng46prUODotik0A5-medZe2eq1TG_n0sbmeGkx8q/s320/girls+captured.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image from Chetworth del Gatto (Floyd Foster)
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Just as my anger spilled over into madness, one of the damned dogs leaped toward me, dropping everything I came at him tooth and claw. Unexpectedly, I caught the tail of this tiger! As quickly as my hands got purchase upon him,he turned, immediately intent on getting as far from this madness as possible!</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivQXddC-J1cA9uJnGukXCpnF_Rmgfe3c3akz0-OECx8KrjgWGRWQ0lcbfvd8lSYXhDnXoEzW5BoS4cQQhfBxn6f5VX3dNlDTfnVFaE_dTI7-W2ENG1vp41IF6LeBFeHboHySjhXfNNWQ2D/s1600/IMG_7118.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivQXddC-J1cA9uJnGukXCpnF_Rmgfe3c3akz0-OECx8KrjgWGRWQ0lcbfvd8lSYXhDnXoEzW5BoS4cQQhfBxn6f5VX3dNlDTfnVFaE_dTI7-W2ENG1vp41IF6LeBFeHboHySjhXfNNWQ2D/s320/IMG_7118.jpeg" width="201" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.buxtonart.com/">image by John Buxton</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Like thick fog rushing over the night
sky obliterating the silvery light of the moon, the savages one by one began to
disappear from this place, leaving naught but destruction behind.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I returned once more to the confine of the walls and as
there were many gathered to hear the sadness of my story, I was compelled to
tell it once more. I believe my tears moved more than one man to register with
Lieutenant Minnis and the other men of Captain Willyard’s Company to fight the
savages who had taken so much from me and others of this frontier. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdZh2_C54pHU7soRZj8mPCTEQCFkBDdevTOWozX6ImGV_0gVm7NAcX3v4GX9LFIP35T8Wkn65yfoEhafp9Ka51twBn4c6HNGQN3Mj9mY_jp255KxkI7ARqIFL-_7tZNIYymtFHfxYTeICm/s1600/sad+story.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdZh2_C54pHU7soRZj8mPCTEQCFkBDdevTOWozX6ImGV_0gVm7NAcX3v4GX9LFIP35T8Wkn65yfoEhafp9Ka51twBn4c6HNGQN3Mj9mY_jp255KxkI7ARqIFL-_7tZNIYymtFHfxYTeICm/s320/sad+story.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image from the book of faces</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Upon the conclusion of my story the greatest
possible shock and surprise was visited upon me when my dear dear friend and
artist Doc Muzzy stood before the assembled men and women and presented me with
a portrait of my happiest days shared with my beloved Katie Rose. To see her
sweet smile and her baby cheeks smiling up at me in the portrait brought tears
once more to my already reddened eyes, though these were the most cleansing of
tears, clearing my vision to see the absolute beauty before me. Words defy me
to describe how utterly and deeply pleased this painting made me. Kate snuggled
close in my arm and shyly admired the painting as well. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixgC0vqWBpX5Ih2waos_jSC7atItER1ibQFdfLTbwzroIzxgN0Q_ItdP9HWpVhNKWSd3yAjm4G4fxxyztqD2kNuWZAuK5KxD_rQIoyMmkTDir15oTBVRurBpGi_QlgZNDlQ4lxWqJcqyl3/s1600/the+painting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixgC0vqWBpX5Ih2waos_jSC7atItER1ibQFdfLTbwzroIzxgN0Q_ItdP9HWpVhNKWSd3yAjm4G4fxxyztqD2kNuWZAuK5KxD_rQIoyMmkTDir15oTBVRurBpGi_QlgZNDlQ4lxWqJcqyl3/s320/the+painting.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">from the book of faces</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Following this bit of beauty we all rejoiced as Captain
Martin announced the winner of a fine riflegun which had been built here within
the fort walls and even in far off Williamsburg. All were well pleased to know
the prize would be well loved by the lucky winner. Our revelry was shattered when once more the shriek of
children reached our ears. Those rabid wretched dogs had once more attacked.
All to arms was the cry and once more I grasped Lucky in my hand, glad to have
my powder and shot pouch already at my side. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1mT7qWFyKtUtfca3bQq6_5ugWEkErXG_0eTaGL5NfrPwJvqx98YKK9fNWbJ_3KMxSbq7C3ahceWs2lnAFwX7Nj-OcPWjPkpyRoKMlnCiekrrG__5u7nD3gwO0CijcwnryCvj8TvtfjbRY/s1600/ready+to+fight.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1mT7qWFyKtUtfca3bQq6_5ugWEkErXG_0eTaGL5NfrPwJvqx98YKK9fNWbJ_3KMxSbq7C3ahceWs2lnAFwX7Nj-OcPWjPkpyRoKMlnCiekrrG__5u7nD3gwO0CijcwnryCvj8TvtfjbRY/s320/ready+to+fight.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image by Harold Jerrell</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZGwIjb3-Hal_GN_7q66M1ax0hPq8ljZqBlPTQ0o4JmvJt4fuWqTRsj9dTg8wtX3ozJ8eFbFoZQZ8WHHEHBuVOt06q3ds2mKT_MzeGlclxVLD-Jc-O8ml8hURvfX4cwY0ggo6yxjNBlwik/s1600/fighting+savages.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZGwIjb3-Hal_GN_7q66M1ax0hPq8ljZqBlPTQ0o4JmvJt4fuWqTRsj9dTg8wtX3ozJ8eFbFoZQZ8WHHEHBuVOt06q3ds2mKT_MzeGlclxVLD-Jc-O8ml8hURvfX4cwY0ggo6yxjNBlwik/s320/fighting+savages.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image by Harold Jerrell</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the gloaming of the night those heathens had snuck close and set fire
to the outlying cabins, sparks and flames crackled in the night like hell's
gates themselves opening. Our men fought their best and steadily the sound of
firelocks filled the night.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikC9ZWYgSkIuxJBEBxEX7yM_Knlwn4mhJiiVUzJrhzNi5o8YYboEBINfA0AUu7B9b4KrHpNylAW9CSrpjHSOQFJO6ZEgMIL4AIH8ONuZX0_Ye3bCGQhQiUQ-jcvmlGiRYmbZasgOKweDyF/s1600/fighting+by+Rond+Melton+Jr..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikC9ZWYgSkIuxJBEBxEX7yM_Knlwn4mhJiiVUzJrhzNi5o8YYboEBINfA0AUu7B9b4KrHpNylAW9CSrpjHSOQFJO6ZEgMIL4AIH8ONuZX0_Ye3bCGQhQiUQ-jcvmlGiRYmbZasgOKweDyF/s320/fighting+by+Rond+Melton+Jr..jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">image by Mark Selter</td></tr>
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Closer and closer they came, the black of their skin reflecting
the flames. Their hideously painted eyes filled with rage, hatred and revenge.
So close was one these wretched animals I was able to discern his twisted
fingers curled round a war club. I fired, bringing down the man to his right
but quickly realized there would be no time to reload before this savage beast
was upon me. </div>
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“Yeh, though I walk through
the valley of death I SHALL FEAR NO EVIL!” </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijI5reQxsUJd7Lzsb-imURVT__U5474xQKrzetCVEtKGjhppKLyLR9PGFTN1S8sViphQqZl1q9NVdv1WwP-QD915Nod2VX0pawOQ0Uy1fQJfbJn5UZtWOlMb7ZeXHYzNQW8ZkizIQSYglr/s1600/mad+mad+anne.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijI5reQxsUJd7Lzsb-imURVT__U5474xQKrzetCVEtKGjhppKLyLR9PGFTN1S8sViphQqZl1q9NVdv1WwP-QD915Nod2VX0pawOQ0Uy1fQJfbJn5UZtWOlMb7ZeXHYzNQW8ZkizIQSYglr/s320/mad+mad+anne.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image by Harold Jerrell</td></tr>
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My scream of defiance took the man by surprise, yet it did not slow him
as the full weight of his body slammed into mine. Fire burned through my veins and strength I
did not know I had flushed within me and I brought the butt of my flintlock
toward his head. Lightly he flung it aside, another at his hand immediately
took my firelock from my grasping hands and all at once I was lifted from the
ground flung screaming, kicking and hitting with all my might over the black
shoulder of the running man. The bible verse I’d learned as child screamed from
me unbidden over and over as I fought for my life wielding the knife I always wear at my side.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Behind one of the small cabins I was unceremoniously dumped
to the ground and surrounded by savages. My heels dug into the hard dry earth
as they tried to find purchase to hoist my weight. One of the men spoke harshly and shoved me
back to the ground with one hand while he pointed with the other. With no
thought whatsoever, I rolled off my backside, onto my knees, dug my toes in and
launched myself toward the fort. My
swirling skirts hampered my first steps landing me hard back down on one bloody
knee. Barely feeling the pain and
knowing it was nothing compared to what I may feel if the savages caught me
once more, I ran as fast as my weary legs would carry me. Nearly blind in the
oncoming darkness, I tripped over the body of one of the men who had fought so
bravely against the savages.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpXhyphenhyphenIrGv7CszYU3Oy-OgreOdvdkQv8KPEbeENJlxUEo5tNrfkuN84QG2zMQYRimyt_xqHA1TNSgfh8NyXqoa_BDmdfnVW_VDZYDbSvt9c_Dwmqp7HblYKJc8WJiVeUDsTAbHcJimP6Uys/s1600/mark+selters+indians.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpXhyphenhyphenIrGv7CszYU3Oy-OgreOdvdkQv8KPEbeENJlxUEo5tNrfkuN84QG2zMQYRimyt_xqHA1TNSgfh8NyXqoa_BDmdfnVW_VDZYDbSvt9c_Dwmqp7HblYKJc8WJiVeUDsTAbHcJimP6Uys/s320/mark+selters+indians.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">image by Mark Selter</td></tr>
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Sprawling I barely registered the blood and gore, but did
immediately lay my hands upon the man’s cocked flintlock. Praying the words of that verse again, I came
to a knee, balanced my elbow upon the other, and took aim at my enemy. Quickly,
I realized they had not pursued me. Their attention had been taken in an
entirely different direction as the good men from the fort gained ground with
each volley. Seeing my opportunity, I sited down the unfamiliar barrel, took a
breath and slowly squeezed the trigger. I glimpsed a tiny spark but the damned
thing only produced a flash in the pan!<o:p></o:p></div>
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I immediately ducked
behind the widow’s cabin and dared glance around the corner. I could not
believe my eyes, lying on the dusty ground beside my shot bag and horn was my flintlock!
Is it any wonder I’ve named her Lucky! Once more my legs pumped with all their
might and though my heart was in my throat and absolute terror nearly blinded
me, I ran back toward the savages, intent upon regaining my belongings. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Indeed Luck was surely with me as I regained possession of
my dear sweet Lucky. I threw the bag and horn straps over my shoulder and immediately
loaded, sited and felt the satisfying recoil of a perfect shot. The dogs had
already begun to slink back into the woods; the majority of our shots merely
nipped their heels. The men of the Captain Willyard’s Company pressed on until
the savages were out of sight entirely, their wild whooping and war cries
filled the night as they disappeared into the darkness. <o:p></o:p></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqzGB9SnuS8SbehkjMcegXkj82SMB6CPQwHYfVUA1PpxX0T4XzYBRXjtDjHJ9mvmpMPvFlfWQeaPvLiajq3KeH02F55lypjVlHISwKFKW8LgNQauCwQ2OEaEagWZLrrSxMJiGmCu1yR0sr/s1600/fight+fire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqzGB9SnuS8SbehkjMcegXkj82SMB6CPQwHYfVUA1PpxX0T4XzYBRXjtDjHJ9mvmpMPvFlfWQeaPvLiajq3KeH02F55lypjVlHISwKFKW8LgNQauCwQ2OEaEagWZLrrSxMJiGmCu1yR0sr/s320/fight+fire.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">image by Mark Selter</td></tr>
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Once more we gathered the wounded and dead and drug them
into the safety of the walls. Tears, shouts and the occasional shot rang into
the night. My dearest Katie Rose was safe and sound, asleep nestled into our
blankets within the walls of our tiny cabin. I gave a prayer of thanks and
dropped a kiss upon her sweet cheek. Friends old and new gathered into the
fortyard around the fire. Revelry and singing burst forth as a sort of
catharsis I believe. Rum punch flowed as
we told tales, laughed and let loose of our fears for the night. As a lark
Mistress Frost and I put up a show of pugilism, which was greatly amusing, at least to us!<o:p></o:p></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimVgM8uiylsO59KoR9tAayas6xS4Xt-YJsrYX7qR9Sa1SOTdBxe8t8E5bK4hBMmWjSHnsND0q6XpbBAqCVn2YwiWSg_gGJYn_AtrHoRRmw5XTOkjI7TLwPnhPXMKpqynbbz30h1VeCYLdP/s1600/punch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimVgM8uiylsO59KoR9tAayas6xS4Xt-YJsrYX7qR9Sa1SOTdBxe8t8E5bK4hBMmWjSHnsND0q6XpbBAqCVn2YwiWSg_gGJYn_AtrHoRRmw5XTOkjI7TLwPnhPXMKpqynbbz30h1VeCYLdP/s320/punch.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jug by Jay Henderson, Punch Bowl and Mug by Lisa Jo Crews</td></tr>
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Late, late in the
night, a few trusted companions and I left the safe confines of the station and
made our way in the complete darkness until we arrived just outside the
firelight of the savage’s encampment. Entranced in their whoops and strange
language, they danced like devils round the fire. Our mission to count them and
determine if any captives remained alive was completed and we ran like the wind
back to the fort to make our sad report. Sad, for though the savage fires
burned bright there were no captives still living. Naught but a few buttons
glowing hot upon the earth the only proof our men had been tortured to death
but hours before. The screams I’d thought to be savage hours ago had more
likely than not been the last mortal sounds of my own friends and countrymen. Finally,
exhausted both physically and mentally, I crawled into the blankets with my
sweet girl. Once more together, our
breathing mingled, and soon I too was sleeping.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYvBj74Gjfb_v8q8YRXgVKz2EEv7W-pCIateuYLe4TJnNOi3YzJ-aDkpfGU6nS5d5f94Pt2Mo0MZQdQ-L5H4Y4AMYIirdV9YKLPxQYi7GwfPR5YWpkDUedHY5NFjfIYpiShF0D_8rPynjN/s1600/leaving+Martins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYvBj74Gjfb_v8q8YRXgVKz2EEv7W-pCIateuYLe4TJnNOi3YzJ-aDkpfGU6nS5d5f94Pt2Mo0MZQdQ-L5H4Y4AMYIirdV9YKLPxQYi7GwfPR5YWpkDUedHY5NFjfIYpiShF0D_8rPynjN/s320/leaving+Martins.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Upon rising Sunday morning I was greatly heartened to find Parson John would be holding divine services for all assembled. My mood matched the grey sky and it was hard to keep tears from falling like the rain which had begun late in the night. Further, when the Parson invited all to partake at the Lord's table I was nearly overcome with emotion as is oft the case for me at such times. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYHIgmEsliniy3m543H-NGhg4qlTuAMA4s2ilcSpNa9W2-5-2RGqsrN43zJKy_1tykU42lLWs6baWDVCi8Sv3aqOqBu264BfrGrz8yK-uacMYsgebQozdhIHLV-EaMwe91ivaX0HvdmCFx/s1600/Retha+N+Ken+Reece.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYHIgmEsliniy3m543H-NGhg4qlTuAMA4s2ilcSpNa9W2-5-2RGqsrN43zJKy_1tykU42lLWs6baWDVCi8Sv3aqOqBu264BfrGrz8yK-uacMYsgebQozdhIHLV-EaMwe91ivaX0HvdmCFx/s320/Retha+N+Ken+Reece.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">image by Retha n Ken Reece, Book of Faces</td></tr>
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T'is my own personal burden which prevents me from quenching my thirst or satiating my taste for the Lord's offerings, and t'was surely only the presence dear dear Maggie Delaney that kept me from breaking down entirely. Sturdily she stood beside me, an arm round my shoulders briefly. The words which passed between us at the close of the service warm my heart even now. I wonder if she knows what a rock of faith she is to so many others with her quiet strength and warm smile? She is so very very dear for such a humble washer woman. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOBLnbyTpXPowXJtqii52UMf4Py16a75dlNlQiYH7Qbmzk7KtoJfEJLEBuX7MXS_0DPM3D0yckIFk91T0YNDZ6Lx4RS01d7AdK6bqVsQWZVzzk7qW_bzU4sKkal_sH-sqiwU8nOnH2SwNF/s1600/maggie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOBLnbyTpXPowXJtqii52UMf4Py16a75dlNlQiYH7Qbmzk7KtoJfEJLEBuX7MXS_0DPM3D0yckIFk91T0YNDZ6Lx4RS01d7AdK6bqVsQWZVzzk7qW_bzU4sKkal_sH-sqiwU8nOnH2SwNF/s320/maggie.jpg" width="216" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image by Frank Jarboe</td></tr>
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Time at Mr. Martins’ Station was short, and all too soon
Katie Rose, Mr. Goodwin, and I were saying our goodbyes to friends. Mother Nature unleashed a storm upon us just as we left the confines
of the station making our travels even more difficult. Yet onward we traveled and hours later Kate and I bid a fond farewell
to Pitt.</div>
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Though there were moments in Powell's Valley I’d sooner leave behind and forget forever,
all in all it had not been nearly as bad as I had feared. The savages were
pushed back, friendships were renewed, and though many a dream had died in
Powell’s Valley many of us would live to see another day and dream other dreams. Indeed, I felt I had walked in the Valley of Death
and lived to tell the tale. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpdJTgVYULUVovdYdrY39CzJhMYKuIWcsXb6iXFpGf-zPlZlDzkjAUaI7J_FgtTD5JzOeRI6mxIlpoza4NKyCYGKAA88DZA3Zyxwik0pB_EZ5H37fkuu7FVtzZrTWHj3cTCHuKycBeRMnv/s1600/martins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpdJTgVYULUVovdYdrY39CzJhMYKuIWcsXb6iXFpGf-zPlZlDzkjAUaI7J_FgtTD5JzOeRI6mxIlpoza4NKyCYGKAA88DZA3Zyxwik0pB_EZ5H37fkuu7FVtzZrTWHj3cTCHuKycBeRMnv/s320/martins.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<h4>
<o:p>Special thanks to </o:p><span style="text-align: center;">Chetworth del Gatto (Floyd Foster), </span><a href="http://www.markselter.com/"><b>Mark Selter</b>,</a> Harold Jerrell, <b><a href="http://www.buxtonart.com/">John Buxton,</a></b> John Frank Jarboe, Tim Massey and Reetha N Ken Reece for the use of their images. </h4>
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</div>Mad Anne Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03219820685315057516noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8439424128458628389.post-5240866094697670892012-05-02T19:34:00.002-05:002012-05-02T19:34:28.423-05:00Spring Scout on Salt Creek<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVGiswlm-gNPYfxAiJ1TiXJRMqPc_3FWnh9MxMrv_Tuik4JFWeJMiI199LFGh51Siqoj6ISwUzWldJpJqh0vQoBmJt7mrvWdSt0G6YkJ2S0a0v47hGO5FM0in5WRX5Ixk7H9cRr3NFLVlj/s1600/DSCN1240.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVGiswlm-gNPYfxAiJ1TiXJRMqPc_3FWnh9MxMrv_Tuik4JFWeJMiI199LFGh51Siqoj6ISwUzWldJpJqh0vQoBmJt7mrvWdSt0G6YkJ2S0a0v47hGO5FM0in5WRX5Ixk7H9cRr3NFLVlj/s320/DSCN1240.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
23 April<br />
Morning mist swirled through the trees as I silently placed one foot in front of the other along the trail. My destination, the Story Inn and Ordinary was not far ahead and I was looking greatly forward to a cup of hot coffee. Though the days past had been unnaturally warm, the predawn chill and rain reached its bony fingers deep inside my coat and left me shivering. Suddenly, through the trees shrouded in the fog my destination loomed darkly before me. No warm glow to meet me, no delicious smell of hot coffee, only a thick door solidly bolted against visitors in the night, or apparently the darkest hour of the day.<br />
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I shuffled my feet and hrumphed a few times hoping some generous soul inside would perhaps hear me and come to throw back the bolt and welcome me out of the rain. Once I realized my shuffling and hrumphing was to no avail I addressed myself to a chair upon the porch, huddled into the blanket I'd pulled from my bedroll and commenced to wait. Wait for the proprietor, wait for my friend Captain Jim Jacobs, wait for the other fellows who had determined to join this adventure, wait for any sign of life on this cold morning. I'd not long to wait since I'd set my standards so low; a large and seemingly well fed black and white cat slunk upon the porch and promptly launched it's substantial girth into my lap. Normally, I'm not overly inclined toward felines, however this one was warm and willing to rest upon my lap allowing me to warm my hands by petting her silky fur. Clearly, this was no scavenger reliant upon her own devices. Her purring covered the growl in my stomach.<br />
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An hour passed slowly as the cat and I kept company and the sky began to transition from blackness to a lumpy gray. The rain slackened off to a fine mist once more and just as my eyes began to feel impossibly heavy I heard the crunch of stone beneath Captain Jacob's foot. The cat leaped from my lap as my head jerked up and I wobbled to a stand, horrified I'd been caught napping. Fortune and fog was on my side and I met Captain Jacobs and Mr. Terry Perkins alongside the road, them none the wiser to my catnap.<br />
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The Captain greeted me stoically as is his habit and informed me the rest of the men were assembled but a few miles ahead. Together, we three bemoaned the fact the innkeeper had not seen fit to rise with the sun to provide us with warmth and coffee. Nothing could be done, so we set off for the banks of the Salt Creek.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEusg_Wy-6581_29w8S8e5vKezSJP8jTgx7fAXbGsyWM4ximkjFtXrVboJC0FBs6U0YVpL4TM0m1AEUm5ikE4lSH2fh49wLfpNUwpliLLuUWpBy1gWceY0ww28o3AWXSDGUeB23NaPr-kl/s1600/385698_397746326924549_100000675542350_1253659_2084329316_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEusg_Wy-6581_29w8S8e5vKezSJP8jTgx7fAXbGsyWM4ximkjFtXrVboJC0FBs6U0YVpL4TM0m1AEUm5ikE4lSH2fh49wLfpNUwpliLLuUWpBy1gWceY0ww28o3AWXSDGUeB23NaPr-kl/s320/385698_397746326924549_100000675542350_1253659_2084329316_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Shortly we arrived in the company of the others who had chosen to accompany the Captain in his spring expedition. My dear friend Mr. Jay Henderson reclined aside a small fire cooking a side of bacon in a small pot, Mr. Jay Babcock and Mr. Bob Burke were similarly relaxing and enjoying coffee. Mr. Perkins quickly landed a pot of chocolate laced with only a taste of coffee. I was certainly glad of the fire, the coffee and a bite or two of the fine offerings. Soon, the captain brought forth maps and we began a study of our surroundings and our destination.<br />
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It was determined Misters Henderson, Babcock, Burke and Perkins would travel the waterway, whilst Captain Jacobs and I were to journey afoot. Meeting points along the way were chosen and rapidly the remains of our early morning repast were stowed in bedroll, pack, and seabag, and we set forth.<br />
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Our pace was rapid and the captain and I made excellent time as we made our way through the marsh bottom lands. Conversation was relatively scarce as we each took in the scene around us. Spring had been well sprung in this lush area, flowers, green buds and even leaves were in full bloom. Being a farmer when not on expedition, the captain was a fine companion and had a ready answer to each and all of my queries. On we walked until we came upon the first of our meeting places alongside the creek.<br />
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Afore long our water faring companions arrived. Mr. Babcock and the others climbed to our level and we briefly discussed our next turnings and trails. It was agreed Captain Jacobs and I would remain on land but were we not to arrive at the next meeting place we would return to this location an await the return of one of the boats to ferry us to the next passage.<br />
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Again, Jim and I set a steady pace, until we were forced into what I can only describe as "the hells along the creek."<br />
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<b>To be continued...</b> in an upcoming edition of <a href="https://www.facebook.com/OnTheTrail">On The Trail Magazine.</a></div>
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<br />Mad Anne Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03219820685315057516noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8439424128458628389.post-18331346526265280152012-04-04T22:09:00.000-05:002012-04-04T22:09:45.419-05:00The Pursuit of Happiness"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness"<br />
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<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKOMTxRd3Mxz4xSMtoDdn9ylx6-TdgTp1aRj1LmlrKWKV4WiQXmxUDfkBNqq1rmmPO8Uj8Zfe-u2pzmAcPRXyiCrP8zJdV4qurXnQtrM-2KelAdwQ3JfuengdB97BlH_O9tZ_LYg-gDttB/s1600/delcaration.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKOMTxRd3Mxz4xSMtoDdn9ylx6-TdgTp1aRj1LmlrKWKV4WiQXmxUDfkBNqq1rmmPO8Uj8Zfe-u2pzmAcPRXyiCrP8zJdV4qurXnQtrM-2KelAdwQ3JfuengdB97BlH_O9tZ_LYg-gDttB/s320/delcaration.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div>Indeed, we hold these truths to be self evident, yet for one exception; the exclusion and omission of women in this congressional declaration. For certainly, <b><i>women</i></b> are equally endowed by our Creator with these self same Rights. It was the sole intention of a small group of like-minded and unconventional women to take delight in Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness in the manner of a short scout in the wilds of Kentucky. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Months were spent quietly planning and preparing. Letters were exchanged, concerns raised, fears addressed, and a few of the women who initially planned to join the adventure found themselves unfortunately unable to make the journey. The remaining six of us gathered blankets,dried foods, smoked meat, made moccasins, and counted the days.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAl9A7ZXobDxRguvlyH-OrvdaPe3vxgfqWfYaz5M05LI-zZwenG98w6n8Gh0pZRA9Kr0pT3kaBPSx77nsSvxQ4uyFDVSMFS1kA_HxKk8jqgBSW7seeCkYdmI2bbwPeTnTqeCCXDiWVhO7b/s1600/scout+letters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAl9A7ZXobDxRguvlyH-OrvdaPe3vxgfqWfYaz5M05LI-zZwenG98w6n8Gh0pZRA9Kr0pT3kaBPSx77nsSvxQ4uyFDVSMFS1kA_HxKk8jqgBSW7seeCkYdmI2bbwPeTnTqeCCXDiWVhO7b/s320/scout+letters.jpg" width="320" /></a> </div><div><br />
</div><div>March 23</div><div>Finally, unburdened by men or children, we six hearty souls came together on the edge of the civilized world and swiftly departed for savage lands. Our small party was comprised of two Metis women; Ete deLavonde (Summer Chriswell) and Christina Langstein, three Daughters of Liberty; Beth Ehlert, Jill Frost and Lisa Jo Crews, and myself.<br />
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The Metis women had traveled far from the furthest western reaches of any civilization from places with the strange and foreign sounding names of "Colorado" and "Utah." I cannot begin to imagine such places, but if these women are examples of what one might expect, I feel certain they are fine places indeed. For these women, excusing the curse of their Indian influences, seemed quite civilized and capable in the woods.<br />
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</div>Ah dear me! How could I possibly leave out our best and finest companion, dear little Rowdy who was brought by Lisa Jo. A mere pup of eight weeks, she was a sweet and entertaining darling dear we all took great pleasure in! Her constant antics were a source of great amusement for us, particularly in the morning hours when she tempted fate and jumped unbidden upon covered heads!</div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ8iAzopMSrUCEPnrarSGP41tRUFKTNy02FoW6TBFmfDfFOQRfY-gUD0iRp8WLZ_sszm-O9LSKbTVDRf-exMFpZUd_FiStUiiIazKx23_Be1HqmKVBOwNcW30mktPU2ygTasNnwUA8hyphenhyphenVu/s1600/rowdy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ8iAzopMSrUCEPnrarSGP41tRUFKTNy02FoW6TBFmfDfFOQRfY-gUD0iRp8WLZ_sszm-O9LSKbTVDRf-exMFpZUd_FiStUiiIazKx23_Be1HqmKVBOwNcW30mktPU2ygTasNnwUA8hyphenhyphenVu/s320/rowdy.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6yXeGWD0d2WTNlQCU6ZPczlrR8BFK_UlmH0_qvML3lu95fTTV63l2a9orBqdOjrGSBXc4K4CLMx0XxGPnEE8Fz3JfpFuSgjnIC_O1lkJ2CtGlzHHNqQwworPhsqxbC3Wq5RU5HZZHyut8/s1600/IMG_4830.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6yXeGWD0d2WTNlQCU6ZPczlrR8BFK_UlmH0_qvML3lu95fTTV63l2a9orBqdOjrGSBXc4K4CLMx0XxGPnEE8Fz3JfpFuSgjnIC_O1lkJ2CtGlzHHNqQwworPhsqxbC3Wq5RU5HZZHyut8/s320/IMG_4830.JPG" width="240" /></a> </div><div><br />
</div><div>Together, our party of adventurers set off along a trail I had traveled a time or two before and knew to be strenuous but well within our means. Carrying our possessions upon our backs we carefully made our way through the wooded land, with ever a watchful eye upon the clifftops, the game trails, and of course our back trail to be certain no man nor beast should take us unawares. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTh2nyvcdr6VUetxyRWkSxYOlD-SYoiKux0TGbTHB6E4npOstrgwYzAdFGHCJ6LqECtJ2oi8xGmibysiMQO9Cqngg4V_sUi2P4EEsFRHrLiZq0mts2U-nEhS-B7ml0ehDAX9SCfljjmb5h/s1600/surveying+the+back+trail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTh2nyvcdr6VUetxyRWkSxYOlD-SYoiKux0TGbTHB6E4npOstrgwYzAdFGHCJ6LqECtJ2oi8xGmibysiMQO9Cqngg4V_sUi2P4EEsFRHrLiZq0mts2U-nEhS-B7ml0ehDAX9SCfljjmb5h/s320/surveying+the+back+trail.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7_tcYRvAkhlTKI0K66pB9xdUlMDssWwiBJ55Hj3u6i6SW-nI23TFUBQ6F4Y-Zw_VBMJpbr4uvCWwv3cpnQINN4dItTesipe_2P01JWzQWLjH17PAFC1oFozMFl8S0z4GrEVCkJbIRjpX2/s1600/sunshine+and+rain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7_tcYRvAkhlTKI0K66pB9xdUlMDssWwiBJ55Hj3u6i6SW-nI23TFUBQ6F4Y-Zw_VBMJpbr4uvCWwv3cpnQINN4dItTesipe_2P01JWzQWLjH17PAFC1oFozMFl8S0z4GrEVCkJbIRjpX2/s320/sunshine+and+rain.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div>A cursed rain dampened belongings, wool cloaks, Metis matchcoats and even my beloved Lucky, our primary source of protection against molestation from any four or two legged kind. Though we found ourselves quite soaked, our spirits never dampened for a moment and the sound of laughter surely protected our small company from any four legged creatures. Indeed, there were no creatures but ourselves to be seen in this downpour, the rest of the forest's many inhabitants surely stayed hidden well nested in their homes. </div><div>Yet, still we slogged on through the rain, knowing a fire, some warm food and a bit of Mistress Crew's famous blackberry bounce and my rum punch were in our future. </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrWMiY8MenCXTw4FOmFLJoJybaO77jJzKuB70quFOmwtFyXiYo3nYLpvo9mneEX9bEuP-JIVsapH7wH5wRJ8dsOb4a2xvN9bOmOQTm7t6vrTO2ToaiH2mux_oVEjb1mn8TQPfDeyKQt1Uf/s1600/clifftops.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrWMiY8MenCXTw4FOmFLJoJybaO77jJzKuB70quFOmwtFyXiYo3nYLpvo9mneEX9bEuP-JIVsapH7wH5wRJ8dsOb4a2xvN9bOmOQTm7t6vrTO2ToaiH2mux_oVEjb1mn8TQPfDeyKQt1Uf/s320/clifftops.jpg" width="320" /></a> </div><div><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFT-W3hDCkEqqgjYO92iC3fv13nnAVSdAzMvSUpFDMdOpKsxPQen2KcjarHt8djCiovs_qPhDkVNxwrgrTROmWB5I3eFZSjsi0iJHP_NS0KUYqv-6jlpwjfeLpDkkil72Vv-3xNcGKjQXI/s1600/IMG_4696.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFT-W3hDCkEqqgjYO92iC3fv13nnAVSdAzMvSUpFDMdOpKsxPQen2KcjarHt8djCiovs_qPhDkVNxwrgrTROmWB5I3eFZSjsi0iJHP_NS0KUYqv-6jlpwjfeLpDkkil72Vv-3xNcGKjQXI/s320/IMG_4696.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div><br />
Our skills had been much tested! The rhythmic pounding within our hearts matched the quaking of our winter softened muscles and each of us were grateful beyond compare when the last rock ledge was summited and we arrived safely but out of breath at our destination. I believe it is fair to say each of these fine women had their breath quite taken away as they surveyed our temporary housing, fine as it was. The collective "Ooooh's" and "Ahhhs" were greatly satisfying to me as the leader of this little expedition. All were well satisfied and perhaps even impressed with the living conditions I'd prepared for our small group.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKPsXN2R8SkNwz5K8R0mTDmbbmRnRSYnLsFGizz3y5ggctnR256AsIZBLQABu1WNXl0Goe2DUVSkVwiZobo4-EPAb8Vb103z4BySSHK2zkwjypttlZ61j6ca3GCdthrVslNv6xgEYjv4qs/s1600/IMG_4700.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKPsXN2R8SkNwz5K8R0mTDmbbmRnRSYnLsFGizz3y5ggctnR256AsIZBLQABu1WNXl0Goe2DUVSkVwiZobo4-EPAb8Vb103z4BySSHK2zkwjypttlZ61j6ca3GCdthrVslNv6xgEYjv4qs/s400/IMG_4700.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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To call this a rock house is a severe disservice, perhaps rock castle or rock palace would better describe the magnificence of our shelter. Further, knowing full well our paleolithic sisters had once inhabited this very space was nearly overpowering. The sleeping areas were well defined, shelves and niches perfect for our small accouterments were abundant, as were seats carved out of the soft sand stone. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-r2e_tzYAYaUlRoRkTvcJTu3g6PuS_Y3oVWi-3GR2d5MzpIM2EC4Qw3SNCzfPnBaZ_qUUbAmEetwq1cBksFHcxyGOpd8bG4F1T_XJl_BLzkISNs71uKGgNtZrWuYOuE0kJIKG5Xg_zFDR/s1600/DSCN1254.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-r2e_tzYAYaUlRoRkTvcJTu3g6PuS_Y3oVWi-3GR2d5MzpIM2EC4Qw3SNCzfPnBaZ_qUUbAmEetwq1cBksFHcxyGOpd8bG4F1T_XJl_BLzkISNs71uKGgNtZrWuYOuE0kJIKG5Xg_zFDR/s320/DSCN1254.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But perhaps the most stunning remnant left for our discovery by our ancient sisters was the existence of a "hominy hole" burrowed into the large table rock. I imagined a woman from ancient times, grinding corn day in and day out, deepening the hole with each time she crushed the corn to feed her family. T'was almost a mystical connection to our past and I daresay t'was felt by all of us. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsjlAXIi_HaYT7yt6FiPmtW0L-WhsPcNZ_LH4kE432bFcDOr8RxOHqjlvWKKM3oi-yElpZeN_fzTY-8z5FdTEM2h3wlf8q7xKuVFJEo2SUs1jyCwKG3DPoDF9NUVhL1QEPoQTKneuQ0uf-/s1600/IMG_4789.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsjlAXIi_HaYT7yt6FiPmtW0L-WhsPcNZ_LH4kE432bFcDOr8RxOHqjlvWKKM3oi-yElpZeN_fzTY-8z5FdTEM2h3wlf8q7xKuVFJEo2SUs1jyCwKG3DPoDF9NUVhL1QEPoQTKneuQ0uf-/s320/IMG_4789.JPG" width="320" /></a>Once we'd established our "rooms," divested and stowed the majority of our belongings it was time to begin exploring the glory of our surroundings. We left Mistress Crews and Rowdy well ensconced within the palace to keep watch over our small accouterments while we made the journey down to retrieve our cache of items left behind on our initial ascent. Of course it nearly goes without saying the rain had not let up, yet we were neither perturbed nor deterred.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Our explorations led us to many natural beauties. The most magnificent of which was the unexpected appearance of a stunning double rainbow. The rain and clouds cleared off and the remainder of the afternoon was lovely. We encountered any number of odd and unusual flora we could not identify but found most intriguing. Not knowing the possible dangers of such bounty we did not collect any to eat, but it surely was time to eat! We returned to Lisa Jo, Rowdy and our lovely rock palace just before the sun set. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3zYG7Vee_hC86JCz_5_IBaXF2FfXqmNwlLFGN9lkxubZEOCUAxuMoM_Rhfbcjl67iVCB8EvlQv7CT6OItiZdwvuMGucM1JuwdEKpGs2BaWwDlPXJaY5E6UDxfr9MN9CT2ljhYSzFyHN_Y/s1600/IMG_4729.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3zYG7Vee_hC86JCz_5_IBaXF2FfXqmNwlLFGN9lkxubZEOCUAxuMoM_Rhfbcjl67iVCB8EvlQv7CT6OItiZdwvuMGucM1JuwdEKpGs2BaWwDlPXJaY5E6UDxfr9MN9CT2ljhYSzFyHN_Y/s320/IMG_4729.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFG3vSajCtAdJBvesCaQYUSzxIMRCOF5ibMOJxT7GzR46ruobEL4c0lCdG5NLJIOOfZRe40CPxBp2KjaTctd2yZR7wDlICVAkxo7CllLOREYvq9HrbRmG2PCF5VASdg1bbS8497Vjt44kS/s1600/IMG_4725.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFG3vSajCtAdJBvesCaQYUSzxIMRCOF5ibMOJxT7GzR46ruobEL4c0lCdG5NLJIOOfZRe40CPxBp2KjaTctd2yZR7wDlICVAkxo7CllLOREYvq9HrbRmG2PCF5VASdg1bbS8497Vjt44kS/s320/IMG_4725.JPG" width="240" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrxHOwNwcFNjgkzZD1aH0_K5eEVm6uNGSgAwFYhUJtHnoFnpbfQ_Ftyrv2T_bfuwz0jxv0PVKWi2Hd2sdV_-NQiM7IxW8Oj0o75lu8RAFjODHMzIEnMYpJeKoTs9czxiyLR0kw1IyRT_ZK/s1600/turtle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrxHOwNwcFNjgkzZD1aH0_K5eEVm6uNGSgAwFYhUJtHnoFnpbfQ_Ftyrv2T_bfuwz0jxv0PVKWi2Hd2sdV_-NQiM7IxW8Oj0o75lu8RAFjODHMzIEnMYpJeKoTs9czxiyLR0kw1IyRT_ZK/s320/turtle.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY_WolmVhD3AivuBmwGVjnzz1I_AgSR79Bmhe_1_Mb3w62ricdGHrRBqNdvL2MYDYX3DY7m6IqviZGUzaczcAW6CCtGSxLLYtGCWfRHdZ8fhu7aHTM49NHmA_gaJn__SjLTeDGW6vhKP4i/s1600/DSCN1324.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br />
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</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAjXor6U0sLBSJnE8ejNODigf0dRdQMC7AyA3Cez-HK8vfK7kvLpNJi7L0XqrT6vDja15nBUn2CmO6s3XWtLtxneQYPc588EbtalOOxXTjYUpYwk0rhSWV3XOEa6s4QKcYd8SL7g9O3xbK/s1600/DSCN1385.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAjXor6U0sLBSJnE8ejNODigf0dRdQMC7AyA3Cez-HK8vfK7kvLpNJi7L0XqrT6vDja15nBUn2CmO6s3XWtLtxneQYPc588EbtalOOxXTjYUpYwk0rhSWV3XOEa6s4QKcYd8SL7g9O3xbK/s320/DSCN1385.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq8ROgBCtGLT1Gmjjep3j0SG8_vi5H6i-NNgEyzOc2g9l1V-IU3RbgKY5-aaw5zDEuHOyI0EkBAvJhxzpEh2vKDv0ZekhK1AEmLE8CCvBca-a62Lrg7cpBjTp0r5G41a1YFlyka9PLkHXO/s1600/IMG_4716.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq8ROgBCtGLT1Gmjjep3j0SG8_vi5H6i-NNgEyzOc2g9l1V-IU3RbgKY5-aaw5zDEuHOyI0EkBAvJhxzpEh2vKDv0ZekhK1AEmLE8CCvBca-a62Lrg7cpBjTp0r5G41a1YFlyka9PLkHXO/s200/IMG_4716.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>Christina easily laid a hasty fire in the fire ring and t'was not long before we had plenty of coals to heat our fine meal. We had provisioned well and had plenty to share amongst ourselves. Later, beside the crackling fire we looked out over the tree tops and admired a million twinkling stars. The entire night sky looked for all the world as if God had flung a million diamonds into the sky simply for our pleasure. Many stories were told and laughter rang out late into the night whilst the bottles of wine, rum punch and bounce were freely passed from one to the other. <br />
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Comfortable in our home we relaxed, but remained ever watchful aware danger could come upon us at any time. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY_WolmVhD3AivuBmwGVjnzz1I_AgSR79Bmhe_1_Mb3w62ricdGHrRBqNdvL2MYDYX3DY7m6IqviZGUzaczcAW6CCtGSxLLYtGCWfRHdZ8fhu7aHTM49NHmA_gaJn__SjLTeDGW6vhKP4i/s1600/DSCN1324.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY_WolmVhD3AivuBmwGVjnzz1I_AgSR79Bmhe_1_Mb3w62ricdGHrRBqNdvL2MYDYX3DY7m6IqviZGUzaczcAW6CCtGSxLLYtGCWfRHdZ8fhu7aHTM49NHmA_gaJn__SjLTeDGW6vhKP4i/s1600/DSCN1324.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY_WolmVhD3AivuBmwGVjnzz1I_AgSR79Bmhe_1_Mb3w62ricdGHrRBqNdvL2MYDYX3DY7m6IqviZGUzaczcAW6CCtGSxLLYtGCWfRHdZ8fhu7aHTM49NHmA_gaJn__SjLTeDGW6vhKP4i/s320/DSCN1324.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9aSWPvhRCg759FGncKP0B8d0pIFOWQ9URYmcXFF-3OPg31cSFTjQcwaHnKPrZSZUYux59BA9wAU0CZBR7SibWXK68Ldb4B_ZMK-dlQsJd9QiIG812FfWBFAZ7tyDbFPYE_KeAjjlXR6PQ/s1600/beth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9aSWPvhRCg759FGncKP0B8d0pIFOWQ9URYmcXFF-3OPg31cSFTjQcwaHnKPrZSZUYux59BA9wAU0CZBR7SibWXK68Ldb4B_ZMK-dlQsJd9QiIG812FfWBFAZ7tyDbFPYE_KeAjjlXR6PQ/s200/beth.jpg" width="111" /></a>Night wore on and the peals of laughter seemed to subtly fade away as the stories turned from school girl humor to tales of ghosts past and present. Each of us pulled her wool blankets to her chin and flatly refused to admit the tiny hints of fear which crept upon us. </div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But all were deeply frightened as the first and completely unexpected flash of lightning filled the entire rock palace with its blinding light. The clap of thunder which followed was mind numbingly loud as it filled the furthest recesses of our shelter and bounced back out over the canyon, echoing the sound over and over and reverberating with such intensity we felt it within our very bones!! </div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYDAp9KqaJd2Qq5eh1gBYG1O1I9myfZ4OyQtWHepf16bjYP9cpq7a4dqGz1ka8U32GHwiMkknwbb6HJC-pTNiwCyJUIcc_ln-shiP9fgQ4TByaItN8ziOeuPK_06n_97bQhacQmIL6r_3J/s1600/candle+light+in+the+cave.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYDAp9KqaJd2Qq5eh1gBYG1O1I9myfZ4OyQtWHepf16bjYP9cpq7a4dqGz1ka8U32GHwiMkknwbb6HJC-pTNiwCyJUIcc_ln-shiP9fgQ4TByaItN8ziOeuPK_06n_97bQhacQmIL6r_3J/s320/candle+light+in+the+cave.jpg" width="180" /></a>Grateful were we of the tiny light of our candles and the fire to bring us some small comfort as the storm raged just outside our magnificent palace. Nary a drop landed upon us as we snuggled closer to one another or under our blankets. Flashes of lightning seemed to strike mere feet from our perch over the trees and there is no doubt our heads were filled with dire possibilities: hurricane force winds pulling all of us out into the night; complete cave collapse flattening us all, or any number of other nightmares. I worried the next strike of lightening would be the last we'd ever see! But I can honestly assure you one and all; not once did I or my fearless sisters give voice to our thoughts. Not one peep escaped tight lips, and not one scream escaped through the long storm. Sleep came and went like a forbidden lover throughout the long night leaving each of us wishing for more. </div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>TO BE CONTINUED</b> in an upcoming edition of On the Trail Magazine...</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The author would like to thank each of these fine women for being fearless in their pursuit of happiness! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
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</div>Mad Anne Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03219820685315057516noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8439424128458628389.post-73233662880665482112012-02-24T20:02:00.001-06:002012-02-24T20:17:50.427-06:00Mistress Winter<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyr6J00GqMJoyM4sPAmFiELwS-qsAKpKGyH7T_oYaWG_zIbPmM4b1mA9gFir8toJmm49-iQW0PRd0Dj-SrvS_OkCiPh6Kj91b_UFuvms9N7-5b-0R_prpggFn-OmBO6KiSVK0ouqEHbNre/s1600/157_0258.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyr6J00GqMJoyM4sPAmFiELwS-qsAKpKGyH7T_oYaWG_zIbPmM4b1mA9gFir8toJmm49-iQW0PRd0Dj-SrvS_OkCiPh6Kj91b_UFuvms9N7-5b-0R_prpggFn-OmBO6KiSVK0ouqEHbNre/s320/157_0258.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Mistress Winter hath carelessly thrown her glistening white cape over hill and dale. Tiny black eyes of woodland creatures slowly blink as each sparkling flake tumbles to the ground. This lovely blanket of Mistress Winter's choosing is snugged over nest, branch and grass. <br />
<br />
Through the misty morning a ray of sunlight is cast upon a lone rabbit's tracks, and deep below the bows of a cedar his mate awaits his return.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXyz91Ohyvcp3E8MwghdI_67wv-nS9hspFDcpZPIJ-qpElLavsN0K6xG0uRTauPEPcvrcAEL2__4n-HhPh2SI2wrQ1wJdBptY-hOiV3J1R0-6lejcUxZzVLcyuPZ4nx-DIbv3GPRQ2aUu2/s1600/157_0261.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXyz91Ohyvcp3E8MwghdI_67wv-nS9hspFDcpZPIJ-qpElLavsN0K6xG0uRTauPEPcvrcAEL2__4n-HhPh2SI2wrQ1wJdBptY-hOiV3J1R0-6lejcUxZzVLcyuPZ4nx-DIbv3GPRQ2aUu2/s320/157_0261.JPG" /></a><br />
The day hath quickly passed and now the wind howls and trees moan, I clutch my blanket to my chest and regret most sincerely this night I shall be alone.<div><div> </div><div>The candle wavers nearly extinguished, yet rather in my mind's eye I see a tiny cabin filled with firelight. Shadows dance upon the walls, together my love and I. Whispered words, a laugh, a sigh. Sweet memories held close to warm me until once again together we shall be. </div><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoTDeNLo6asXY7PyPtaiQbeRHPI71vRM_rPQ0zLulKtPFI5GhyphenhyphenVZM7TbTxVu8-BueUYMdYvla9gry7EXNxug8vdq4UN-0lx5HXGKCU4h20zOcYV3PLdUhbIPX4IaFVSAw_8-anlWLu0O1i/s1600/IMG_20110512_064122.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoTDeNLo6asXY7PyPtaiQbeRHPI71vRM_rPQ0zLulKtPFI5GhyphenhyphenVZM7TbTxVu8-BueUYMdYvla9gry7EXNxug8vdq4UN-0lx5HXGKCU4h20zOcYV3PLdUhbIPX4IaFVSAw_8-anlWLu0O1i/s320/IMG_20110512_064122.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
The shutters smash into the glass, the pleasant reverie hath passed. Another blanket I pull to chin as I lie in my bed, alone again. <br />
</div><div>And deep below the cedar tree, a single pair of eyes slowly blink while her fur ruffles in the wind.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDXULTv8cnL4DKMjJBAwSsSlcY6zLNobzxZRrLMaAHM_wRD-gPkvHyPZsauL2aM0dzk_r2H1Fm1UwZqtsNjM3kwloR1emUau5ib5xx76W9mXEnQAMAXlnEOLSIvWeT2RlK3jzhCiWCHNDJ/s1600/rabbit+tracks.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDXULTv8cnL4DKMjJBAwSsSlcY6zLNobzxZRrLMaAHM_wRD-gPkvHyPZsauL2aM0dzk_r2H1Fm1UwZqtsNjM3kwloR1emUau5ib5xx76W9mXEnQAMAXlnEOLSIvWeT2RlK3jzhCiWCHNDJ/s320/rabbit+tracks.jpg" /></a><br />
</div></div></div>Mad Anne Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03219820685315057516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8439424128458628389.post-67183806662025981322011-12-06T21:15:00.000-06:002011-12-06T21:15:59.679-06:00The Lost Scout<div class="MsoNormal">Darkness came on fast that November night. Stars began to twinkle in the night sky even as the sun’s last rays winked into oblivion. Autumn was fully upon us with its shortened days and unpredictable weather. The day which had just been extinguished had held reminders of summer’s sweet warmth, particularly in sunny patches of the forest. Yet, with the setting sun all such reminders had been whisked away, replaced by a deep chill which promised a long night. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I continued to hurry-scurry down the unfamiliar trail hoping against hope I’d not miss my friends entirely. Captain Jacobs had been clear in his instruction; we were to assemble at the appointed area at five of the clock. We would launch for a temporary camp along the creek Friday night, hunt Saturday morning and move on to a station camp Saturday afternoon. Yet, if my pocket watch were to be trusted, five had been gone round entirely and the hands were now closer to seven. I knew the main party of the expedition would have gone on without me, all but Mr. Egener who had graciously promised to await my arrival, regardless of the time. Although I felt horrible for holding him back, I was especially thankful for his kindness as I trudged through the dark night. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Time and darkness seemed to be turning against me, as did the map. My eyes, which had once been keen even in the dark, had begun to blur with age and now I found I could barely read jumble of lines and words. Regardless of how close to my face or how much I squinted, I simply could not make out the path I was to take. Frustrated, I began to question why I had done this to myself, let alone to my friend who was (I hoped) patiently waiting.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">A few more miles and my doubt and frustration doubled, I squinted again at my map and discovered a turning I had surely missed! For heaven sake, it seemed I could not see far away either! Age is a great betrayer, aided and abetted by my failing eyes! I turned to retrace my steps, this time with my pathetic eyes peeled even more widely. Ha! There it was! The turn onto Crooked Creek Road which I’d missed. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I carried on with a watchful eye. Good thing too, for it wasn’t another mile afore I chanced upon a gent walking the road toward me his riflegun clubbed, gamebag empty. I clutched my own firelock, checked the prime and began to whistle a tune, thinking not to startle the man and cause my own demise. The gentleman doffed his hat and admonished me for tarrying upon the path in the darkness. I assured him of my intent to meet with a party of hunters and inquired if he hadn’t come across them himself. As a matter of fact, he had passed a lone gentleman with a pirogue, not even a mile back. I thanked him for this bit of good news and bade him a good hunt of his own. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">True to the gentleman’s word, less than a mile later I came upon my friend Dan Egener and his well stocked boat. Ah, a happier sight I’d not had in some time! Much relieved to have found him, I immediately settled myself and my small belongings into his pirogue and we set off in the direction Captain Jacobs had indicated. Had I thought it dark before? T’was nothing compared to the darkness of the creek bottom! My tired eyes were open wide and my ears strained for any sound of our friends. There was little talk between Dan and I as we concentrated upon our task. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Less than a mile into our journey things began to go badly. The pirogue, laden down with our supplies scrapped bottom on numerous occasions, causing us to pole the thing along more oft than paddling. Traveling became treacherous though there was no fear of turning over in the cold water which was at times only a few inches deep. Silently we struggled, each considering our folly and neither wanting to put voice to our fears. An hour slipped past, yet we had only traveled a tiny distance. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Finally, my voice broke the silence and I asked if perhaps I should signal with my firelock to see if our friends were nearby. Dan readily agreed and I balanced myself to fire the long gun. The rifle's crack nearly blinded and deafened us when my dear Lady of the Woods riflegun discharged. I reloaded and fired again, hoping for the immediate response of Captain Jacobs. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Silence once more enveloped us, there was no response in the dark night. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We carried on as best we were able until once more the dread scrape of the bow upon the shoals brought us to a complete halt. We sat. Grounded. He, no doubt, wondering why he’d foolishly waited for me. Me, hating myself for being the cause of such a mess. Both us, wondering how it could have been possible for the others to navigate through the shallow water? Heaving mightily we struggled together to back the little vessel off the shoals. Finally, we began to float mere inches above the mud. There seemed no other course than to turn around and return to the launch point. Thus, we put our backs and arms to the task, and as another hour slid into dark oblivion we arrived back where we’d begun. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Ironically, even though we’d literally gotten nowhere, we regained a positive outlook and determined to make the best of the situation. Back on shore we pulled our bedrolls and foodstuffs from the boat, laughing at the folly of trying to navigate in the dark. Soon a tiny crackling fire yielded bit of warmth and tea as we laid our plans for another attempt in the morn. After a very late night meal of jerked meat and hardboiled eggs, we bid each other sleep well and each turned in to our bedroll. Though the fire, laughter and pleasant conversation had warmed my spirits, afore long a chill set in which refused to leave for the days to come. Throughout the cold night I barely slept, my ears strained to hear the crack of Captain Jacob's firelock or even a hint of voices carried over the water, yet I heard nothing. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">To be Continued in a future edition of <a href="http://www.ottmagazine.com/">On the Trail Magazine</a>. </div>Mad Anne Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03219820685315057516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8439424128458628389.post-35060215144640311582011-10-24T22:26:00.000-05:002011-10-24T22:26:50.941-05:00Death, Forgiveness, Strength, and Power<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Z6kCQa2lG5HsvDPJM4IKncRiZ94gEIMH-XSxclnx_5MApzT56mrtE3wouMy1jTJP9BLax2JqwbmUQb8dObaxj0oGBykz6yU0xwbHn8p3fplXpDguuI_qngLVnN7OwcsGgfDqNGoBDjZm/s1600/322657_133035753460125_100002611021756_162818_7038926_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Z6kCQa2lG5HsvDPJM4IKncRiZ94gEIMH-XSxclnx_5MApzT56mrtE3wouMy1jTJP9BLax2JqwbmUQb8dObaxj0oGBykz6yU0xwbHn8p3fplXpDguuI_qngLVnN7OwcsGgfDqNGoBDjZm/s320/322657_133035753460125_100002611021756_162818_7038926_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mark McCarter who left too soon. Photo by Ron Roundman Gholson</td></tr>
</tbody></table>My thoughts of late have been rather influenced by the passing of too many souls. Some gone too soon, others who passed near the natural end of their days, and some who have been gone a long while and yet are still missed as though it were but yesterday. Eulogies seem to fall from our lips like rain from the sky. Too many words too oft spoke.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZp3mHPaUccIH0gtwie2rcBOjzAnD86POWNsp98xvcpvCJqgUDvMUBm-OKK3w7C_w0pyL_-VDF_Jf1ww9UJGArS4d3pv_sKOvAm7oYSqeMZMjMvmJjk0DoH_iS55jB5mgWdWTMBcSv54SS/s1600/226217_1889200984486_1075293994_2041787_7407472_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZp3mHPaUccIH0gtwie2rcBOjzAnD86POWNsp98xvcpvCJqgUDvMUBm-OKK3w7C_w0pyL_-VDF_Jf1ww9UJGArS4d3pv_sKOvAm7oYSqeMZMjMvmJjk0DoH_iS55jB5mgWdWTMBcSv54SS/s320/226217_1889200984486_1075293994_2041787_7407472_n.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Coming Home No More" painting by <a href="http://www.buxtonart.com/">John Buxton</a><br />
The loss of Anne's beloved first husband, Richard Trotter</td></tr>
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Though some time has passed, our dear friend <a href="http://www.purefinder.org/">Hester Purefinder</a> has been on my mind of late. She gave us all so much and her story keeps expanding. It is hard to believe she has been gone for over three years and still the stories of her life carry on. In life she gave me a glimpse of what could be done in a non-traditional role, and upon her death she reminded me how short our time on this earth is and how important it is to forgive those who have hurt us. I can not guess what my life would be like had I not attended her memorial service. Her ray of light touched me that day and she granted me the strength to reach out to someone whom I did not intend ever to speak with again. Her death truly made me realize how everything can change in an instant. Thanks Hester, I owe ya one, and every time I tell my story I am trying my utmost to pay you back and to pay it forward.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO3sG5ThCJpVfxdVA4zmJbckWEexLzo0vXt8195AgfHOT4rAJQyO_-BHk4bWLUMSNjouLRacdkdVQM3-0HETZit2PzQ5IL1ZGfrk6fMddrVUvL_Epukq5Bt2FcFBqdW76SmwxhLyqinu4w/s1600/Hester.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO3sG5ThCJpVfxdVA4zmJbckWEexLzo0vXt8195AgfHOT4rAJQyO_-BHk4bWLUMSNjouLRacdkdVQM3-0HETZit2PzQ5IL1ZGfrk6fMddrVUvL_Epukq5Bt2FcFBqdW76SmwxhLyqinu4w/s320/Hester.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Colleen "Hester <a href="http://www.purefinder.org/">Purefinder</a>" Gilbert from the Book of Faces - Steven Young Caudill</td></tr>
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More recently, a good man tossed off the mortal coil and reached high to the heavens to be with his beloved. Gathered together, his friends and loved ones were much dismayed. Whispered questions flew. "By his own hand," they said. "God's choice not ours," they stammered. "Why?" they questioned. Yet, who are we to say, "It was too soon." "He had no right," or "How dare he?" How dare WE judge such matters?<br />
<br />
Days are like gifts to some and pure torture to others, none of us can know the depths of another's soul. My friends, I am much humbled by this good man's act, and reminded to give thanks and forgiveness generously, for we know not the weight of our words and deeds. Each kind word, smile or gentle kindness given today may be that which is necessary to grant another but one more hour or one more day. Give gifts of kindness easily my friends and I beg you, give the kindest gift of all, readily, easily, and without being asked; Give the gift of forgiveness.<br />
<br />
I remind myself of that word, forgiveness, as my thoughts turn to another sweet angel who carried the light from her mother's eyes up into the heavens. The only comfort I seem to be able to take in this loss is in knowing she is now in God's company, surrounded by those who have gone before. Yet, fury hot and loathsome burns still within my soul. For this dear one was snatched away as surely as a dove caught in the clutches of a horrendous and heartless boy. Tortured until she flew free at last away from hands which hurt her. <br />
<br />
Fury burdens my soul for all of the helpless and the hopeless. Forgiveness does not figure easily into my heart in this matter and I can not resolve this anger, even knowing full well it only grants another power over me. For there in lies the secret, doesn't it? By allowing another to cause us anger or fear, we give them the very thing they most desire. I try to breathe deeply, and reach into the depths of all I have been given, all I have been taught, and all I believe in, and I ask God to help me and the many others who struggle with this kind of loss. I ask Him to help us to regain our strength, indeed to make us stronger for our loss<br />
<br />
I truly believe He has set His angel free, she has gained her wings. Let her be an angel of God by our side, a guardian dear, reminding us she has been set free of all our mortal strife. She has much work ahead of her to light and guard, to rule and guide her little one, and all of us who need a guardian angel.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvL9unVl7yQN-FWeTSru5ah9pxEw-xLfj2B25FdJ42-0QP-9wVgx8ams5WBXZkUj9o297uR8TwpV-7aMONpd1ydpmirNmnU6dF1KcslEVEGmWRFvmlfuEZycSO12jOn8528tvf_T62_y-0/s1600/Abby+cropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvL9unVl7yQN-FWeTSru5ah9pxEw-xLfj2B25FdJ42-0QP-9wVgx8ams5WBXZkUj9o297uR8TwpV-7aMONpd1ydpmirNmnU6dF1KcslEVEGmWRFvmlfuEZycSO12jOn8528tvf_T62_y-0/s320/Abby+cropped.jpg" width="280" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Abigail Parmer - Angel of God and Guardian Dear</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Mad Anne Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03219820685315057516noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8439424128458628389.post-3473274105560802122011-08-31T22:16:00.001-05:002011-08-31T22:22:50.160-05:00September<div class="MsoNormal"><i>"September</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><br />
</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>It rained in my sleep</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>And in the morning the fields were wet</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3_kte5rzTuyQ_72wjPQhQxfvP40jjutC1SMYGU_g2h1SXOz48golINB-0s6r3vjie_YdqHr2TSzPBR7xuphugFW9B-iu8V6xY3f3eOtH2MHY4QUaGeUtJERTcb6ZzE18yxmInYAHug3kc/s1600/IMG_20110513_093015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3_kte5rzTuyQ_72wjPQhQxfvP40jjutC1SMYGU_g2h1SXOz48golINB-0s6r3vjie_YdqHr2TSzPBR7xuphugFW9B-iu8V6xY3f3eOtH2MHY4QUaGeUtJERTcb6ZzE18yxmInYAHug3kc/s320/IMG_20110513_093015.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><i>I dreamed of artillery</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>Of the thunder of horses</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhax7TOMEmETXOeNQ3m3rQ0FU092QJDkhR-uJd7Y2_3mMHmIs9rxhmqqqUToNqGcI4Adr7lKMF40QJBmidwocJgfeUdzWyGzjfMaJ8EoYCoX-12Uha05k7_wfjZgB27k19Yjvjh566E9PM5/s1600/DSCN0174.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhax7TOMEmETXOeNQ3m3rQ0FU092QJDkhR-uJd7Y2_3mMHmIs9rxhmqqqUToNqGcI4Adr7lKMF40QJBmidwocJgfeUdzWyGzjfMaJ8EoYCoX-12Uha05k7_wfjZgB27k19Yjvjh566E9PM5/s320/DSCN0174.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>In the morning the fields were strewn</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>With twigs and leaves</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>As if after a battle</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>Or a sudden journey</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkF4CCrxV49jCm7PzfkP_WNv8HepLSlpmgyFZNb0g8-INzvIgN5Ug7tXRqsd6XotKdrT5XmLyCbcgokHxh8Ff9uTECB5hZw5GK02m56JwJrZmzpty4PaLejuPsN9Zl_nAY4eLTqU5KRuef/s1600/103.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkF4CCrxV49jCm7PzfkP_WNv8HepLSlpmgyFZNb0g8-INzvIgN5Ug7tXRqsd6XotKdrT5XmLyCbcgokHxh8Ff9uTECB5hZw5GK02m56JwJrZmzpty4PaLejuPsN9Zl_nAY4eLTqU5KRuef/s320/103.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>I went to sleep in the summer</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>I dreamed of rain</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>In the morning the fields were wet</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>And it was autumn"</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDWI-LwoNbcOBzmCg3lG1D6IqPoQKrVy1HSdC72LxY2sjlo9yzrtCVN7yCfcIMT8we6uS927B9Oaf2hrNtcMx_4AQoSzQagYgEncnrCkMkXRM-sHMNdRPHiU9AACs04R1QtLQLZ_ZVHxQT/s1600/1289684599119.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDWI-LwoNbcOBzmCg3lG1D6IqPoQKrVy1HSdC72LxY2sjlo9yzrtCVN7yCfcIMT8we6uS927B9Oaf2hrNtcMx_4AQoSzQagYgEncnrCkMkXRM-sHMNdRPHiU9AACs04R1QtLQLZ_ZVHxQT/s320/1289684599119.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Poem by Linda Pastan, from <i>Carnival Evening: New and Selected Poems 1968 -1991</i> ©W.W. Norton & Company, 2009</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Friends, </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Thoughts of fine and shining times fill my mind on this eve of September, for not all which surrounds us is madness, war and the battle cry. There are moments of grace and beauty in the everyday if you but look to see. Look dear ones! Look upon children at play, a simply set table, a soft and comfortable place to rest, a basket of fresh eggs, a letter from a dear friend. A garden fresh with life, a harvest of much needed meat. Oh, my friends you’ve only but to look!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPnsmvA41d8vGT1JU_6IZkuwOlz9pd28sYZ_5a4YUvJ8t1rnk9tYED9BwqUd5rvqHtUtiqWycpfJ0vAqEAJjZoqgrNKLyPlFFJV3iadORR0jeT8nfTk0x6B6PCYgmmGFgr0YD-QUduQaJJ/s1600/DSCN0193.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPnsmvA41d8vGT1JU_6IZkuwOlz9pd28sYZ_5a4YUvJ8t1rnk9tYED9BwqUd5rvqHtUtiqWycpfJ0vAqEAJjZoqgrNKLyPlFFJV3iadORR0jeT8nfTk0x6B6PCYgmmGFgr0YD-QUduQaJJ/s320/DSCN0193.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrlGDZJgW2QvYujHv6hT587RV2G8_waj7f10xa_W1Ag-YQ-XchvqytxbSPC9SOOSGZb3GY0p3XiDaqYHbWCju_8Aij2mPKAk4xiAYGluYTp4aPZpcEs0f74LnyyC0mLO-8Ki799Qn3KF3Z/s1600/IMG_20110512_114649.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrlGDZJgW2QvYujHv6hT587RV2G8_waj7f10xa_W1Ag-YQ-XchvqytxbSPC9SOOSGZb3GY0p3XiDaqYHbWCju_8Aij2mPKAk4xiAYGluYTp4aPZpcEs0f74LnyyC0mLO-8Ki799Qn3KF3Z/s320/IMG_20110512_114649.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal;"></span></o:p></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_Y_iQSSUa9Z1dXmSvgr4tcgpvg-RZcTkqR82PJGhaf7o-nuNFZyxY28Fva-80QsWNrmRL8cV9rN8CjU60Q6pE0mmziUDs8LwlyoN36j3V01iazXSRdn8c8V9_xfoWeKuFcB-QJ12FrLNU/s1600/field+dressing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_Y_iQSSUa9Z1dXmSvgr4tcgpvg-RZcTkqR82PJGhaf7o-nuNFZyxY28Fva-80QsWNrmRL8cV9rN8CjU60Q6pE0mmziUDs8LwlyoN36j3V01iazXSRdn8c8V9_xfoWeKuFcB-QJ12FrLNU/s320/field+dressing.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.markselter.com/">Original Painting by Mark Selter</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Look in the everyday, the mundane, the simple, t’is there we find the clarity we seek. Glimpse my friends, at the many small and varied blessings which are bestowed upon us daily. Butterflies upon flowers, nature in all her glory, or a cool mountain stream. Look! Truly look upon your surroundings for t’is the simplest of these which grant us the necessary strength to carry us into battle. Is it not for these smallest treasures we fight?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCrSsoxsUVuA5yEa8Znm15Lxzs1SNUP3d2r30tG-vNM46lT0Yz_rAS9F9OI9KXJAIlfhoFbLmZgevnMJACQfqU8GUiROJuO6Mf-9Va3Z6B-ZZkxYA31aEb4jYQhYKXMwJmLjGEPhNnTRdb/s1600/083.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCrSsoxsUVuA5yEa8Znm15Lxzs1SNUP3d2r30tG-vNM46lT0Yz_rAS9F9OI9KXJAIlfhoFbLmZgevnMJACQfqU8GUiROJuO6Mf-9Va3Z6B-ZZkxYA31aEb4jYQhYKXMwJmLjGEPhNnTRdb/s320/083.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdVJIGdDVjDRstqH1uaYSBbjAx2MAzYjO36in8pNri5FVRrnz1IrkFrkpHLJIImr43JS_rwpZMt_n7jQ_paGPSyQqDr7YUBewSYZ3a7hNX6ppJtf8x1zmF_Pd8tfT4QKr0S-0VBR9NqFoe/s1600/DSCN0111.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdVJIGdDVjDRstqH1uaYSBbjAx2MAzYjO36in8pNri5FVRrnz1IrkFrkpHLJIImr43JS_rwpZMt_n7jQ_paGPSyQqDr7YUBewSYZ3a7hNX6ppJtf8x1zmF_Pd8tfT4QKr0S-0VBR9NqFoe/s320/DSCN0111.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">The days shall surely soon grow colder, the savages shall surely make war upon us, and the nights will become long. But for this moment be well, be blessed, and please my dear ones, be thankful.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 26px;">May all beings be happy and blessed.</span></div>Mad Anne Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03219820685315057516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8439424128458628389.post-72576526532754821432011-06-27T20:32:00.004-05:002011-06-29T06:14:49.533-05:00Dare You Speak of Madness?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij00kUoatSMITWw-4Jf3JbYU4iF5mN_mNbtxaMHeKU2bKg2bcr-On61pC67KtWXPrCW1CB59-isuCKXRIbHb5AQBXnF9B3ov8qyYviBiuI5jUVJLJNxPSvnpqCrviTgCfiPSPaZIAg-kEM/s1600/230278_10150187885404272_613444271_7008973_7026897_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij00kUoatSMITWw-4Jf3JbYU4iF5mN_mNbtxaMHeKU2bKg2bcr-On61pC67KtWXPrCW1CB59-isuCKXRIbHb5AQBXnF9B3ov8qyYviBiuI5jUVJLJNxPSvnpqCrviTgCfiPSPaZIAg-kEM/s320/230278_10150187885404272_613444271_7008973_7026897_n.jpg" width="212" /></a></div> Madness? You dare speak to me of madness? Dare you say the word out of my earshot and think ye I know not that which you say? You speak the word, but you know not of what you speak. Know you the terror of fire once used for warmth now burning all that you have loved? Have you heard the sound of a child’s cry for mercy where there is none?<br />
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Perhaps, your hand has caressed a lover’s cheek, only hours later to use the very same to clutch a bloody knife; ministering grace and death within moments of each other. Such are these times, knowing not what the morn may bring. Lying, head upon weary arms for scant hours, called upon too early to war against savages intent upon death and destruction. T’is pure madness which makes a widow’s tale of heartbreak and loss, the entertainment of others, yet t’is this very form of madness which seems my destiny.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjxrSxN4q1SwkIrC4hoafn07QLKhMFE5eyNSsoYaDAQFzSrdBil5upL7p88IAiYISClpfnYqLqz1pRpA65RklqodezxVAPGRzYMyNff_N9aiodMaKGqRVlHB4WTKdm1ijEhbfFyzVTmBjL/s1600/264999_178035662255667_100001477025181_503668_1849235_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjxrSxN4q1SwkIrC4hoafn07QLKhMFE5eyNSsoYaDAQFzSrdBil5upL7p88IAiYISClpfnYqLqz1pRpA65RklqodezxVAPGRzYMyNff_N9aiodMaKGqRVlHB4WTKdm1ijEhbfFyzVTmBjL/s320/264999_178035662255667_100001477025181_503668_1849235_n.jpg" width="313" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">image captured by Mark Selter <a href="http://www.markselter.com/">http://www.markselter.com/</a></td></tr>
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Dare I write words of love, of beauty? Of nights when the hearth fire burned bright, memories made, only to be lost to the sound of the muzzle’s blast on the morn. Shall I write of iridescent flowers dusted across the pasture. Of a shift white and sheer, gossamer as moth’s wings? Dare I write of urgently whispered words? Nay, not for fear of loss. All of this and more I feel! I have felt, and fear losing.<br />
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Yet, like moth to flame, drawn to fight the savage. To avenge all that has been lost. Madness. Yes. T’is surely madness, for there are times I feel others inside of my mind, inside of my heart, in my head screaming in fury for their revenge. T’is their hand at work whilst my rifle is raised; as my knife plunges.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGZMet19SNSHnySGHzDP-Cb5NuwQI8ZtB50O4YJ8YOeWHcmIdtAm6ua847djampG80dlKcJeX5VvSNx_ab73i6bUuk2X08VWhHbK-Px00OPpArLilBJvx13yljk2UH-NMS36XrOPnBJE-H/s1600/225338_10150187884409272_613444271_7008966_2755589_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGZMet19SNSHnySGHzDP-Cb5NuwQI8ZtB50O4YJ8YOeWHcmIdtAm6ua847djampG80dlKcJeX5VvSNx_ab73i6bUuk2X08VWhHbK-Px00OPpArLilBJvx13yljk2UH-NMS36XrOPnBJE-H/s320/225338_10150187884409272_613444271_7008966_2755589_n.jpg" width="304" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Captured Moments by Ken Bentley<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizy6xUMSJhTth-VNk_gk_iLsd-h3oouy87AW2h_xraDnKlPuqRe2ktnAGLiNH9_gKwWoEedKwKrwZq5I-gg-L3ytScY76wgRhzYrgsqSbCqbpZlgxUrogeB0uS7vPXDH0y9724gqWtYrDt/s1600/widow+with+a+knife.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizy6xUMSJhTth-VNk_gk_iLsd-h3oouy87AW2h_xraDnKlPuqRe2ktnAGLiNH9_gKwWoEedKwKrwZq5I-gg-L3ytScY76wgRhzYrgsqSbCqbpZlgxUrogeB0uS7vPXDH0y9724gqWtYrDt/s320/widow+with+a+knife.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;">Image from Don Counts and the Book of Faces</td></tr>
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</tbody></table>These days and nights passed I have traveled far and wide. To the banks of Laughery Creek where savages tore through a homestead ripping a babe from the arms of her mother and the butt of my rifle took its toll upon a savage’s skull. Children tossed over painted shoulders, carried screaming from all they have ever known. Loss so deeply felt by a mother who stood amidst the carnage and chaos. Laughing madly, trying to wake the tiny lifeless babe she had moments before smothered at her breast to keep its cries quiet. Madness, you speak to me of such things? Have you been there flattened upon the grass holding strips of bandage to stanch the flow of ceaseless pumping blood? Have you seen the madness of a mother’s eyes as she recognizes her unwitting complicity in her child's death?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyOjGTC58V5w_cGXAqRi-BPCOBsSTBS0pYiJrdnfwZKzeih3m7pEpnpMA2MraCDMI2pLM7q5gv70jm-orABxwZuGqo5w-uEGJ9wUNva2ah8QoMO81tE7CdAGtYloMOzSMbEDcGWxsIf6UO/s1600/209764_1865238163587_1620023647_1947494_4496395_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyOjGTC58V5w_cGXAqRi-BPCOBsSTBS0pYiJrdnfwZKzeih3m7pEpnpMA2MraCDMI2pLM7q5gv70jm-orABxwZuGqo5w-uEGJ9wUNva2ah8QoMO81tE7CdAGtYloMOzSMbEDcGWxsIf6UO/s320/209764_1865238163587_1620023647_1947494_4496395_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image from Rebecca Waterman</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">This tragedy barely behind me, I pressed onward to Mr. Martin’s station for what was to be a sojourn of happiness with my dear Mr. Mains. I traveled once more with my friend Roundman and again, nary a stranger was met by my friend! All who were near became instant friends, pulled in by Ron’s humor and kindness. All but one, which remained untamed, and was duly relocated to a more suitable home!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9iohprp6HkLXuz2UAfL8FIyL0u8liFCcaAr2hnfeZo2hXyH6bOebpXpv4jvTZE3mUMc0SSIyfHkoW_DlQLSZ4HuHj7WlATftQEpRgoPDotMFVIfsTu6-qaM4tprUlerZlByynVz6q2kfQ/s1600/IMG_20110512_181823.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9iohprp6HkLXuz2UAfL8FIyL0u8liFCcaAr2hnfeZo2hXyH6bOebpXpv4jvTZE3mUMc0SSIyfHkoW_DlQLSZ4HuHj7WlATftQEpRgoPDotMFVIfsTu6-qaM4tprUlerZlByynVz6q2kfQ/s320/IMG_20110512_181823.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Ah, to be in the arms of my love once more! Time nearly flew by with not nearly enough to satiate our desire to be together. T'is perhaps this, the most true madness; to be separated by hours, days, months and miles from the one whom we love most dearly!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnHl0NCfToQvvxmkSasn72tgIqtz88uNWiIm5GYE-LN2U_6m9AuGFQ03tiPj1vfAy2oRX1jYqRqYYC1WKqwBkOUnDQpbE4IImf9VOYlLk-6SujvK1eT-XGuYR7XRDIEJlUEhYUxZzasNeP/s1600/IMG_20110514_194528.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnHl0NCfToQvvxmkSasn72tgIqtz88uNWiIm5GYE-LN2U_6m9AuGFQ03tiPj1vfAy2oRX1jYqRqYYC1WKqwBkOUnDQpbE4IImf9VOYlLk-6SujvK1eT-XGuYR7XRDIEJlUEhYUxZzasNeP/s320/IMG_20110514_194528.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">And still even in this fine place the savage was never quiet! Little did we guess the Cherokee were watching us at the mid day whilst we walked aside waggoners Heindl & Linenkohl. I am grateful beyond belief the attack came only after my friends the Heasleys, Mr. Mains and Mr. Linnenkohl and Mr. Heindl and I were a safe distance to the walls of the fort. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhasitpOjbC5c1Of_thBQr_Ed6zKcMQK8V0DmZWosZmOpdTBGf3lj8D5spQIuo2tkTq0WZw4w2SedsKvgEx2NWh0lvhU1ksjVyMzlwgaRT8EmauGzhQesMhfkAQYFsSW1jOKb3zLJSm4LYb/s1600/227237_938136499963_19215803_45986288_2878167_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhasitpOjbC5c1Of_thBQr_Ed6zKcMQK8V0DmZWosZmOpdTBGf3lj8D5spQIuo2tkTq0WZw4w2SedsKvgEx2NWh0lvhU1ksjVyMzlwgaRT8EmauGzhQesMhfkAQYFsSW1jOKb3zLJSm4LYb/s320/227237_938136499963_19215803_45986288_2878167_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image by Amanda Evans and the Book of Faces</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"> Captains Titus and Martin were spitting mad as men were deployed along the ramparts. I was granted a station at the wall gun, where I believe I turned back many a yellow dog with a bark much louder than any they bargained for! </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9tI4LTkeXUbHpYkAx6cXOdhNxxt8PLNfjxDqUdGZqtqcTRoQHodOwEj8E25W3CodnePwSdtsdeuJgsvxUd2erR6BCirzAsEUot7nJP1gZaCRkBJO7auMsEh_SDRQsaUYhPHk9wIVLkRIp/s1600/241265_209926872380671_100000900795135_615737_7005313_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9tI4LTkeXUbHpYkAx6cXOdhNxxt8PLNfjxDqUdGZqtqcTRoQHodOwEj8E25W3CodnePwSdtsdeuJgsvxUd2erR6BCirzAsEUot7nJP1gZaCRkBJO7auMsEh_SDRQsaUYhPHk9wIVLkRIp/s320/241265_209926872380671_100000900795135_615737_7005313_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another image from the Book of Faces, via Chetworth del Gato</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">Yet still the dogs were successful in grasping within their evil limbs the most tender of lambs; the Doctor’s beautiful governess and her young charges, the Doctors four lovely daughters! One and all taken by the barbarians to the slaughter! And yet the good Doctor carried on, treating the wounded upon the field, ignorant of his pending doom. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibMqVb3pUsQdwSrHgY2kFEB4abO7wWhtwFnYBJ-cKNp0UjZHj9CwmtQSyEspm9mgf8Xt7hKFy1o9FQpFlc4VphB4TaOw-kC3on63huomvtX9L1wnCpmUdajDcZt5HcuNJrUD2KqPXumxsG/s1600/228606_1870488615822_1649317229_1775761_7339595_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibMqVb3pUsQdwSrHgY2kFEB4abO7wWhtwFnYBJ-cKNp0UjZHj9CwmtQSyEspm9mgf8Xt7hKFy1o9FQpFlc4VphB4TaOw-kC3on63huomvtX9L1wnCpmUdajDcZt5HcuNJrUD2KqPXumxsG/s320/228606_1870488615822_1649317229_1775761_7339595_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmEQ-vuBGvGMEeNmYK7Q7wuTc_x29-DXUZ6IP9vU781yKOPcTxpG1nWyv7SZ22wZnjI2B2v_haNeZxBO-uTBZ98bwF31jtxDGzqBgwEw_rZkebT_kOheMAKRl-gT3EtpENKRr4-C4Ztz8R/s1600/221379_202897389746608_100000790459608_467902_5293563_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmEQ-vuBGvGMEeNmYK7Q7wuTc_x29-DXUZ6IP9vU781yKOPcTxpG1nWyv7SZ22wZnjI2B2v_haNeZxBO-uTBZ98bwF31jtxDGzqBgwEw_rZkebT_kOheMAKRl-gT3EtpENKRr4-C4Ztz8R/s320/221379_202897389746608_100000790459608_467902_5293563_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From Amanda Evans - the Book of Faces</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>My own dear, dear friend Roundman was selected with a small group of men to press outside the walls of the fort to push the savages back. Imagine my terror upon finding he had fallen in the field, his musket clutched in his hands! Thankfully, but wounded! I could not imagine myself telling his dearest wife Jane of his loss! Fearing the words “burn the messenger!” I was most gladdened the Doctor was able to ascertain he would stand to fight again!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The day's raid upon Martin's Station subsided, though but a few hours later a wretched evening attack found me outside the walls in company with Captain Titus. Together in the gloaming we two seemed everywhere upon the field! The barrel of my fine smoothbore Lucky became hot to the touch as she sprayed her deadly fire upon the heathens of the night. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">T’was a pure pleasure to find Mr. Boone, who had traveled so many many miles was at my back at all times, loaded and ready whilst I reloaded, and I firing whilst he shoved powder down the hot barrel of his own thunder stick. The battle raged, until Captain Titus’s sword sprang forth from its scabbard and he personally led the men in a final push to move the savages from the field. Their heinous black forms fading as shadows into the trees from whence they came. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHZ5wo2EcK_u9bAfUN0CkYJGbn-qz3q5dq3Cgw_czofKSPIaHApXC1sj3OUZGC_hLujcpcvTqquY0jqnKSiZst5UqSlxBMZnNco9BliPezBg2QXXwLfEvJxjKSCQY0smG33JZPpRRt5k4e/s1600/224685_1869927361791_1649317229_1774602_6783743_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHZ5wo2EcK_u9bAfUN0CkYJGbn-qz3q5dq3Cgw_czofKSPIaHApXC1sj3OUZGC_hLujcpcvTqquY0jqnKSiZst5UqSlxBMZnNco9BliPezBg2QXXwLfEvJxjKSCQY0smG33JZPpRRt5k4e/s320/224685_1869927361791_1649317229_1774602_6783743_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">image from the Book of Faces ~ Retha Elaine Reece</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">Captain Titus was kind enough to offer a glass of fine Madeira in his cabin as the final remains of the sun slipped behind the mountains. Candles were lit, sparkling glasses set upon the table and bottle uncorked. Together we toasted the fine young men who had fought so bravely, those who would not be coming home, and those who were fighting still. Though much refreshed from the Madeira I was longing for the comfort of my dearest as I begged leave of Captain Titus.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">From the fort I passed the flames of another cabin which had been burned. Another frontier family found themselves homeless and lost upon the land; having lost more than the hard work to build the small cabin which burned like a beacon from Hell itself in the dark night. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU3cwsZ_Gcnv-qFXR6bVKVsAejR79GWphY2CmjBgmKwCFnTEz1ZwwXZp2GpUBCYu16yCyDbTd9VJPGNMtC_5ExHHzECfg9F9ytZqx7gjKtOID8An-atX9kgKwMaYB1SZRIqo-rS71JfvKn/s1600/IMG_20110514_213702.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU3cwsZ_Gcnv-qFXR6bVKVsAejR79GWphY2CmjBgmKwCFnTEz1ZwwXZp2GpUBCYu16yCyDbTd9VJPGNMtC_5ExHHzECfg9F9ytZqx7gjKtOID8An-atX9kgKwMaYB1SZRIqo-rS71JfvKn/s320/IMG_20110514_213702.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Wearily, I lay in the arms of my love knowing full well we would part on the coming day. Our words, thoughts and deeds were those of two who could not get enough of one another. The dawning day brought forth shovels and the dead were buried beside the ashes of their lost cabins. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlTy7rdfAzDIdeZ2sKyEDrGBCJNphradJPrd3gHlx9Jya4nuU1Nkka2bIfBW_dZBPFOPEtAY3XACd-O4QAiC5yrhL3nejjB07nAf8jOeQcA8ywdfK-FDErfUW7K-QSL5J4hsVN6d3AjJHs/s1600/230164_689333258970_50904314_35982508_3614406_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlTy7rdfAzDIdeZ2sKyEDrGBCJNphradJPrd3gHlx9Jya4nuU1Nkka2bIfBW_dZBPFOPEtAY3XACd-O4QAiC5yrhL3nejjB07nAf8jOeQcA8ywdfK-FDErfUW7K-QSL5J4hsVN6d3AjJHs/s320/230164_689333258970_50904314_35982508_3614406_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Captured by Adin Pemberton from the Book of Faces</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">The parson said a most touching and fine service for the gathered settlers and travelers garrisoned at Mr. Martin's Station, following which, a scant few moments were gathered during which Captain Titus and I were able to greet each other as dear friends.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJdhfAorQp6ZKjH1GvfFHS6y8omudyiaQweukmXhWiCD7dsZ0DrnQRaykgTD5KX-1aA_h5fuNJevidzVwUpE0bRL0BDw5fhQc5CIVif-X1bteBJIm0-oXQlfSS8CxCNOocIfAVAu7u3dQa/s1600/IMG_20110515_142403.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJdhfAorQp6ZKjH1GvfFHS6y8omudyiaQweukmXhWiCD7dsZ0DrnQRaykgTD5KX-1aA_h5fuNJevidzVwUpE0bRL0BDw5fhQc5CIVif-X1bteBJIm0-oXQlfSS8CxCNOocIfAVAu7u3dQa/s320/IMG_20110515_142403.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Mr. Mains escorted me from the fort yard to do a bit of shopping and then a ride with the waggoner returned us to his cabin.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bnHn6LJh230/TgkYd5U1h_I/AAAAAAAAAnA/OF7wdPT0j8U/s1600/Jesse+-+Raid+%2523+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bnHn6LJh230/TgkYd5U1h_I/AAAAAAAAAnA/OF7wdPT0j8U/s320/Jesse+-+Raid+%2523+4.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">image provided by Mr. Carroll Ross</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiLrn7EvvJ0lV1k0Z2Wq5IxVQegudXTgOQCYnxB_hOazwSQpQZwAmpUoUlBHFRJ_b7v-rb8w_5RMGx-HyAI1weGOZtpz9wQoAGJ2FZMcrDhZwI44fc-kMbQ2XE3zcAfsyADMYokvMQYhvL/s1600/wagon+ride.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiLrn7EvvJ0lV1k0Z2Wq5IxVQegudXTgOQCYnxB_hOazwSQpQZwAmpUoUlBHFRJ_b7v-rb8w_5RMGx-HyAI1weGOZtpz9wQoAGJ2FZMcrDhZwI44fc-kMbQ2XE3zcAfsyADMYokvMQYhvL/s320/wagon+ride.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="265" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"> My dear friend Roundman came round to collect me from Mr. Mains cabin, knowing full well how much I hated to gather my scant belongings from the small cabin which is Mr. M's humble domain.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioRnq1_u33ieWZKuLcpQKDOzLQuUMCl22EhcpFGdLPUmcNE6FNAaAYnChB_inN-YJt4heb8d-XKZXJ7rWp_afRvGrjkS8gfy7xXX-nAUBX7_gjPlLHpNbzf5GY6mCak8GbhyphenhyphenzPpb-sWjHy/s1600/IMG_20110512_114026.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioRnq1_u33ieWZKuLcpQKDOzLQuUMCl22EhcpFGdLPUmcNE6FNAaAYnChB_inN-YJt4heb8d-XKZXJ7rWp_afRvGrjkS8gfy7xXX-nAUBX7_gjPlLHpNbzf5GY6mCak8GbhyphenhyphenzPpb-sWjHy/s320/IMG_20110512_114026.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Our long journey away from Powell's Valley was filled with talk of our time spent, his narrow escape from the hands of death, and my simple happiness with love, and the sign of hope we'd been sent from heaven above at the close of the day.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWTtctiQA7FIkLJF0zv47DnMgQ618LJreyTgXfwdwNYJCREl5LVwZiso_cmkE0Dl_-6MRHE2RIkBhluP_VmBqe3QrjnuSEa2xPnHtMcs7THEnfgM1IxgptR7AodTf7Mm3A5E1RkhdL602O/s1600/222306_210215325677651_100000675542350_663192_302720_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWTtctiQA7FIkLJF0zv47DnMgQ618LJreyTgXfwdwNYJCREl5LVwZiso_cmkE0Dl_-6MRHE2RIkBhluP_VmBqe3QrjnuSEa2xPnHtMcs7THEnfgM1IxgptR7AodTf7Mm3A5E1RkhdL602O/s320/222306_210215325677651_100000675542350_663192_302720_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My own travels continued, including a brief visit once more to the land of Friendship along Laughery Creek with my lovely friend Marie Blanche. Together we celebrated long into the night amongst friends not seen for a goodly long time. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz_Kbuo-ub70IMAJc61m4gCJDO5JO4crr_J8v_f1XBxtV3KsEmr9P7WTXNhaxAwJCvgAgSNzLbLCpyYKaz6i21WQ0IC1PXFbta296qlOnen8lXXieaNP-oXjVkFMkB8P9ZR1JaYkDQq98X/s1600/51919_124789037582401_100001539154646_144376_2129715_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz_Kbuo-ub70IMAJc61m4gCJDO5JO4crr_J8v_f1XBxtV3KsEmr9P7WTXNhaxAwJCvgAgSNzLbLCpyYKaz6i21WQ0IC1PXFbta296qlOnen8lXXieaNP-oXjVkFMkB8P9ZR1JaYkDQq98X/s320/51919_124789037582401_100001539154646_144376_2129715_o.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image from the Book of Faces ~ Jeri Vaughn</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sadly for us, though perhaps a blessing upon our unfortunate neighbors, our shining times did not last and but five days later I was sheltered within the walls of Fort Harrod whilst the damned savages taunted, hurling insults, fire and lead upon the fortifications. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKMGOhKj6cLcdeiq6_GOnZEI88GQKwtR237sHzwzbW9iKvxHWEkDIpQYeP-2z9B-Y_wq_4KF8Yrzx9xNkMzOcPROr9n_z9vXDEUpLXbp2ulToQojkWj91ffWPa2Y73IEAJ2kj_88zwZWIy/s1600/259670_1599371523352_1807969033_1001079_5410322_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKMGOhKj6cLcdeiq6_GOnZEI88GQKwtR237sHzwzbW9iKvxHWEkDIpQYeP-2z9B-Y_wq_4KF8Yrzx9xNkMzOcPROr9n_z9vXDEUpLXbp2ulToQojkWj91ffWPa2Y73IEAJ2kj_88zwZWIy/s320/259670_1599371523352_1807969033_1001079_5410322_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">image captured by Mark Selter <a href="http://www.markselter.com/">http://www.markselter.com/</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div> My good friends Mr. M. Ramsey, Mr. Burns, the Dunkelbergers, the Selters, the Heasleys, Mr. Hagee and his lovely wife were with us as were the dear Parson and his servant Maggie.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirYV0trB4W9G4cckrWXAN-xU4G1351UkRPnzza65llotjp4JLf3gjnB5vGjSew7uAS8cZL38F-RF3NM-C130aonjsd7MoIbsYsVi_GJQ2qPE73ty4qjVESZSc8rfJ6wLVF4MRE7h0hrW0_/s1600/IMG_20110618_174527.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirYV0trB4W9G4cckrWXAN-xU4G1351UkRPnzza65llotjp4JLf3gjnB5vGjSew7uAS8cZL38F-RF3NM-C130aonjsd7MoIbsYsVi_GJQ2qPE73ty4qjVESZSc8rfJ6wLVF4MRE7h0hrW0_/s320/IMG_20110618_174527.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">T'was so good to share time and a punch bowl with my friends! Mr. Ramsey, Mr. Kell, Mr. MacGillie, Mr. vonDielingen joined the Selters and I in partaking of the communal punch bowl. Ahhh, therein lies madness, partaken of willingly! T'was most fortunate the Parson had removed himself from the proceedings, lest a sermon would surly have followed upon the Sunday morn following!</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisf4wjJT-gAiZRKOzu14Jf8NwwwfTaaCmZICgdsHefu2hu07C4-5j8bD4dAUsrgAHVfztu4USDv9m2whNpl3nDma6BdF28PnFbx956KUmK7ZVksCXwloAJphM5xSsXqEUcfk2KxoqXH6Wi/s1600/PICT0098.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisf4wjJT-gAiZRKOzu14Jf8NwwwfTaaCmZICgdsHefu2hu07C4-5j8bD4dAUsrgAHVfztu4USDv9m2whNpl3nDma6BdF28PnFbx956KUmK7ZVksCXwloAJphM5xSsXqEUcfk2KxoqXH6Wi/s320/PICT0098.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">image captured by Mark Selter <a href="http://www.markselter.com/">http://www.markselter.com/</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3UJstaZgX47ro_No5MXUqykZgMvxlaJ711X5oHsObEbfixeSJbHRZRFW4Ks091hdygPhAzLznDqNe1haYxl9Wlj2S6ou9yWhWUw8eym6Gj2Dwhq7sGLlLxYRYm9G4vfepdBthS298Zm-m/s1600/PICT0106.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3UJstaZgX47ro_No5MXUqykZgMvxlaJ711X5oHsObEbfixeSJbHRZRFW4Ks091hdygPhAzLznDqNe1haYxl9Wlj2S6ou9yWhWUw8eym6Gj2Dwhq7sGLlLxYRYm9G4vfepdBthS298Zm-m/s320/PICT0106.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">image captured by Mark Selter <a href="http://www.markselter.com/">http://www.markselter.com/</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVaPaHe_iaTqk9USWjvBmERvHXdgH5HDMt3ZxlDBuO0juA2PFs4mGAaP8r1K_Yiq_rVYjG_qNprPL3IuliRXXZQFY8N1P2uXHRGU9tCfLXpcaT9OqgcqKMhYKUGAxGwuV5mWAeMwrn0-mA/s1600/PICT0101+%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVaPaHe_iaTqk9USWjvBmERvHXdgH5HDMt3ZxlDBuO0juA2PFs4mGAaP8r1K_Yiq_rVYjG_qNprPL3IuliRXXZQFY8N1P2uXHRGU9tCfLXpcaT9OqgcqKMhYKUGAxGwuV5mWAeMwrn0-mA/s320/PICT0101+%25281%2529.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">image captured by Mark Selter <a href="http://www.markselter.com/">http://www.markselter.com/</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKRG2PF2zzqQ59os1rQ1lnUaHGqgJ39Z81l2TxuEH76nkqvIz_zEsr7lAb3962Nln70TCpxPEtF2JRNgW_9bOFuap5Wrc0p6Niw-X9vLk2OaIGQO4M23_5SFETt367qBjEi_7qD8zc-bXD/s1600/268889_1945877685580_1201657998_31783409_2520611_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKRG2PF2zzqQ59os1rQ1lnUaHGqgJ39Z81l2TxuEH76nkqvIz_zEsr7lAb3962Nln70TCpxPEtF2JRNgW_9bOFuap5Wrc0p6Niw-X9vLk2OaIGQO4M23_5SFETt367qBjEi_7qD8zc-bXD/s320/268889_1945877685580_1201657998_31783409_2520611_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">image captured by Mark Selter <a href="http://www.markselter.com/">http://www.markselter.com/</a></td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div><div class="MsoNormal">T’was pure pleasure having Mr. MacGillie back within our lands, his having traveled most far and wide in the days earlier. He spent a goodly amount of his time sewing a pair of moccasins for Mr. Kell, who will surely wear them out in but a few days. Ah well, yet another form of madness, to speak nothing of the great pleated sleeve generation of fellows being clad by this seamstress of the sand. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEishTCXt0JOT_7x-JZbAxZb3WRbHaXXN8tq6NQWqVcmzs1SgM3sm9iAJ_eCaX3stdO14wjoHheINnyXXF379CoZRhHD0qgt6aZovJMmlmU8Rir3h_dfIuOtNSMS-aYc2jn7A6tEDKAhtYUX/s1600/244199_10150287701633319_567338318_9067478_6451841_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEishTCXt0JOT_7x-JZbAxZb3WRbHaXXN8tq6NQWqVcmzs1SgM3sm9iAJ_eCaX3stdO14wjoHheINnyXXF379CoZRhHD0qgt6aZovJMmlmU8Rir3h_dfIuOtNSMS-aYc2jn7A6tEDKAhtYUX/s320/244199_10150287701633319_567338318_9067478_6451841_o.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">image from Luke MacGillie and the Book of Faces</td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2oKTNrKuHv4EJp5yu-l-uhfJ59w4TI8HCk3687rFxf8BG5GRRBT0fmDAPsacQ_52OtI2EAu_Ca_btoGQikG5c6mVYO1xMZo3RJHg38RK1eIb3H9NCuY87l5MkhhZrJMDQbovq_terxihw/s1600/IMG_20110618_182832.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2oKTNrKuHv4EJp5yu-l-uhfJ59w4TI8HCk3687rFxf8BG5GRRBT0fmDAPsacQ_52OtI2EAu_Ca_btoGQikG5c6mVYO1xMZo3RJHg38RK1eIb3H9NCuY87l5MkhhZrJMDQbovq_terxihw/s320/IMG_20110618_182832.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I believe we three MacGillie, Kell and I shall travel to Mr. Martin’s station in the coming weeks and I shall be reunited once again with my dear Mr. Mains whom I adore and miss madly. I pray he is safe and sound cradled in Powell's Valley awaiting my return. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Nay, do not speak to me of madness, for surely you know not of what you speak. </div>Mad Anne Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03219820685315057516noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8439424128458628389.post-76605296381535922432011-06-01T18:06:00.001-05:002011-06-01T18:09:37.487-05:00Dreamland<div class="MsoNormal">Dearest Readers,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>I’ve only just knuckled the sleep out of my eyes this early morn; grasping my pen and paper hoping to gather the wisps of strange dreams from the night last afore they escape my mind. T’was a dream which started in the arms of my dearest Mr. Mains, an impossibility as he is so many many miles from me. I’ll not cause you to blush by sharing those details but t’was quite warming on this cool morning. <br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB7FBmB2DC7N-_Kqq3hY8BQHaPiLBsRa7GlGRAhV4kPo0ysJkVyxsxqgveA2aB0YKVkJ1XvAr8A6AVHBSZ4R-Jx6KiHbIfkP29LynPD7wsEsZgwkC6CTG65lW6O4PqOuzoMo2MXMWJHGsM/s1600/382.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB7FBmB2DC7N-_Kqq3hY8BQHaPiLBsRa7GlGRAhV4kPo0ysJkVyxsxqgveA2aB0YKVkJ1XvAr8A6AVHBSZ4R-Jx6KiHbIfkP29LynPD7wsEsZgwkC6CTG65lW6O4PqOuzoMo2MXMWJHGsM/s320/382.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="239" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">The sound of rushing water, a stream cobbled in sunlight, shadow and splashing white bubbles woke me from dreams within my dream. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg079OIHkIwSqfqpzFDspBLqo5-zOmHDSLZKfbH4Egh2V2lgACtSXBmi5KIsQHxJyDOj0H7QlMl5S1aFLS-plC5datevoo5FNk-0iWVUoRQ7asuq-EnwkJJxT0LRC7yXn2l2bY2maNNbjXV/s1600/386.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg079OIHkIwSqfqpzFDspBLqo5-zOmHDSLZKfbH4Egh2V2lgACtSXBmi5KIsQHxJyDOj0H7QlMl5S1aFLS-plC5datevoo5FNk-0iWVUoRQ7asuq-EnwkJJxT0LRC7yXn2l2bY2maNNbjXV/s320/386.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="239" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Mr. M and I drank coffee and spoke words of love whilst sitting far above the water. The images changed in my mind and shifted to a place only accessible in dreams. Strangely, the two of us were now high in the trees with blooming mountain laurel below. The smell, even in my dream was intoxicating, but the view was truly magnificent. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc7ms_BVNeWpEdZsycAXJ88tBkqtAtqlDdLptIDxD6LFIFAWCE1pXA4x-i5OczDv28tlEgvhhHl6v1MS_Yak_kp_tMqgN9RKPJ8_9zIaKVkA6bzZ8TsxZcKyTAI57U21GERNfUzGHliVkH/s1600/484.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc7ms_BVNeWpEdZsycAXJ88tBkqtAtqlDdLptIDxD6LFIFAWCE1pXA4x-i5OczDv28tlEgvhhHl6v1MS_Yak_kp_tMqgN9RKPJ8_9zIaKVkA6bzZ8TsxZcKyTAI57U21GERNfUzGHliVkH/s320/484.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Mr. Mains and I were strung up in some type of extraordinary apparatus and were flying through the air as if we were birds. These dream flights were so vivid and strong t’was as if it had been in real life!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilEE1VcdV3dLiTTP3MUYv_jiDzAuI0wulh1JGC8SwlFPvYdo-5kE-AMLyHiqjvdZnLUy2zlcKUezIY3_fax6BcIY4nJafnP7Ucqxjik3nqD_ncg7qap8FN7jvgKVKEovXlHmiVC4OU44b1/s1600/566.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilEE1VcdV3dLiTTP3MUYv_jiDzAuI0wulh1JGC8SwlFPvYdo-5kE-AMLyHiqjvdZnLUy2zlcKUezIY3_fax6BcIY4nJafnP7Ucqxjik3nqD_ncg7qap8FN7jvgKVKEovXlHmiVC4OU44b1/s320/566.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">I wondered if I had screamed in my bed as I had as I’d crossed valleys high above the tree tops. The worst moment had been when I had somehow missed grasping Mr. Mains hand and found myself flying backwards over the longest distance between one landing and another.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Within scant moments Mr. M’s strong arms were around me and together we pulled ourselves to a landing platform, my heart raced and I could hardly get my breath. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlcD4oB8fO5Z9dOlA7wfjN5LwZ494peMbJh2TOgQMBYqCoG32j1aAZoLWGmlzQUKAoDOpe4AQ6ZeYGOPBafnxeHR-J7UQPgnWR59yoh3WtBIgwIMEnxVbABqIhXAUA_G9GxnxrFykK7ZZs/s1600/IMG_20110501_172527.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlcD4oB8fO5Z9dOlA7wfjN5LwZ494peMbJh2TOgQMBYqCoG32j1aAZoLWGmlzQUKAoDOpe4AQ6ZeYGOPBafnxeHR-J7UQPgnWR59yoh3WtBIgwIMEnxVbABqIhXAUA_G9GxnxrFykK7ZZs/s320/IMG_20110501_172527.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Again the dream shifted and I found myself once more aside a sparkling river surrounded by hundreds of fairie butterflies fluttering over a carpet of moss. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0w-AhO192rgdgvBVRkrzcK0JWfOjmVcOzNyM2ruDIrhTkYNRotlSK-PSdbZjVPZlFXIp98WRV3rmYcNWikn6OAy5xssVsgMfM2A5J36YoIOZ2fEVeyg3-9HVbpVKsb1pmjb4cF4ZpLer3/s1600/IMG_20110501_145042.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0w-AhO192rgdgvBVRkrzcK0JWfOjmVcOzNyM2ruDIrhTkYNRotlSK-PSdbZjVPZlFXIp98WRV3rmYcNWikn6OAy5xssVsgMfM2A5J36YoIOZ2fEVeyg3-9HVbpVKsb1pmjb4cF4ZpLer3/s320/IMG_20110501_145042.jpg" width="320" /></a><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwyT0DISFN7-rJ8hNE-juzy4WVkSsnV2lioSid5kCnDmmQgAq8ySqHvbTjxa_BI3qO2Ny-rI_yZ7QGXWoqWqQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitXUyCNrktVc513NlXxC0vTAbP3t8QJiSL1DBIUqSdUrdntRlXMYLm2QAY0k4CuNxnnfJCWlFj1vT_BCM1-WMl8nWQyr47-d86EYUKutscdgILMB1ezDuG_OdchMr87GxzmmKJAoABV7NL/s1600/IMG_20110501_145154.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitXUyCNrktVc513NlXxC0vTAbP3t8QJiSL1DBIUqSdUrdntRlXMYLm2QAY0k4CuNxnnfJCWlFj1vT_BCM1-WMl8nWQyr47-d86EYUKutscdgILMB1ezDuG_OdchMr87GxzmmKJAoABV7NL/s320/IMG_20110501_145154.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Upon waking my heart continued to soar and a smile remained upon my lips as I reached for pen and paper.</div>Mad Anne Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03219820685315057516noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8439424128458628389.post-17337477006588355562011-05-22T12:22:00.002-05:002011-05-22T17:38:11.487-05:00A tale of Pricketts Fort<div class="MsoNormal">Gentle Reader please understand the disorder of my writings and grant me leave to step back a month or so in time that this tale of Pricketts Fort not be lost.<br />
<br />
21 March<br />
<br />
A warm breeze teased the hair from my cap and bird song spilled from the trees. The post rider placed a sealed dispatch from Mr. Bray of Pricketts Fort in my hand, awaiting my instant reply. Quickly I nodded beckoning the rider within my cabin and offering him water to quench his thirst, I penned my assent. The ink barely dry, the rider was off and I had a moment to contemplate this turn of events. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWSmmtV_hUOCNCfKMHl3VWSDWswSrCvxbg0E4ReWKjtNQcUa_TiD0C3uX2hnK1vEE3Xwxr-u_5X_Du9fmD6P2cyTpESHqyZCt4p_DnEtgvdS8gPDQkMU8W-vKzDkgPP5EB3Et14D5UThBw/s1600/IMG_20110522_111638.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWSmmtV_hUOCNCfKMHl3VWSDWswSrCvxbg0E4ReWKjtNQcUa_TiD0C3uX2hnK1vEE3Xwxr-u_5X_Du9fmD6P2cyTpESHqyZCt4p_DnEtgvdS8gPDQkMU8W-vKzDkgPP5EB3Et14D5UThBw/s320/IMG_20110522_111638.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Though my intent had been to travel in the coming days far westward to the French fort deChartes, Mr. Bray’s urgent request had superseded my own preferences. I dashed off a letter of regret to my dear friends’ intent upon deChartes and notified them of this sudden and unexpected turn of events. Were it not for my high regard of Mr. Bray and the fort of his domain I’d surely not be altering my plans.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It seemed Mr. Bray would be playing host to a company of hunters, spies and scouts, each traveling far distances for a congress of sorts to determine their intent for the coming year. Such a congress as this would offer an opportunity for me to tell my story once more, perhaps influencing even one of these itinerant souls to take up the arms of Virginia to protect the innocent women and children of this wild land.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM071lCcusuW6FqQyG9ESTGIEmbEY_rwV6dPS4UDnqWUB5hCYLvTYlzKfqaEMPxZ0mQsiXFFjzT3BLBMhylcDDOuG5PbyyLAECWBwWzEHp9mI1mLjab4_WQdvDXw3ZcDs2FYcNBzFnQvqJ/s1600/157_0324.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM071lCcusuW6FqQyG9ESTGIEmbEY_rwV6dPS4UDnqWUB5hCYLvTYlzKfqaEMPxZ0mQsiXFFjzT3BLBMhylcDDOuG5PbyyLAECWBwWzEHp9mI1mLjab4_WQdvDXw3ZcDs2FYcNBzFnQvqJ/s320/157_0324.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
31, March<br />
In the company of two good and likeminded men, my dear friends Roundman and Mr. Spooner I set off for Pricketts fort. Our travels were swift and smooth. Upon arrival at the fort gates the weather took a turn for the worse and a dreary fog and snow shrouded all but the banks of the river. Perhaps an ominous sign of what was to come? Indeed, memories of times past spent in this place swirled ephemerally through my mind leaving my thoughts in turmoil. A heartily hailed greeting interrupted my silent reveries.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtjnTEnavfUa2dM5WJuofN1pqBg4TjaV6_GrYJCXtkEsgQf2pmmVL1ROupzhNiL16kmSuy3cSFCe3uFUkONwLjm0RxSoVy3sHF1JV9EXs9fLo-UojxI4iKyZxDTQkYIQKMMOfiMoW51ArR/s1600/157_0317.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtjnTEnavfUa2dM5WJuofN1pqBg4TjaV6_GrYJCXtkEsgQf2pmmVL1ROupzhNiL16kmSuy3cSFCe3uFUkONwLjm0RxSoVy3sHF1JV9EXs9fLo-UojxI4iKyZxDTQkYIQKMMOfiMoW51ArR/s320/157_0317.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">My dear Mr. Browder, the fine proprietor of Long Hunter Leather Company settled my emotions within the strength of his arms as we greeted one another warmly. Rarely does one meet such a person who can with so few words calm inner storms merely by listening. A fine and dear friend indeed! We spoke briefly of mutual friends, our lives and our most recent travels. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Ah_eNgQ5QwkEpENFmWvG-GVfw0OgOwKlwqZTxnFEbMe60Xvr6j00ut1Cfl4Nh_bFiK8sQhLxq39mKGbcuq9ij0d9K7cK4Egaimx2pXGPAThmTx1eSTetsK9Wz9VXkt16ZUoHw6KBsKSG/s1600/52046_1499380843581_1205965016_31265530_1073371_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Ah_eNgQ5QwkEpENFmWvG-GVfw0OgOwKlwqZTxnFEbMe60Xvr6j00ut1Cfl4Nh_bFiK8sQhLxq39mKGbcuq9ij0d9K7cK4Egaimx2pXGPAThmTx1eSTetsK9Wz9VXkt16ZUoHw6KBsKSG/s320/52046_1499380843581_1205965016_31265530_1073371_o.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bob Browder, <a href="http://www.longhunterleather.com/">Longhunter Leather Compan</a>y, image by Karen Garland</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidjjT19Uo9o3Ww8GdNnwpKjeax9J2ifbdPVEl_EER-T0Jd7dmoqNMBeR5MkcZdThAeMtllU1uR-LwxFBt5sfZqXAuW2nlwJvMfF3O3HRg3XAzTQjM-CC_M9vcbYXnhZGNR5HO8AOqSxqE9/s1600/157_0377.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidjjT19Uo9o3Ww8GdNnwpKjeax9J2ifbdPVEl_EER-T0Jd7dmoqNMBeR5MkcZdThAeMtllU1uR-LwxFBt5sfZqXAuW2nlwJvMfF3O3HRg3XAzTQjM-CC_M9vcbYXnhZGNR5HO8AOqSxqE9/s320/157_0377.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>A short time later I announced myself to Mr. Bray and he conducted me to my quarters. A small cabin safe within the fort walls was to be mine. T’was a smallish cabin, yet what it lacked in size was surely made up in convenience, a much valued asset after having traveled so many miles. I dropped my bedroll and quickly ascertained a number of holes in the fortress walls would need to be filled to afford any protection whatsoever from rain, snow and prying eyes! This small problem was quickly overcome and a modicum of privacy resulted; another valued asset particularly when garrisoned amongst so many men of questionable origin!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW5IBkPJWJoe7OVUuXGH4xcF03mq6HiRnuLqEz2ScguktObsv2-9USZwNM8xP4C0XRD1qhuUkPXUNAdwAYd5Y7a4nAEIJZeK7yXMg-w4_RSW6BZvwYkS8A4mDKMeQYxYB4nhhsD15K1I18/s1600/157_0391.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW5IBkPJWJoe7OVUuXGH4xcF03mq6HiRnuLqEz2ScguktObsv2-9USZwNM8xP4C0XRD1qhuUkPXUNAdwAYd5Y7a4nAEIJZeK7yXMg-w4_RSW6BZvwYkS8A4mDKMeQYxYB4nhhsD15K1I18/s320/157_0391.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNwqhrTvunWn7wrPvrBKi5rnZKk5I6U3vThlNCHqoKg9ftQQnbxOe4eX1NurhMY5eUk7cO56jEROyxZZxVv6vUqpEHqouejoJ63npyAMsPJxAuhubGkOU2ytjzFv-ifTbiU5RkqTEHmySf/s1600/157_0396.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNwqhrTvunWn7wrPvrBKi5rnZKk5I6U3vThlNCHqoKg9ftQQnbxOe4eX1NurhMY5eUk7cO56jEROyxZZxVv6vUqpEHqouejoJ63npyAMsPJxAuhubGkOU2ytjzFv-ifTbiU5RkqTEHmySf/s320/157_0396.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiACGPZXU02wjaFA55NfjOM4OZUkCqhUX_y_YWYhpu0JJDwI3r2rnqhbUT6t7nwkIULij38kzgjI3jZptSZWmk058FYdKf_aQmGnqKtVwcJSwiPQAh7NIJ-EOEevH9v_Acuj_oT2Jp7oxXc/s1600/157_0397+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiACGPZXU02wjaFA55NfjOM4OZUkCqhUX_y_YWYhpu0JJDwI3r2rnqhbUT6t7nwkIULij38kzgjI3jZptSZWmk058FYdKf_aQmGnqKtVwcJSwiPQAh7NIJ-EOEevH9v_Acuj_oT2Jp7oxXc/s320/157_0397+-+Copy.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Many friendships which had languished in the year of our separation were renewed and it was a fine thing indeed to see so many friends in good health and fine spirits. Yet there remained one whom I’d not yet spied amongst those assembled. My hearts turmoil once more returned, for I had not seen Mr. Mains since the time we had spent at the Blue Licks many months past and we had not left under good terms.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Time seemed mercilessly slow as I kept an eye toward the fort gates. Suddenly, there he was. My heart took a leap and a smile unbidden rushed to my lips. The pull of my heart toward his was undeniable, yet my head still said “no.”<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgleGmjlh4z0CKS7y1RFDK8i3Zf2Vov5fH4-hJjqTtcr1f30WHNQ_QiXthilUd0Oy8t4UxRhQkdbN4gnWAYbp3JO0_AtSlGLJRoeOr1ehKr3VrTNmHIo4C8YXNHFt0GNd4gsAqEpPIA1ha/s1600/157_0461.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgleGmjlh4z0CKS7y1RFDK8i3Zf2Vov5fH4-hJjqTtcr1f30WHNQ_QiXthilUd0Oy8t4UxRhQkdbN4gnWAYbp3JO0_AtSlGLJRoeOr1ehKr3VrTNmHIo4C8YXNHFt0GNd4gsAqEpPIA1ha/s320/157_0461.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdlCqSmwlpEfg-fb0nfCQ4d4vP4LM49UQn4Vm-aboW37dDtmaMseH88Sr7VXylIk2ILM7GWN4r3f_qeVjpLeAbwG35ep-Nv1nv5XC10x2Vfibt980tqDGA9igvoka4iPmw2Chemk6mnzwg/s1600/157_0389.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdlCqSmwlpEfg-fb0nfCQ4d4vP4LM49UQn4Vm-aboW37dDtmaMseH88Sr7VXylIk2ILM7GWN4r3f_qeVjpLeAbwG35ep-Nv1nv5XC10x2Vfibt980tqDGA9igvoka4iPmw2Chemk6mnzwg/s320/157_0389.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Fortunately, mutual friends came along and we were both caught up in other conversations. There was word a few traders from the east had arrived and I was looking forward to meeting them. Indeed, t’was not long afore Mr. Galban, Mr. Hersee, Mr. Stout and Mr. Privott made their presence known. Further, I discovered Mr. N. Kobuck had arrived as well. The conversations quickly turned loud and laughter rang from the walls of the common house. Tales oft told were brought out once more and new stories from old friends blended together into a hum of contentment.<br />
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The gentlemen and longhunters found they had much in common and seemed to go on for hours on the pleating of sleeves, stroud cloth versus buckskin for leggings and even a word or two was heard of a foreign item they called a loading block…. Late into the evening we laughed and carried on. I made my way to my cabin well before the men had stopped their incessant talk of sewing, stitching and just the right materials. I noted Mr. Mains was well aware of my departing as I reached the common house door and headed toward my cabin. <br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Alone and much chilled, my blankets and the canvass draped around my bunk did little to keep me warm. Wind, snow and rain came through the rough walls of my cabin and even up through the floor. T’was a long night full of twisting and turning, trying to get comfortable, I wished I’d not forgotten my soapstone bed warmer. The morning came with little relief from the cold or the damp, though my dear dear friend Roundman had made coffee which warmed me some. His jests and humor brought a smile and some warmth as well. <br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Just as I threw my head back and laughed so heartily I nearly lost my cap, I caught sight of Mr. Mains coming from the fort yard. My laughter caught in my throat as I saw the huge grin break across his face. He strode up saying it did his heart good to see me laughing. Roundman filled Jesse’s coffee mug and we all stood around telling jokes, poking fun at each other and teasing. A bit later it was time to go visit with our good friend Mr. C. Brown who was tanning some hides in the back of the fort yard. Though the customary smell assaulted my nose, it caused a great smile to see Mr. Brown who was looking quite well. A rather large crowd gathered as Charlie shared and demonstrated the secrets of his tanning skills. I was much pleased to show Mr. Brown the fine shot bag Mr. Mains had made for me of the hide I’d gotten from Charlie the year past. T’is a fine bag, nicely done and I’m greatly proud of it. <br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Speaking of shooting, Mr. Michael Seidelman spent the better part of an hour and a half talking about Carolina tradeguns, showing a number of his creations including one I dearly fell in love with; the Bumford gun which is covered in vines and flowers of ink. Truly this may be something I must have Mr. Seidelman make for me, ti’s so beautiful!! Mr. Kobuck’s nearly infamous Type G blue gun was also on display and much admired. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxAOCSTOk_p38g_qWIwLeLpUwYb3qpbsOLQu5RWL6JgeK7Zw_A2ruVjN3AIsgeN8-lh8rb5rOv23EqkLReT5ihMDDsweNPgH_QV60DrvNFwA1IwrA0DiRr9VIXL98iVAdy-WmlEgr45NFT/s1600/157_0331.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxAOCSTOk_p38g_qWIwLeLpUwYb3qpbsOLQu5RWL6JgeK7Zw_A2ruVjN3AIsgeN8-lh8rb5rOv23EqkLReT5ihMDDsweNPgH_QV60DrvNFwA1IwrA0DiRr9VIXL98iVAdy-WmlEgr45NFT/s320/157_0331.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnIixNkRO2tqctuv9WAtdzlU30k7jodiktjIamPV9cGeGNGDVAmAeMI6d1x3_zAsgha4z3jX87ym6bT9agTvhLswVJVFvJJmvPAZYcF1STwpDeBoCTgF3lzRThyysZxGl1qwleBGpQqSe3/s1600/180707_185231831509334_100000675542350_497245_4712151_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnIixNkRO2tqctuv9WAtdzlU30k7jodiktjIamPV9cGeGNGDVAmAeMI6d1x3_zAsgha4z3jX87ym6bT9agTvhLswVJVFvJJmvPAZYcF1STwpDeBoCTgF3lzRThyysZxGl1qwleBGpQqSe3/s200/180707_185231831509334_100000675542350_497245_4712151_n.jpg" width="148" /></a>Time seemed to fly by and late in the afternoon I found myself in the common house with friends Mr. and Mrs. McClellan. We talked beside the fire for a few minutes and were lightly interrupted by Mr. Mains who joined us, asking me if I’d mind braiding his hair. My heart jumped into my throat! How could he ask that I touch his hair, knowing full well t’is a weakness of mine!<br />
A smart reply came to my lips, but was beaten by Mrs. McClellan who asked if he was sure certain he thought that would be a good idea. We all laughed, but I can say that was perhaps the tightest braid his hair had known in a good long time! Nearly causing his eyes to pull back from one another like a Chinaman! That task done I retired to my cabin to catch my breath. The cool air felt good upon my cheeks as I quickly walked the short distance from the common house to my cabin.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1OzkBfknGky3aEY08ndeycIEi9cVWSroTZv4LE1z3SQvibL6QR8OB6QtPtxLnN92TdbjiG9eY-JVXdGZuH7izZXxDVWlzg7OEp-lXDjv-KLxFlapYguXPu-KDe3KbwIpC-e3vedSzSF5u/s1600/157_0375.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1OzkBfknGky3aEY08ndeycIEi9cVWSroTZv4LE1z3SQvibL6QR8OB6QtPtxLnN92TdbjiG9eY-JVXdGZuH7izZXxDVWlzg7OEp-lXDjv-KLxFlapYguXPu-KDe3KbwIpC-e3vedSzSF5u/s320/157_0375.JPG" width="320" /></a>Tears burst to my eyes as I entered the small room, for there upon the very center of my bunk sat the most beautiful bouquet of dogwood flowers. Knowing full well they were from my dear Mr. Mains I sat upon a small box and let the tears fall freely. This small gift nearly broke my heart. For though he had once told me he was a helpless romantic, none of his actions hitherto had demonstrated such a thing. Now, just when I’d forsaken him from my head, my heart was reaching out to his once more. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The sun fell below the mountains in the distance and the coolness of the evening sent me to sit beside a fire in the fort yard. I spent a pleasant few minutes with Mr. Ramsey, Mr. Galban and Mr. Stout. It seems Mr. Stout is soon to be a father! I wished him much luck with this, but he mentioned he is already well versed in fatherhood as this is his second child. Things then took a turn for the greatly unexpected as Mr. Galban launched into a grave warning against child hurling monkeys! For yes, it seems Mr. Galban is quite hateful in regard to all things having to do with monkeys. He was oft quoted the remaining days for saying “I’m a grown ass man and I hate monkeys, so deal with it!” Who would have suspected such vehemence for a creature so rarely, if ever seen in these parts of the world! <br />
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The mid day found Mr. Privott, Mr. Buxton and a few others highly involved in skinning a poor pitiful pair of squirrels. Their antics were much discussed, viewed, criticized and praised by the men gathered round.<br />
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Misters Ehlert, Ginglebach, and Baker conversed with Joseph, probably telling him he has pretty hair.<br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">The evening chilled even more and darkness began to cover the land. Mr. Mains came out of the common house to gather a bit of fire wood and I removed myself from the crowd to thank him for my fine gift. Though it was quite dark I believe I felt, if not saw the heat of his blush. Together we went into the common house and though there were many people gathered inside I had eyes only for him.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">A huge dinner was prepared by all in attendance and I brought out the cake I’d baked just for this event. The cake was a full 12 pounds, and I had every hope it would hit its mark with at least one gentleman. Dinner was quite delicious and there was only a tiny bit of the 12 pound cake after the line of men had cleared. The room was further cleared for dancing when the musicians of Morgan’s Glade began to set up their instruments. Roundman claimed the first dance and brought as many folks to the floor as he was able to convince. I was much delighted to see Mr. Mains return to the dance looking fine in his jacket, breeches and even a neck stock of black. Roundman spun me round the room and into Mr. Mains arms.<br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Together we faltered momentarily before laughing and joining into the dance as best we were able. After a few turns on the dance floor Mr. M and I stepped outside to cool down in the slight drizzle. Lamenting my skills as a dancer, Mr. Mains attempted to teach me the steps of the waltz as the the strains of the music wafted out the open door of the common house. Rarely if ever have I been caught up in such a romantic moment! Yet, somehow we remained a respectable arms length away as we danced in the rain. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Late into the night we talked and laughed in the common house. As the crowd dwindled to just the eastern boys, Jesse and myself I saw the cake dregs scraped from the pan and it wiped entirely clean. Funny how that pan seemed much like the dregs of resistance from my mind! As the fellows began to settle into their blankets Jesse and I determined it would be foolish for me to return alone to my cold cabin. Rather it seemed more sensible to retrieve my blankets, and to sleep beside Mr. Mains and the warmth of the common house fire. Throughout the night the men’s snores resonated through the room, including the sound of Mr. M’s teeth grinding. A loud, but warm and pleasant night ended as the sun rose in the eastern sky. <br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">T’was a sweet morn waking to the sounds of the snores of those still sleeping, but perhaps the sweetness was merely waking next to Mr. Mains who was looking directly into my eyes when I awoke. A breakfast of ham and biscuits was placed into my hands by my dear Roundman along with a cup of coffee. A good bit of teasing was given as to my choice of sleeping locations, but t’was all good natured. <br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Mr. Rundorf and others who were neighbors to Roundman, Doug Spooner and Jeff Beaver took part in the morning coffee. Little did I know Mr. Rundorf was the writer of a fine book <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i><a href="http://www.lordnelsons.com/bookstore/176.htm">Defending the Backcountry: Recreating the Spies and Scouts of the Trans-Appalacian Frontier</a></i></b>! His presentation was most interesting, speaking of brave spys such as Sam Brady and the forts of the back country. Mr. Rundorf has made quite a study of the pension applications of many a spy and scout and gleaned much useful information. I’ve no doubt he’ll be a good man to know in the coming days. Mr. Heresee, who may oft be found at Old Fort Niagara, too made an excellent presentation of information about such characters as Simon Girty and "hair buyer" Hamilton and their exploits in and around Detroit.<br />
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</div></div><div class="MsoNormal">A walk along the river soothed my troubled mind and I thought ever so much on the question of Mr. Mains and my relationship. True, he had demonstrated his continued strong feelings for me, had not given up in the face of adversity, yet still my head said no. My feet carried my along the bank of the river until I arrived at a small graveyard. Walking amongst the stones I thought on the lives which had been cut short and those who had lived long and yet still found themselves alone in a field of green. Regrets seemed a waste of time, time alone when longing for another seemed foolish and my heart began to prevail upon my mind. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDRt2xFH30Gg6XLU7yAEW0FXYAvYxQm2yhpdDLKgAybK8FzgKpn2KTPGjwySC5jHIoa9BBe-DgohiuKjQ4NWonkfnqQQoNzGgLn0Dn3r0B1q-p7IyM2-TqJfEbys91FT9rxvjSbBY1n58s/s1600/157_0435.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDRt2xFH30Gg6XLU7yAEW0FXYAvYxQm2yhpdDLKgAybK8FzgKpn2KTPGjwySC5jHIoa9BBe-DgohiuKjQ4NWonkfnqQQoNzGgLn0Dn3r0B1q-p7IyM2-TqJfEbys91FT9rxvjSbBY1n58s/s320/157_0435.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjifbC3zxjY8ExVzRTUjW6bV3iDfGODIFun05HVmzeqn_dYGkbru2awD6SrbuH72BP93MX9_5yTq_aWnSa-Gps6Vx9r1HB57aJVYZ50NPXEGfTVRLFC0aAAOiVmUK20GfoM8wXdTYiYrlA/s1600/157_0413.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjifbC3zxjY8ExVzRTUjW6bV3iDfGODIFun05HVmzeqn_dYGkbru2awD6SrbuH72BP93MX9_5yTq_aWnSa-Gps6Vx9r1HB57aJVYZ50NPXEGfTVRLFC0aAAOiVmUK20GfoM8wXdTYiYrlA/s320/157_0413.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">A short time later I returned to the gathering hall whereupon Mr. M. A. Baker told of the romance of the natural man. His words were well received by all assembled! A short time later Mr. Kobuck and Mr. Privott demonstrated for all who were gathered the art and mystery of tattoo. Even to the extent that Mr. K gave Mr. Privott his arm and allowed Mr. Privott to stab him repeatedly delivering ink into his extremity! T’was quite horrendous and fascinating all at the same time!<br />
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Mr. Baker took the stage once more and spoke further of the Sons of a trackless Forest. I regret I was unable to stay to hear all of his words, as I had been called upon to tell my own sad story. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVBs9X68E4vbfw6IYRlv7I9Z5F1185vTaKqOSuuiHOljnKCYZFLN5IeqQk5_LcEGjR0RpkhTqd4bfEDhJep3a3K5FdzDdA6PMB8KtD_6xJkeQMqECWHJVRkPgQEhdr1vceD5BY_GZ0wJBO/s1600/217064_208388959189910_100000564229534_733749_679346_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVBs9X68E4vbfw6IYRlv7I9Z5F1185vTaKqOSuuiHOljnKCYZFLN5IeqQk5_LcEGjR0RpkhTqd4bfEDhJep3a3K5FdzDdA6PMB8KtD_6xJkeQMqECWHJVRkPgQEhdr1vceD5BY_GZ0wJBO/s320/217064_208388959189910_100000564229534_733749_679346_n.jpg" width="213" /></a>I determined I would not speak in the same hall as the fine gentlemen before me had, but rather would draw all who were interested into the common house. I would tell my story before a fire, in the dark and smallness of a cabin rather than the bright light of the center stage. Shortly after four on the clock the men began filing into the common house. I noted with some sense of pride Roundman and Mr. Mains had attained front row seats for themselves.<br />
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Sweeping ash, dirt and debris from the hearth I began my story, looking out beneath the tears which coursed down my face I noted there were few dry eyes before me. My story complete I was much gratified to see every man rise to his feet and applaud the telling of my tale. A gentleman introduced himself and asked if he might someday paint my image for others to see. Much honored I gave Mr. John Buxton my leave to do so if he wished. Worn thin by the telling, I returned to my cabin. <br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Mr. Mains stepped inside shortly upon my return. I turned to him as he said he had a question to ask. His question contained no words. He merely leaned toward me. The answer he was looking for was quickly on both of our lips as I fell into his arms. He held me tightly to him and the pounding of my heart drowned any last vestige of reluctance. A feeling of rightness and of wholeness came instantly as I wrapped my arms around him. The remainder of the night we were not parted and the small cabin which had previously been so chilly became quite warm. Morning came too soon and it was time for us to once more depart each other’s company. This parting came with the knowledge we’d soon be together once more at Mr. Martin’s Station in but a few weeks time and held none of the misery and uncertainty of our departure at the Blue Licks. <br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">My heart sang during the long journey home, for it had found it’s mate once more. Time shall tell what it will, but for the time that we have, we should be happy! Travel safely my friends and enjoy each step of the way, fear not to turn back when a misstep has been taken. For perhaps, in turning back you shall go further.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Blessings<br />
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</div>Mad Anne Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03219820685315057516noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8439424128458628389.post-1169301718402037542011-05-17T21:33:00.000-05:002011-05-17T21:33:17.064-05:00The Next Chapter<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglYNSnR2zKV2jfKgsqnzWQLZGSSAjiD_UQ-vCKPWYwCCnvng4MzrswdUUWbDtSpHskzOO0WueCVbqfwWyhZgPNiLFPDxFvTaG2nDNzSNwF-IogKsWiOSNRY9o1L5NaH4EKAKEtkf6W4jH8/s1600/IMG_20110430_173545.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglYNSnR2zKV2jfKgsqnzWQLZGSSAjiD_UQ-vCKPWYwCCnvng4MzrswdUUWbDtSpHskzOO0WueCVbqfwWyhZgPNiLFPDxFvTaG2nDNzSNwF-IogKsWiOSNRY9o1L5NaH4EKAKEtkf6W4jH8/s320/IMG_20110430_173545.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">17, May</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Dearest ones,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">It is my great regret not to have written of all the many happenings of the month past. I humbly beg your forgiveness. Perhaps you’ll grant it when my tale today is done?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Those who are closest to me know of the sadness which has filled my heart these many months. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My morose countenance was only bested by the melancholy nature of my writing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My dearest ones, I beg your indulgence as I write of things which weighed heavily upon my heart and mind. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Many months ago a parting of company took place. A parting from which I thought I’d readily recover. Yet, day after day, it pulled on my heart and brought naught but sorrow to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The breaking of my heart was of my own doing, yet knowledge of my reasons made it not one bit easier to abide.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Och, who here among you has not chosen wrongly? Yet, how few are granted the chance to make it right? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">My dearest held on. Aye, held on with strong hands, a sharp mind and an open heart. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our daily correspondence became the ties which bind; his words were matched by his deeds and when asked a small question with no words, my heart and my lips flew to his. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">T’is my greatest pleasure to share with you, we shan’t be parted so readily again. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One knows not what the future holds, yet of this I am certain; we shall face it together as partners, separate yet equal, stronger each by the other, with grace, humor (much humor!) and humility.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I forsake imperiousness, eschew ego and offer nothing but myself.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">My friends, your listening ears have given me strength, your words of kindness have been heartfelt and your prayers on our behalf have been heard. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To say a simple thank you seems impossibly inept, yet there are no other words to offer you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I most humbly and sincerely thank you. Thank you. Thank you!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">The words I wish to say to my dearest Mr. Mains are private and shan’t be shared even with the closest of you. But know ye, they begin with “I am sorry,” and end with “I love you.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Suzanne</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipM9wO0n50mkU2utt7L74l3Sde5HpFJVHfj0o3xZmzZaxH175K_s14Bdl2nHT741bQ0_Rn0HoG6LLrLFhgOX3xvq0cC95XMDB7Diz3hThZxAQp4dLRQqwLDQOMIClF5e6eNnR3sGnn7nt8/s1600/wagon+ride.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipM9wO0n50mkU2utt7L74l3Sde5HpFJVHfj0o3xZmzZaxH175K_s14Bdl2nHT741bQ0_Rn0HoG6LLrLFhgOX3xvq0cC95XMDB7Diz3hThZxAQp4dLRQqwLDQOMIClF5e6eNnR3sGnn7nt8/s320/wagon+ride.jpg" width="265" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Mad Anne Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03219820685315057516noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8439424128458628389.post-34548074224622479292011-03-27T13:53:00.004-05:002011-03-27T14:11:45.329-05:00Cairns<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinTaMoEIXMLpiCdljPhg-zh1azfDqLjRvEBT4VwtdvmZM0hY7ZFszN3NCUfNIy4OcOd2uHL5s-oHkOmecTcaZpHajSQPxZe0WNhko7DFAccKtzclRNALASTGcNkUw5Cc0A3K4k3eAH6q5B/s1600/rock+cairn.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinTaMoEIXMLpiCdljPhg-zh1azfDqLjRvEBT4VwtdvmZM0hY7ZFszN3NCUfNIy4OcOd2uHL5s-oHkOmecTcaZpHajSQPxZe0WNhko7DFAccKtzclRNALASTGcNkUw5Cc0A3K4k3eAH6q5B/s320/rock+cairn.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588839283708918978" /></a><div><ol><span><span>A Letter!</span></span></ol><ol><span><span>"27 March</span></span></ol><ol><span><span>Dearest Anne,</span></span></ol><ol><span><span>Whilst traveling in the far west I had the fortune to travel a pathway defined by rock cairns. These wonders of western travel are created by travelers stacking rocks one upon another. They are a symbol to guide those who would otherwise not know the way.</span></span></ol><ol><span><span>Each magnificent rock cairn is devised by the strength and knowledge of many, the power of one, and a careful balance of similar but differing objects. Traveling unknown paths with the assistance of these stately sisters lends me comfort without distraction, care without smothering and an understanding others have traveled these roads, each leaving their mark. As I travel the paths of my future I seek these simple structures and pause to add my own small stones. Each stone I name, as I place it atop its sisters; Balance, Strength, Unity, Care and Concern. Gently each stone stacks upon another, held in place not only by its own symmetry, but by the oddities of those which have been placed before. </span></span></ol><ol><span><span>There are however times when even the gentlest hand placed most lovingly and carefully causes the whole cairn to crumble and the process must begin again. Not by the hand of one, but by many who must assemble a new structure stone by stone each placed in their own time and manner.</span></span></ol><ol><span><span>Dear friend, I know it is hard to imagine a land so free of trees that markings are not easily made in our usual manner, but I must tell you of the remarkable beauty such expanses hold. I take great comfort in knowing God fills the spaces we cannot. These small cairns seem to be reminders we are not alone in our travels and there will always be some manner of knowing the right path. </span></span></ol><ol><span><span>Be well and safe in your own travels dear one, I know you are off to Pricketts Fort in the next days. Give our best to those who know us.</span></span></ol><ol><span><span>Your loving friend,</span></span></ol><ol><span><span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 13px; ">Suzanne"</span></ol><p></p><p></p></div>Mad Anne Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03219820685315057516noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8439424128458628389.post-47360233699369597232011-02-06T15:47:00.007-06:002011-02-06T18:50:39.487-06:00A walk alone<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_iYwmqCA74BIeJIReK-35cDJx5GKqDT12fcfwELxd5OCaM4MbN_DvUQhbviaJ4TE1cBToVWzL8MjB2IYYeR-PsAj1WTHcQyV94jirrNkNJMZIvPzSQQ1EqMGOe3SPhdhP0-pIXuigJ8a7/s1600/157_0235.JPG"></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfFrnqdmSdzlhuHb4X1fZVTej9WdapDT4ylTVDjBcP3rpOBuYX-1YEA5uHSzVCMvbcc6X_-prcNzYO-30gssZ4GQfC8nOmkTt1cAT_iqo3WQrdG6QPP13DsIedOIjrXfn7FJQ0cLs4t80j/s1600/157_0256.JPG"></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl3B-yHdoqOLLmrF0wp5ZRS5gIIim5T6VrtQ-uq8WzHJ2hn24iqYDS50h0VNV1jUq-u4P_JjNKY_7OTSzYUEUsC9Jsk5UGJDw1a9UqjVWK4bp6At0ZEXgKfJY6urxxMCCII17hIwm2u7Sn/s1600/157_0234.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl3B-yHdoqOLLmrF0wp5ZRS5gIIim5T6VrtQ-uq8WzHJ2hn24iqYDS50h0VNV1jUq-u4P_JjNKY_7OTSzYUEUsC9Jsk5UGJDw1a9UqjVWK4bp6At0ZEXgKfJY6urxxMCCII17hIwm2u7Sn/s320/157_0234.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5570734825138376914" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgup6LyMRMPhBLTlizpENoD1_JBHdhVF-KCiVWMy-0gRbvpawHzFYEh5seWIg2qQ6AwleO6aFYl2fHVi3aFJnsZJpCsszdTFwTVIa3eqklVdqQRH37eOMDbfbmYllWScq-oVvjnFgeWq_Ym/s1600/157_0230.JPG"></a><div>Once more the sky reflects a grim visage and the world beyond my small cabin seems quite gray. Though I have been in the company of good friends these days passed, I cannot help but feel quite alone. Perhaps t'is but a mindset, yet in truth, is fact. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I set forth for the Spring Mill in the early hours amid gathering snow clouds. Within minutes snow poured from the sky in chunks large as your fist settling quickly upon rock, tree, and trail. </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgup6LyMRMPhBLTlizpENoD1_JBHdhVF-KCiVWMy-0gRbvpawHzFYEh5seWIg2qQ6AwleO6aFYl2fHVi3aFJnsZJpCsszdTFwTVIa3eqklVdqQRH37eOMDbfbmYllWScq-oVvjnFgeWq_Ym/s320/157_0230.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5570734820850567442" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px; " /></span></div><div>Traveling became difficult and our progress was greatly slowed; regardless I came to the destined place and joined with others of the Seven Years War Organization. T'was with true pleasure I encountered the Parson and dear Maggie.</div><div>Though there was but a small crowd of people about, the Parson once more insisted upon Maggie that she tell her tale of the years since she left her dear Ireland.</div><div><br /></div><div>I cannot begin to give justice in my words to the depth of Maggie's story of woe and strife, and once more I found myself unable to staunch the flow of tears. Perhaps t'was this tale which caused me to be morose in my own thoughts, for afterward I felt quite unfit for the company of others and set off from the lodge for a walk in the crisp winter air. </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1LTohl6EdEqq9u22Zi7MRP5KCIoJ88HJAkra_JWsGuW8bPw3uKp3IAGSCEUmTvSwGLyWm_stAb1KF3kAGb8zlyDmnDEvRoCRUtvYlcPc_2-bVcYfAB5fVad8GP_3BIUfcPeXlpGgciAO1/s320/157_0260.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5570737746207324306" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div>Foolishly leaving my rifle behind, I set out to wandering the nearby hillside. Not wishing to sully my dancing shoes for the evening to come, I wore my favorite wool lined moccasins which, though quite warm, gave no purchase for footing upon the layer of ice which crusted over the snow. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIo-kSe-bCDG6DGpOQPStVOJurYtKQm4Yc4u3zEDPqtdPi-3IwGZgd2PFWKsD1cBZLlayh7dPIMRv-I_oxNkSH92ei-0DYkUFwUptEQj-3Eq8ZA442OMncvnd795IE9iUQhkn9Xg_F6fQx/s320/IMG_20110205_170715.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5570740277526828514" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh97lfHVeCCcH3VcyQZBPpTlO-W6sXKj5HW5gtoohGStBOMZB6QbwX73z_TXCA_NDw3ndajoCZ85xWv5lGVMVGiSDP329OPIazq-xV4r1yAtzIWyGRSLya4wbimwhjqV8OEYAwQRMyQAj8l/s320/157_0249.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5570734850100859714" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px; " /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div> Still, the cool air upon my wet cheeks felt good and the exertion of a fast walk was good not only for me physically, it began to clear my mind as well. I took time to observe the beauty in which I was surrounded and took great joy in Mother Nature's handiwork.</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfFrnqdmSdzlhuHb4X1fZVTej9WdapDT4ylTVDjBcP3rpOBuYX-1YEA5uHSzVCMvbcc6X_-prcNzYO-30gssZ4GQfC8nOmkTt1cAT_iqo3WQrdG6QPP13DsIedOIjrXfn7FJQ0cLs4t80j/s320/157_0256.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5570737750904130626" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px; color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; " /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIgBtTtFi3vM-xKSwzT8bnmIsqfFXxf0VGVzWUjGyUmTCF_muiWhRY8GJSINRTdTnEXGIn5vgWR27YluJ1ifF-mmr-vCuty2DitQKXIVwUIeViUfA-PcmGi_EMc3mMgF2wCc-pteD_xwfI/s320/157_0251.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5570737735908568226" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px; " /></span><div>Quite enthralled with my study of the area I gave less attention to my footing and was brought quite suddenly back to reality as my feet lurched out from under me and I began to slide down the hill. Surely then didn't I wish I'd worn more beneath my petticoats! Ice and snow gathered up as far as the waistband of my wool petticoats and quickly began to melt between my shift and skin leaving me quite literally chilled to the bone, not to mention quite certain I'd have blue and black reminders of this little trip for days to come.</div><div><br /></div><div>Further, and of much - MUCH greater immediate concern was the sound which accompanied my fall. A sound of such depth and ferocity I knew exactly from whence it had come, <a href="http://www.sound-effect.com/sounds1/animal/BigCats/cougar2.wav">a cougar! </a>Reports had been made of such a creature in the vicinity and hearing it so close by set my heart racing! Knowing as I do, the tendency of these animals not to stalk their prey, but rather to lay in wait along an active game trail with the intent of taking opportunity as it presents itself; I suddenly felt as though I'd presented myself as an opportunity!</div><div><br /></div><div>Picking myself up, brushing the snow off the best I was able, I checked the location of my knives, realizing they were my only protection. I set off with great purpose in my steps returning quickly to the lodge, feeling as though I'd had perhaps a closer brush with nature than intended!</div><div><br /></div><div>Returning to my cozy room within the lodge, I replaced the sodden wool petticoats and shortgown with a pretty polonaise gown, dressed my hair and appeared just in time for dinner and gala. Having neither escort nor dance partner, and still feeling a bit of the earlier melancholy I did not stay late into the evening. Early this morning we conducted our business affairs, I acting as proxy for Captain Wulff on behalf of Wulff's Rangers and upon conclusion of our congress, I returned home to my cabin, once more alone.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_iYwmqCA74BIeJIReK-35cDJx5GKqDT12fcfwELxd5OCaM4MbN_DvUQhbviaJ4TE1cBToVWzL8MjB2IYYeR-PsAj1WTHcQyV94jirrNkNJMZIvPzSQQ1EqMGOe3SPhdhP0-pIXuigJ8a7/s320/157_0235.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5570742229334784242" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Mad Anne Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03219820685315057516noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8439424128458628389.post-50477043029544971642011-01-25T11:59:00.010-06:002011-01-27T06:41:48.651-06:00Vivication<div> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg229MtU79Hsr8wV3qIhogkQOyX_OEvl8HKNAVugMKvI822WgJTEpLhaz9qrkBQB8gCoVjs6Tp4YoQLnKaBcN41zrsCNJN0oPJhVpHDUIMxFxAhLT22YVa4mD46TMFbYNccR-aRWADMSnSh/s1600/IMG_20101229_144730.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566185433737550898" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 239px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg229MtU79Hsr8wV3qIhogkQOyX_OEvl8HKNAVugMKvI822WgJTEpLhaz9qrkBQB8gCoVjs6Tp4YoQLnKaBcN41zrsCNJN0oPJhVpHDUIMxFxAhLT22YVa4mD46TMFbYNccR-aRWADMSnSh/s320/IMG_20101229_144730.jpg" border="0" /></a><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Snow lies upon frozen ground while dense fog gathers all into its ethereal grasp<br />and all seems lost within the gloom. </span></div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><span><span></span></span><br /><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />Yet, just beneath the surface, nestled within the fragrant soil, a tiny seed stretches forth,<br />hair like tendrils grasp and take hold </span></div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><br /><br /></span><div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Above, grey clouds disperse and the suns warming rays burn through the fog and melt the dingy remnants of snow</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span><div> </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Cool water seeps and sifts through the soil and drenches the tiny seed in nutrients </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">the hard outer shell breaks free of the seed and new life springs forth <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAFfaQfi_LPX3uk2PxqUz8Zis17SiF2ZgP-NpYOsyqeafpRDzMgFJIJocry4ABwfn_m_RAdPAmhvrvwIcW4YcRD7fYwY9NS1IO5Axb_Q0vPudaLlrHN7DsPAZbkBf4zu28Sj5uK0JtaFD0/s1600/skunk.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566185800550103186" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 229px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAFfaQfi_LPX3uk2PxqUz8Zis17SiF2ZgP-NpYOsyqeafpRDzMgFJIJocry4ABwfn_m_RAdPAmhvrvwIcW4YcRD7fYwY9NS1IO5Axb_Q0vPudaLlrHN7DsPAZbkBf4zu28Sj5uK0JtaFD0/s320/skunk.JPG" border="0" /></a></span></div><br /><div> </div></div></div>Mad Anne Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03219820685315057516noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8439424128458628389.post-71746971206643851742011-01-12T12:34:00.005-06:002011-01-16T23:45:32.765-06:00Snowflakes and Diamonds<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib2korMW7YLG9ujhzTWbVuiX9Q3OY7wmAhX8b9oQDkY6xzpLM054wFHgjRDzwpZUjNU8I92jMOHI1PbLow4BKYmN5wgtUhHdAVGZUCUsw8U7RFzzLFJngvC6xMHNTcSj77KWMcWd5NCoqI/s1600/IMG_20101230_170032.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib2korMW7YLG9ujhzTWbVuiX9Q3OY7wmAhX8b9oQDkY6xzpLM054wFHgjRDzwpZUjNU8I92jMOHI1PbLow4BKYmN5wgtUhHdAVGZUCUsw8U7RFzzLFJngvC6xMHNTcSj77KWMcWd5NCoqI/s320/IMG_20101230_170032.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563024541480179490" /></a>16, January<div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">My Dearest Friends,</span> </div><div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">There is no doubt the harshness of the winter season has set in with force. A strong constitution is surely required to withstand the onslaught these freezing winds and snow. One can barely recall the heat of summer or the golden days of autumn. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Memories slip through my mind of the past year and many shining times. More so now than ever before, I feel shining times are like snowflakes and diamonds, they melt quickly away and their memories last forever. Och, we are too caught up in the darkness of winter's drear!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">We must take heart, for soon we shall travel to Fort deChartes in the company of our dear friend Mistress Storey to join a small gathering of like minded women. No doubt there shall be much laughter, entertainments and food to warm our hearts and fill our bellies! Further, the 29th a grand ball is to be held at the Fraizer along the banks of the Ohio. To this fine festivity Miss Katherine and I shall go, likely staying once more with our friends Mr. Medley and Miss Becky.</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; ">A glance toward our planned engagements reveals much to be enjoyed through the coming year. No doubt these cold dreary days of winter will slip by and we shall emerge into the spring fresh and renewed!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; ">January</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">22 deChartes Womens Weekend</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">29 Fraiser Ball</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">February</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">5 Seven Years War Congress & Ball</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">12 Mad Anne to tell her story at Fort Boonesborough Fireside Chat</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">19 Conner Long Rifles Indoor Tradeshow</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">March</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">5 Mad Anne to tell her story at the Sons of the American Revolution Ohio Valley Chapter in Evansville</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">12 Mad Anne to tell her story at Blue Licks's Faces of the Frontier</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">19 Kalamazoo tradeshow </span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">April</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">2 deCharte Spring Gathering</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">16 NMLRA National Womens Shoot and Rendezvous</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">May</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">7 Lore of the Laughery</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">14 Raid upon Martins Station</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">28 Quabash Valley Frontiersman Rendezvous</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">June </span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">4 Mad Anne to tell her story at the Highland Games</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">11 Women on the Frontier or NMLRA Friendship Shoots</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">18 Mad Anne to tell her story at Fort Harrod</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">July</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Mad Anne Will be Off the Trail in July</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">August</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">6 Not so Grande Valley Shoot</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">13 Pirates of Paynetown</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">20 Battle of Blue Licks and CLA</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">27 Fort Miamis</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">September</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">3 Menominee Rendezvous or Fair at New Boston</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">10 Long Run Massacre</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">17 Koh-Koh-Mah and Foster</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">24 Siege of Boonesborough</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">October </span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">8 Mississinewa 1812</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">15 Thunder Creek Rendezvous</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">22 Gathering at 5 Medals</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">29 Locust Grove</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">November</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">5 Tanners Station, deChartes or Kentucky Woodsmans Weekend</span></div><div><br /></div>My dearest ones, know you are often in my thoughts, dreams and prayers. Winter well, we shall meet again one day; until then be safe and take care.</div><div>A</div><div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div></div></div></div>Mad Anne Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03219820685315057516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8439424128458628389.post-39969241759205460082010-12-25T13:03:00.010-06:002010-12-31T10:35:06.780-06:00Hunting III of III<div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"><span class="Apple-style-span">3 December</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWCxHEYlQZdeimPOkOwwzYqQnceIjnCuGeWMFGMfjtEwn3dkOmLOkLYBYhQtnofjQ4UpLm81WHlfuFvgjDAxfWoyfmWfemcDzKZcrHSmnIrS-iXJpISkq4l0f6odtcNqcCn8FyUPNW6sQj/s1600/IMG_20101225_141231.jpg"></a></span><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,238)"><br /></span></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"><span class="Apple-style-span">Darkness fell upon us while dense grey clouds blotted out both sun and moon as the sky above transitioned from day into night. We would have found a bed of boughs beneath one of the many tall pines had not the import of our messages necessitated carrying on. Lieutenant Colonel Williamson had entrusted a packet of letters to us to be delivered personally into the hands of Lord Manningham, thought to be traveling near the Big Raccoon River. Lord Manningham had confessed to Lt.Col. Williamson his interest and curiosity in the ways of the savages and the men who traded with them in this new frontier which was so unlike his own. Thus Manningham had departed from his regiment, servants, and all who knew him, to join company with an Indian trader; Captain Jacobs. Having traveled a time or two with Captain Jacobs ourselves, Williamson had known we could be trusted to find the pair out in this bleak wilderness. <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>Huge snowflakes began to descend with unbelievable rapidity and soon the ground beneath our horse’s hooves was covered in white.</span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,238)"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554697985202669074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 239px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0PKi5GRnDwWXY0WfyLeWQm9opRougtMp4_eJ9h8I5fMWubCMnO0kzC6s6p-vOPbeWrd3tpWXhq8cBhqMh1mTK4j-0y_APePjG3eK8a7VedXLW7CMgpop4ozlsCM0xD8D1MDCZtB7Mwbwg/s320/1291498782643.jpg" border="0" /></span></span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"><span class="Apple-style-span">We traveled onward knowing Captain Jacobs was well familiar with this land and would likely be found afore much longer. <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>Alongside the river a small encampment was spied, a tiny fire with a lone figure huddled beneath his matchcoat gave indication my destination had been reached. Quite surprised were we when just a bit further we spotted a solitary Indian lodge lit from within with the warm orange glow of a fire. <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>Tired, wet and cold as we were, the warmth of either looked inviting. The lodge opened to reveal an Indian man who approached cautiously. In reasonably good English he addressed himself as Makinak, friend of Lord Manningham and Captain Jacobs, known also by the whiteman’s name of LeRoy.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">Although our natural inclination is of intense hatred and distrust of all red men, we recognized this man’s sincerity and goodness of heart. Further, he indicated by hand sign and word it was Lord Manningham’s request and wish we join company with these men for a hunt upon the morrow. Even as we spoke, Captain Jacobs came forward and added his welcome to the camp.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>Immediately we were comforted and convinced to join this small company in their intent. As there was plenty of room within Mackinac’s warm lodge we were welcomed to stow our bedroll and small belongings within and make ourselves comfortable. <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>Moisture had permeated nearly every fiber of our clothing during the heavy snow and the warmth of a fire and the dryness of his lodge enticed us to set aside our natural inclinations. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554697978967953394" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 239px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_-3lhgwdL_y9TIZb41Yiy7_i0mGY1J1S1ZAUfR7U6zGia_9A0koudCZP3UFdBgHCDqGOQXnyDWhpyG2eIuEyeUhmG2gxwVNkHlcTe-Elfzk6LXt7N3rsUWz5t_3iUwmudl8ly3jwhgMge/s320/1291476027329.jpg" border="0" /></span></p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline"><br /></span><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">Lord Manningham returned from his explorations and immediately we placed Williamson’s correspondences into his hands. A dark look passed over Manningham’s countenance as he read news from Captain Peter Hogg of additional desertions. Manningham nearly tossed the letter into the fire at the nerve of Hogg to submit additional receipts for Beeves to Mr. Walker, who is now appointed Commissary for Washington’s Expeditions. <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>Once we passed these dark moments the remainder of evening passed quickly, and soon the quiet outside and the reflection of the fire upon the walls of the lodge lulled us to sleep. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">4 December</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">Teeth chattering with cold and an intense desire for the warmth of hot coffee we awoke to complete and total darkness. Feeling around in the darkness we came upon a few pieces of wood, tossed them upon the scant bed of coals and blew them to life. Not creating sufficient light nor warmth another piece of wood was placed upon the small beginnings of our fire. While tending to the necessities for coffee an unusual smell came to our nose, when suddenly Makinak sprung from his sleeping pallet and lifted from the now roaring fire a flaming piece of wood, lifted the lodge door and flung the offending piece out into the snow. Not comprehending the intentions of these sudden movements we reached for the comfort of a cold knife handle at our belt. Lord Manningham too was reaching for a weapon when Makinak began laughing for all the world as though the funniest thing ever had happened. <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>We are most embarrassed and ashamed to admit WE were the source of Makinak’s humor. For it seems in our haste to make a fire for our desperately needed coffee we had somehow mistaken our friend Makinak’s moccasin for a piece of firewood! <span style="font-size:+0;"></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline"><span class="Apple-style-span"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554701994726268322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 260px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 154px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuDYLUqoGmVVH41Ha0hnwjlYtSfnp7k2PgykiFtYRoqxJWQehQ3zgaa4tTWexC9I4s7K1T1u8-gs7QM3HLfVFx2xrWmwjAHlZBe662L0Gb-Lxcj7-u_bDc3Coj9ABa1NmVCzZTAW9oDkPo/s320/P1010605-1.jpg" border="0" /></span></span></p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">Manningham roared with laughter and Makinak nearly fell over holding his stomach laughing and complaining loudly wanting to know why the noble crazy woman wanted to burn his moccasin? Was this a new whiteman tactic to slow the red man? Was it not possible for the mad woman to know the difference between a moccasin and piece of firewood?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">We huddled into the warmth of our blankets wishing only to pull them up over our head completely! Gads! How was it possible we had mistaken the moccasin for wood?? We thought back just a few moments passed and wondered, had not that particular piece felt somehow different?? Nay, in our befuddled, cold and coffee deprived early morning state one piece had felt entirely the same as any other! Suddenly fear crept into our heart – would the man have any other footwear? By the glimpse out the lodge door it was clear the snow was easily four to five inches deep! </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">Fortunately our friend had two more pair of heavy winter moccs, those burned being merely an old pair used to slip on easily in the night for a call of nature. Rarely had we ever been more pleased for the comfort of a red man! Nay, he would not go about into the woods for our hunt shoeless, thank the merciful heavens! </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">Our morning thus begun with good humor, t’was destined to prevail throughout the day. Upon completion of our scant breakfast we set upon the woods in search of future meals. The night’s snow had made land and sky nearly the same color with only the bleak forest trees as relief between the two. Even the trees carried a load of snow upon every branch and stray leaf. <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>Together Manningham, Makinak and I set off carrying our weapons loaded and ready. In the night another traveler had joined our small group; Robert of the Virginia Light Horse brigade. Having risen earlier than ourselves he had already set upon a deer trail in hopes of success. <span style="font-size:+0;"></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554697982143916930" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 239px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuY1Dm8Os-u-Tw6KUsc78EgMMJana2OBjWSHngygoTCBE895uDQYziT0PqQRq_B2S100pC08zZS5rd6rQxJ5dfVLYmWsd5GPhLoHX69LK9DQVwxhg4b5gBkluy04TAS5uzW-lpRWL8xFDK/s320/1291473707358.jpg" border="0" /></span></p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline"><br /></span><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">As we slogged our way through the deepening snow the warmth of camaraderie was the only relief from the cold. After a few hours we caught sight of a lovely buck as he lifted his head from browsing, however he was quicker than I and he ran off afore our riflegun was fully lifted to shoulder. Not being certain of the distance of the shot in any case, we were none to upset by his quick departure. We attempted to head him off by trudging up a nearly vertical hillside, yet he was indeed much faster than I and we only found his tracks. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554699085150790466" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 239px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLf0wSuwUArLHdhRvWZlMLiOxRviricD3u4OW6XEsZUsVmNaAl9Idh_y1HlWoQROE1zaeacCFaVpx5W8OyqU4iVPGcfiJDyA-MtVnjH9R2Fn_VXI7Z7JPuG65kOp1qNYyF5ekfL5pSB8XL/s320/1291473712587.jpg" border="0" /></span></p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline"><br /></span><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">Shortly after this bit of excitement we determined twas surely a good time to return to the warmth of the lodge for a bit of a meal and to check in with our friends Rob and Captain Jacobs. None had known success afield and all were wet through to the skin. Fire, food and coffee did much to revive both stomach and spirit and soon enough we were once more afield. Captain Jacobs and Rob accompanied us up an enormous hillside which gave cause for serious concern were one to begin a sliding!<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>Though the area was most clearly used as a corridor for the deer we so vehemently sought, none were willing to show themselves regardless of our stealth or desire. Upon the setting sun we returned once more to the warmth of the lodge empty handed but for my fine riflegun.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">5 December</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">The morning sun found us within the trees, hidden beneath a well used cedar marked heavily with a buck’s favor. The sparkling of the sun’s rays twinkled over every snowflake giving the appearance of a fairy land, all quiet but for the rustling of bird, squirrel and mouse. Hours passed, a chill set in and once more t’was time to return to our home. Taking leave of these men whom I so admire was trying, yet the knowledge that we would again join forces was comforting. Alone and homeward bound we found ourselves laughing once more at the great moccasin mishap! T’is times such as these which will surely warm our hearts over the long and cold winter. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="MARGIN-LEFT: auto; MARGIN-RIGHT: auto"><u><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554698812449221426" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 239px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFu8eGIJolfmREFApBtwpqLd2JdmNZ826BGsYGdSf0A5cOml0POV41olR6rOxqI_6l8oDuwCzQIOQhVp4_3p1uYvX907lN3_pyB9LYp-OgTQNxwjoIFtGkZ0dm0bbB6RMO9T4CE5AI7bTw/s320/1291574039920.jpg" border="0" /></u></span></span></span></p><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><p></p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underlinefont-size:13;" ><br /></span><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><?xml:namespace prefix = o /><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Edited to reflect the correct spellings of our dear friend Makinak/LeRoy's name. </o:p></p>Mad Anne Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03219820685315057516noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8439424128458628389.post-65222160389667601152010-12-12T18:35:00.022-06:002010-12-14T06:42:36.859-06:00Hunting II of III<span class="Apple-style-span"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjGdgT0wSUMcXLFnkttZtQ4X2J-gsYmZWr6o_rz3Pl1SKKsVqoPA7thU6czFZQGJi2PVRTUbScUGptR7Jsq865xBv49y2c8GOxvFGK0stUWKJiGpiNi1PSJZxbNmNrq6J0IfzstnnZ_3Rf/s1600/P1080073.JPG"></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2o1F1epHT8JozBOWp0gIYdMXWzDO-DWhxjR0ZQbUKq5aNPvym92v6BAuZWUR10eVbYCsZ78yQnTwor2viFBoCXL-TZ7xOLD1WNQLfjWCfVjHVJKpTeWCkG3NbNdWDoQmh6_k3rqAft1SY/s1600/P1080235.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2o1F1epHT8JozBOWp0gIYdMXWzDO-DWhxjR0ZQbUKq5aNPvym92v6BAuZWUR10eVbYCsZ78yQnTwor2viFBoCXL-TZ7xOLD1WNQLfjWCfVjHVJKpTeWCkG3NbNdWDoQmh6_k3rqAft1SY/s320/P1080235.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549962494593919490" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; ">22 November</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">Again, these words must be writ, much to my chagrin: We return, once more empty handed, but for my fine riflegun.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">A few nights past, Mr. Mains and I met at a predestined crossing in the trails on the way to Mr. and Mistress Selter’s cabin. As always, my heart was much gladdened to join company with Mr. Mains, even if his misplacement of razor has left him a bit shaggier than I prefer. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5AhPI8_GHRQ/TQVut1BfnZI/AAAAAAAAAck/eGQ8LoznkFM/s320/shaggy.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549963849410518418" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 314px; height: 320px; " /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Through the knobs and bottoms of Caintuckee we traveled round bend and curve until we caught our first glimpse of the Selter’s barn, buildings, and finally their cozy small cabin. Each seemed perfectly tucked into the wooded landscape. Moonlight reflected the tallest knob in a lovely pond and candlelight twinkled in the windows of their charming cabin.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Before we even were able to wrap upon the cabin door we were greeted by Mr. Selter, his fine dog, and then dear Mistress Selter. All were well and happy and we were quite delighted to join the cozy scene. Angela (for she and Mark insist upon use of their given names) had anticipated our late arrival with a large kettle of the most delicious potato soup, a bit of bread and even cookies. Tea was served and the three of us talked long into the night.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">The gentlemen retired outside </span>to smoke their pipes beside a crackling fire. Angela and I couldn’t help but join them with hot steaming mugs of tea, admiring a million brilliant stars shining through the nearly barren trees. <span> </span>Soon plans and strategies for the morrow’s hunt were all we spoke of. Returning to the cabin, slightly chilled by the coolness of the evening, yet much warmed in conversation, we bid the Selters sleep well as they settled into their loft whilst we remained before the fire below. Anticipation of the hunt and pleasure in each other’s company kept Mr. Mains and myself awake a bit longer, until finally, with moonlight streaming through the windows, sleep overtook us. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">The aroma of hot coffee delighted my senses as we awoke and soon Mr. Mains was found preparing backstrap deer steaks whilst Mr. Sel – Mark, whisked eggs together. Ah, yes, deer steak from my dearest… for my dear Jesse had not been entirely unlucky in my absence<span style="line-height: 115%; ">. <span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color:black"><span> </span>A good-sized </span></span></span>buck had fallen to the crack of Splitnose, providing much meat for the Mains family and a good bit for us to enjoy as well.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">Having in my pocketbook a recent letter sent from Mr. Mains describing his hunt, I smoothed its tattered pages, hoping to glean a bit of knowledge, or perhaps just for luck, I read the letters contents once more;</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%; color: black; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><span class="apple-style-span">I'm happy I finally got a good-sized buck (out of near 60 deer I've taken this is only the 10th. with any measurable antler whatsoever, the rest of those have been a skinny racked 9 ptr, a little basket racked, 2 5ptrs., a teeny 7 ptr. & the other 5 were spikes and fork-horns.)</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><br /><span class="apple-style-span"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal; color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM9bXtec_KeKPKvsHxiFy87C_KEkuYS0gro5LMV1U8a411K6PaQNYbZUZIEbFiQd9iNhz1ZEAp4hb83o67SjVkyggUR1EXlrUZ0oJBj3S-QzoYPL9g2MVKrPjWDa6AlyABYDW0rcuRbsO2/s320/1016101213.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549973801650341202" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></span></i></span></span></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span></u><span class="apple-style-span">I'd be REAL happy if I'd found the doe I was blood trailing when he came along, made a bad shot on her and never found her, looked until 2 am Saturday night and from 8 am till about 3:30 pm on Sunday, last I found was a bed where she dripped two tiny blood droplets and shed a couple more belly hairs about 400 yds. from where I shot her. Third or fourth time that's happened to me in 24 years of killing these things and it gets worse every time....., and I really hate knowing the coyotes might get a free lunch, but there is the comfort of knowing nothing that dies ever truly goes to waste I reckon. I think Josey Wales had something to say about that.</span><br /><span class="apple-style-span" style="color: black; line-height: 115%; "> </span><br /><span class="apple-style-span" style="color: black; line-height: 115%; ">That buck probably spent the last three hours or so of his life thinking he finally figured out how to "grin" another buck to death. Andy Wright (another guy who hunts there along with his son Tim) watched this buck and a basket racked 8 (clearly with more guts than sense!!!) fight for about 10 minutes that morning, at one point they were staring each other down and he had a clear shot to one of 'ems shoulder (he couldn't tell which was which at 80 yards through the trees) and he busted the 8 right through both shoulders, whereupon this buck proceeded to "put the boots to him" while he was down going through his death throes. Nature red in tooth and claw, eh? That 8 did get one good lick in though, this deer had a fresh in & out puncture wound on his left hindquarter.</span><br /><span class="apple-style-span" style="color: black; line-height: 115%; "> </span><br /><span class="apple-style-span" style="color: black; line-height: 115%; ">This buck came along around 10:30-:45 or so while I was on my hands and knees looking for blood from that doe, he was clearly heading somewhere at a trot, mouth open and a-panting, tried getting him to stop, even yelled at him, but ended up swinging my sights with him and touching it off as he crossed an open spot. After the shot the first word that popped in my head was "gouts", in description of the literal sheets of blood coming out both sides of him. I never saw such a blood trail, hit him top-dead-center through both lungs and that bubbly vermillion-red stuff sprayed 8-10 feet to either side of him, 6 -7 feet high on trees in some spots, you coulda literally found him "blindfolded and barefooted". And he still went</span><span class="apple-converted-space" style="color: black; line-height: 115%; "> </span><strong style="color: black; line-height: 115%; ">450 yards!!!!!</strong><span class="apple-converted-space" style="color: black; line-height: 115%; "> </span><span class="apple-style-span" style="color: black; line-height: 115%; ">The last thirty yards or so the blood just stopped cold, and there wasn't a heckuva lot left in him when we field dressed him. Don't know what he weighs, but his backstraps measured 35" long, each hindquarter weighs about 28 pounds, and I took 11-12 pounds of 2 inch thick tallow off his rump, back, brisket, and from inside along his tenderloins, he had a belly full of acorns and a little bit of corn from the farm to the north of the Young farm, you could surely tell he was in prime condition for the rut which'll be starting soon, from what we saw there is some serious pre-rut activity going on right now!</span></span></i><br /></span></div> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">With my letter safely tucked back within my pocketbook and with full bellies, we set forth with</span></p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl_oB3uOLBh4lBWCZ_4_2b6DUDV5aDw5YgPtLw55DxlukCogYfBPykWI_2uKLZfKw73Dj4On7C2DikjcF6AUcqlC8LIU2E_lXBDBPTKMq5qupLJQptaY01Bd6zY7m0FmD3XBN7WOew0uIp/s320/1290284896169.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549974536391619122" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px; " /></span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"> loaded rifles to gather more of winter’s necessary provisions.<span> </span>As he is wont to do, Mark acted both as pathfinder and artist upon our hunt. No longer choosing to carry arms, Mr. Selter instead carried the necessary items to capture moments in time. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">Our dear friend Mistress Larner had most recently sent us a lengthy letter strongly suggesting she, Mistress duPont and Miss Katherine are quite taken with <a href="http://www.markselter.com/">Mark’s talents as artist. </a>Ach, our heart aches at the memory of his painting entitled “Farewell,” a vividly rendered memory of his and Angela’s departure from one another. T’is quite stunning.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTYbT3euxu8EQppn8MDMpye9cM1MSz_seCm3JVeSEMi_YWLqLJ2-dg4Bj7V4JpDdDVSkszcuX8hdF8ClLxds5IrvPWJ2UzzgElOAXCqy0VRjJQOVylyoXVtE8MDgRJ4efzWa0nYg7ZPr-g/s320/Farewell+watermarked+copy.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550001417884845058" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 271px; height: 320px; " /></span></span></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></span></div> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">Once more, the dry Autumn leaves betrayed nearly each step. Further, just as we approached a lovely hillside, a shifting wind blew our scent toward a small group of deer, causing them to snort, stomp their feet and finally to throw up their white tails, and run giving no chance of a good shot.<span> </span>Not having seen deer in our previous hunt, even this fruitless encounter caused me to take heart. Wiser to the shifting winds and somewhat emboldened, we continued on, our weapons readied.<span> </span>Hours passed quickly as we measured each step against the promise of a kill. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">Noontime found the three of us settled in for a bit of conversation, coffee and jerky. Mr. Mains quickly had the fire burning whilst I took the opportunity to sew a small bag to contain Mr. Selter’s tobacco tin. Refreshed from our break we set off. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzK-vGi_yYSDamnE0p3ZU41LNNysNAkdXcQFa9YkfqUkYmmnPw2x19aO2eRnm6qV5XLutWa4QsZrGzm2Hg1qJjkHQmXfBwPwmopHH6Tn_6WiQ6JrSM6QBgKxU2zzbjKKSHG0BIXCe-P6Wn/s320/P1080091.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549976688270593570" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /></span></span></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIabVGIXXS2WhBo0pbCXF78N1gd-5alBLYHB0-K_xw72Fyqhyphenhyphen7bflsOqih5R7XGPPmkdGYdg3snZulqfGLc_29_GqQidJrDIm1XR66Hr_jSCHyyA57O1Z4vJUgWfrv_Zd67B7sYyATMH7q/s320/P1080148.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549976695849710898" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></span></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">Mr. Mains split off from us for a short time to explore the higher side of the knob and was rewarded by the sight of ten or fifteen does.<span> </span>A shot was taken and we searched the area until dark yet were unable to locate a bit of hair or blood to indicated the shot was true, though Mr. M did feel quite certain in it’s placement.</span></p><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjGdgT0wSUMcXLFnkttZtQ4X2J-gsYmZWr6o_rz3Pl1SKKsVqoPA7thU6czFZQGJi2PVRTUbScUGptR7Jsq865xBv49y2c8GOxvFGK0stUWKJiGpiNi1PSJZxbNmNrq6J0IfzstnnZ_3Rf/s320/P1080073.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549963111003446018" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px; " /> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">Much disheartened, we returned to the Selter’s small cabin, where we dined once more upon soup. Our days walk, the tension of hunting and the steep knobs had all taken their toll and this evening found all tucked snug and warm inside our blankets earlier than usual.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">Moonlight shone through the windows, perfectly balanced with the lightening sky to the east, as we enjoyed our morning meal. It was determined Mark and Jesse would return to the knob to search for any possible sign of the previous day’s doe, whilst I would take my own path through the bottoms around the ponds. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoR2UKCgfn6CHGr_Pel1fFRvRksH5W4NC1l_FWmrcxw4173bjJt49SpcaqMHkbGtCxIfGcLjSrKZKOFglYf3jUPS0hDZItESTtsfX71_YZ3b5W79bYq_3e2bn42pm0xP1hg2P8xzxDFs2N/s320/PICT0002.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549999587179000178" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></span></span></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></span></div> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">Alone, I traveled quietly the wanderings of deer tracks freshly made. Only the tiny sounds of chipmunks, mice, and squirrels combined with the breeze as we stepped carefully, always searching for the smallest glimpse of grey/brown.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAi6-G7DXrYffZcnj4xSS-VcBbAbiBi9Zy3J7V9dwVXH_7Lr5DA3T7KtdcCVudtUNdUwCgW4YfhVAmuvuOk5j-4wDr5debDPjGU0UQzc3-zrF0ynmFDJ_sNLWpiNWdC9czWolxoaeCq0LV/s320/P1080242.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550000284635453842" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"> Upon hearing Splitnose’s distinctive crack, but a few hundred yards away, and knowing the likelihood of their activity spurring our prey toward us, we took a knee and waited.<span> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span></span>No sign or</span><span class="Apple-style-span"> sound greeted me for nearly three quarters an hour and thus we carried on toward Mr. Mains and Mr. Selter.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; ">Words cannot easily describe the mixture of emotions so deeply felt upon arriving at the scene of Mr. Mains kill. Relief, joy, thrill and pleasure battled, much to my regret, with sorrow, jealousy and a deep seated lack of self confidence beset my mind. As these many feelings raced through my heart and mind they were also, unbeknownst to me, quite clearly displayed upon my face and captured perfectly by Mr. Selter’s artful hand.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsrEq6_XO5B4VHs_KuAB3mtQ799M_kqlDY1_AHwtPqL8r-ubLnNHyzRIGXFrj-2FMlEmHco3f3hwgffzwnsTr35Jvmn5LnxqeChf3rD-jV6Kta07tiHfUMB01aq9HRvGyMG7aRHkqudzj2/s320/P1080302+a+.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550005188182611106" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 304px; " /></span></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijHrvD5EhTQBCIYSfrIEN5aflf9kmVFGKkA_r64cKYF9VolehprEbvGUq2NMfjyhrGjIL_IyJsY2uXbwKQKYGEmU6gVPPF2oW-PgnVLeetaT7GiE-CehwTDf26YirnLc5uBVGpcJz4SVHK/s320/evergreen%25231.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550006038675136306" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 250px; height: 320px; " /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBsMpyiuiYJAeYuTqRnlRYp4IpGhFUgTo1wizhNJXEcJ9hAriZ0gW9ooJQsYk1k6AmGcOym-OORunjo2jQwdofA-F8sT-Igsvfplyri7Nxh7sw_4esiLKtXgsHHn-muxVyXEUtsNvfDrSW/s320/PICT0018.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550006049636902082" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU-ylLd73iG89lpw43CLmCgNuwDunqgBEWexyjdgjsQAZgxz8z-vVxKy09S4TwRDazPWrwqaEIDRmbx0RZwYdP7QmCv6_JpYJDu54Fam78eHh7ug46YNlaK1MQAyAEPb_teh3uowz3h-Dg/s320/PICT0072.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550007053809319330" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; ">This being no time for self contemplation we disengaged from Mr. Mains’ arms and began to assist in the field dressing and necessary preparations. With only a few short hours of time remaining to hunting we set off alone for the farthest height of the knobs.</span></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">Walking quickly up the steep hillside, legs burning and heart pumping with the exertion, tears coursed freely and unchecked down my face. Questions raged through my mind, what was I doing wrong, what was wrong with me, why was I unable to accomplish this most important task? Was I too loud, did I not observe my surroundings, was I completely incapable? Was the smell of smoke which pervaded my clothing giving me away? Was my Leo’s ego being taught a lesson from the universe? My lack of confidence gave way to heaving sobs as I sat upon the highest point of the knob, overlooking the most beautiful landscape. <span> </span>Afore long, this cathartic moment passed and once more we were ourselves.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Z_BvGMti3VTuArJ9X2YCAONTV84isIW87jCyN0-2wcAcwarAhpHty9By2fUHO9S2Dbb3vNSdNl08gi7PWH0hkTK6tfxliwnMR1btIxKmpCzM5jezPnoBR0JP2MA7yOlC5Z0X2_NX_7ow/s1600/alone.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Z_BvGMti3VTuArJ9X2YCAONTV84isIW87jCyN0-2wcAcwarAhpHty9By2fUHO9S2Dbb3vNSdNl08gi7PWH0hkTK6tfxliwnMR1btIxKmpCzM5jezPnoBR0JP2MA7yOlC5Z0X2_NX_7ow/s320/alone.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550007862825232322" style="cursor: pointer; width: 130px; height: 130px; " /></a></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtGep2Rglzx9_1lavrUIJu0-k56FMF3W92o3txioP2i1TafeALkFtkMScXXUN0m0X7qgZLRwhpQ5jJ1xxOGPyDK5wNQVmJwHliisnJdOiJU4uXO-k2dJsryJTe9n3fwGtVgVeuhxmj1xlS/s1600/looking+over+shoulder.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtGep2Rglzx9_1lavrUIJu0-k56FMF3W92o3txioP2i1TafeALkFtkMScXXUN0m0X7qgZLRwhpQ5jJ1xxOGPyDK5wNQVmJwHliisnJdOiJU4uXO-k2dJsryJTe9n3fwGtVgVeuhxmj1xlS/s320/looking+over+shoulder.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550007871391144690" style="cursor: pointer; width: 252px; height: 320px; " /></a></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">Slipping silently down the knob, a gladness and contentment filled my heart and pushed any remaining doubts from my mind. Breathing the cool air, feeling the sun shining upon my face we returned to the Selter’s cabin and joined Angela for a delicious cup of coffee and lovely conversation. The men returned, carrying their burden between them, and we ran outside to happily greet them.<span> </span>After a few more cups of coffee and some lovely cherry cobbler it was time to take my leave. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">As has been eloquently said; “parting is such sweet sorrow.” Mr. Mains and I took a short walk from the Selter cabin for a brief moment alone, after which we parted company with the promise of joining one another soon. The journey homeward was long, yet pleasant and filled with memories of time well spent.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13.3333px; "><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5AhPI8_GHRQ/TQWXcjVlb8I/AAAAAAAAAeU/aYucXLKRuIM/s1600/holding%2Bhands.jpg"><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5AhPI8_GHRQ/TQWXcjVlb8I/AAAAAAAAAeU/aYucXLKRuIM/s320/holding%2Bhands.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550008632581910466" style="cursor: pointer; width: 286px; height: 320px; " /></a></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">*Please note, the images contained here within represent only the briefest moments in time. While hunting in our modern times, Blaze Orange is always properly worn. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal">All images taken by Mark Selter </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Mad Anne Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03219820685315057516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8439424128458628389.post-307885306343024942010-12-07T20:48:00.010-06:002010-12-07T21:54:35.486-06:00Empty handed, but for my rifle<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Dearest ones,</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span">It seems a few pages of our journal have fallen from their bindings, we shall try to replace them within their proper places. Though we beg your forbearance should they appear out of their proper order.</span></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">15 November </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">We return, empty handed, but for my fine riflegun. Provisioning for the winter has been poorly done and yet, strangely we find ourselves well satisfied. We journeyed to the hunting grounds of Caintuckee to join with my dearest Mr. Mains for a hunt in Boone’s wilderness. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji_rS91164GLh0WM9oeXaOtUOL8_j1oFvrPM4b5oQNrvZlK6KVUk6Hq_UJ98mobBEQFsTmtVhZq-bCl6A0r00x-greDerHsP_1AcutPUiTGU5HHM93LZgaq21rcuqfayqr19fLfEMqm03V/s320/mains+boys.jpg" style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 182px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548144554947017330" /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Upon our arri</span><span class="Apple-style-span">val, we found the entire Mains household rejoicing, for news had only just come from England</span><span class="Apple-style-span"> of the birth of young master Henry Mains, brother to master Ronald, treasured son of Mr. Jason Mains. After much visiting, we set forth o</span><span class="Apple-style-span">nce more, traveling alongside the river toward Limestone and further onward toward Mr. Boone’s forests.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">A snug rockhouse well known to myself and Mr. Mains was once more destined to be our shelter. Tucked up well, safe and dry, we found the small cache of fire wood left from our previous years hunt. After a scout to determine we were in no immediate danger from the wretched Shawnee, we set forth to hunt with purpose.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfkJbvTI6IHe-Pl9wjIG_5aJ7DLyklmt66AMz23nUNxyKcVqKZH5arjs2PQk2qGb9vJ6zf1hP7LJZTsTCuRH_DTFEKz8fh9hj_M8zOF08osEG8o_dZIDj6hnHQr-fj04z_BGkcl9vsPhVo/s320/1289742348884.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548141773533717426" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px; " /></span> </span><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">Though the scene was quite beautiful, the autumnal colors were not nearly as well defined as in years passed, what with the severe drought conditions experienced these many months, one could hardly expect the usual bursts of oranges, and fiery reds. Further, the confounded dryness caused nearly each and every step to be announced with much crackling and snapping of twigs, leaves and the heavy covering of mast. For though the previous year’s crop of acorns was dismal, a bumper crop now littered the forest floor. Hours quickly passed as we slipped through the trees accompanied only by squirrels, chipmunk and the occasional calling of crows. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPgoEBdAJn05QaFU0sP1oyNWvC34oleexyzU1M2c_x_bo3RCYlaVVlr70N8BaXK8tNqnezrZSaIFQxh-lUHaOyYdMXcfoTpjldMC5yzPKr08jdrhTCg0Qlu0Ccz-5dlLptQvN7TeHDI0VU/s1600/1289667982803.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPgoEBdAJn05QaFU0sP1oyNWvC34oleexyzU1M2c_x_bo3RCYlaVVlr70N8BaXK8tNqnezrZSaIFQxh-lUHaOyYdMXcfoTpjldMC5yzPKr08jdrhTCg0Qlu0Ccz-5dlLptQvN7TeHDI0VU/s320/1289667982803.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548140085557238658" style="cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px; " /></a></span></span></span></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></span></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">Seeing very little sign of the deer we had thought to be prolific in the area, we separated for a few hours, each hunting as our preferences dictated. He, tracking and slipping shadowlike through the woods; I settling down beside a small, but well used pond. </span></p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNuCyNMQx_KJslvr23k5ROc3gOy7xIZZ-mZW5OCCD7cODEQk76_OrRTC6q5RWgf0PND5lmbAnrYYveXRlovWPWExzBzypLxlYrNxLVfWx8w4kWDY7CzM0JyPHFYw1ll8lYOzq51r1hoRpt/s320/1289671869318.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548141768721570034" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px; " /></span><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">Luck was surely not on our side and though the time was well spent, it proved entirely unproductive. As the sun dipped below the tree line, movement along the far knobs attracted our attention toward a small group of turkeys, too far off to assure a kill. Much discouraged, we returned empty handed to the coziness of our rockhouse.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7Esz0j8FTF-tdeq1UrQA3hyjd3BbGAepc_hHgr7foGdKKdfc7xZbTPXMWcurljn5Ax55G8VrgxUrEm8uftzwDH0isrybRORg-5Jx6w3ur8DNDSc_OP34e8QrW17VhaGNGyrJTTIZGJmxm/s1600/1289678240394.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7Esz0j8FTF-tdeq1UrQA3hyjd3BbGAepc_hHgr7foGdKKdfc7xZbTPXMWcurljn5Ax55G8VrgxUrEm8uftzwDH0isrybRORg-5Jx6w3ur8DNDSc_OP34e8QrW17VhaGNGyrJTTIZGJmxm/s320/1289678240394.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548140099976227810" style="cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px; " /></a> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipho9BKrWoXMnJocIuUNmtOTDxRzqPwAgkBM3-Px5eySsOBsDnSnWopxzKKbMb-2XNvhOeF67Isbw1_LTncDUnVmugY8NUNm1nUWWkR0c2o7RqWdVSpr7Ew_i2KYBZni8LnEegw76czgRU/s1600/1289676355790.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipho9BKrWoXMnJocIuUNmtOTDxRzqPwAgkBM3-Px5eySsOBsDnSnWopxzKKbMb-2XNvhOeF67Isbw1_LTncDUnVmugY8NUNm1nUWWkR0c2o7RqWdVSpr7Ew_i2KYBZni8LnEegw76czgRU/s320/1289676355790.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548140089036475682" style="cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px; " /></a></span></span></p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwq3hoYDnz7oJupRJPYh3k1s32oAIzyKeDGMOveF5YOqcrlcAXCXp-kvTy2Lq2LFJ8iFFgLgmTA0OmbjVeUHIYp0TqQb3CCBbw7yPNrA2NDzjRFlpu5hd1voipsIs5isg52FvGAQW_1nEi/s320/1289678231838.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548141771956146946" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px; " /></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">A fire was struck, our blankets lain and our meager camp established. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px; "><span class="Apple-style-span">As we lay beneath the stars with a warm fire to ward off the chill of the fall air, my heart was much at peace. Clouds rushed over the face of the waxing gibbous moon and leaves danced in the moonlight. My d</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span">reams were soon filled with visions of grand stags and marvelous hunts.</span></span></p><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqfF-iyhooOmA63_nGrGlHrd0_pA7B5fJ47TPHQIIvqR7WpTjDRbs4i9uSknDy7WJwgyAiAffFlNIn7yfdML0XbtGXKl1uBRGEaXk6UzhtOtRTIRObBmMDLgpr7c4ZhWyCZccRHpAbjIdo/s320/P1010087.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548148781519611570" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Long before the new day’s sun breached the horizon Mr. Mains renewed the night’s f</span><span class="Apple-style-span">ire br</span><span class="Apple-style-span">inging </span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">warmth and light by which we enjoyed keeping company and our simple meal of cor</span><span class="Apple-style-span">n</span><span class="Apple-style-span"> porridge, jerky and coffee. Much revived and refreshed, we set forth on the morning’s hunt. </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">The early hours had brought a bit of rain and a heavy wetness hushed our departure. </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span">Together, we retraced our steps toward those areas which had shown the most promise the day past. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">I, to my small pond, only to find upon the dawn’s light a mighty buck had shown his midnight contempt at my encroachment upon his territory! An entire section of the scrub brush was much damaged; my adversary having left rubs and scrapes to clearly define this as his own! Undaunted, and somewhat encouraged, I rested aside a tree, huddled in my blanket with my fine riflegun at the ready. Mr. Mains, for his part investigated the surroundings to find similar signs, but no deer were willing to show themselves.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMi0AIOdouShWSjfjwJG1bRS2qKdy4QTuD4qiEpMCipW2kShxBQVFGaHVq68NdC4ctqDgBneCKvvWC86kKMf7yfqp9EjFY7XawQH1kA2lTZ6Gki51ReLxs0QAJDrDrRBS9d0z_Pg3eC29z/s1600/1289684599119.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMi0AIOdouShWSjfjwJG1bRS2qKdy4QTuD4qiEpMCipW2kShxBQVFGaHVq68NdC4ctqDgBneCKvvWC86kKMf7yfqp9EjFY7XawQH1kA2lTZ6Gki51ReLxs0QAJDrDrRBS9d0z_Pg3eC29z/s320/1289684599119.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548150258632521970" style="cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px; " /></a></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">Once more we rejoined and giving in to our desires we found ourselves another rockhouse in which to rest. After climbing nearly straight up and into a very large rockhouse, a discovery of some merit was made. Hidden beneath a singularly placed piece of rock on a large slab of sandstone, was a hominy hole; made by ancestors of yore.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtBzIJK4n4X3mmhvfokI-iCnFJgu9Md1e6vVs0BQcz7ghcdOJpkIJK4oR8V6btEGAXeyhcrJl2AU-DXNZryfEejWVzf_2SUmy5Ehh1PzbpRKOLhvjAUwq_73Bimz2Ui0socTXoHV7C5BoO/s320/1289755319556.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548141784252738546" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px; " /></span></span></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></span></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">Running my fingers over the smoothness of the hole’s perimeter, thoughts of other women in this very place soaking corn into watered ashes and then beating it within the confines of this conical filled my mind, Further exploration showed defined areas for fire, gathering and sleeping. The majesty and sacredness of this experience was nearly overwhelming and we felt honored to have shared this space with our ancestors.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">The remainder of our time together was much enjoyed, yet our purpose remained unfulfilled, and still no m</span>eat gained for our winter provision. And still, onward winter comes. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p></div>Mad Anne Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03219820685315057516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8439424128458628389.post-24676950676030112222010-11-23T19:38:00.011-06:002010-11-27T21:28:49.587-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxDyinITDbc2Tl6gh_wqoTMY0QnB2w2BRAaj2y_pv7AFgQSCd9-S324v5CpEB1aEkr_7KdC85psnX4d4zuKJ_NrIXjNv9RdghYqMgyNmgzkpa7-srDlBz72u9mo4ovXx4Ghn5NQAp8jCs-/s1600/IMG_20101127_193606.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxDyinITDbc2Tl6gh_wqoTMY0QnB2w2BRAaj2y_pv7AFgQSCd9-S324v5CpEB1aEkr_7KdC85psnX4d4zuKJ_NrIXjNv9RdghYqMgyNmgzkpa7-srDlBz72u9mo4ovXx4Ghn5NQAp8jCs-/s320/IMG_20101127_193606.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5544410500860200578" /></a><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">27 November </span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Dearest Ones,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">A howling wind doth blow, causing the tiny</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> nub of candle upon my desk to flicker. The moon's shine fills our window, casting shadow upon the room, lighting this table and the papers upon it.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Many days have passed since last we sent correspondence. Our usual routines much interrupted <span class="Apple-style-span">with the goings on of daily life. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">A packet of dispatches hath arrived most recently, writ primarily in the fine hand of the good <a href="http://manskerman1780.blogspot.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Doctor, Albert Roberts</span></a>. We are so pleased to count such a distinguished gentleman amongst our dearest friends, further it seems the Doctor's head is quite turned by a young lady,<span class="Apple-style-span" > <a href="http://missemilywaterman.blogspot.com/">Miss Emily Waterman</a></span>. One wonders what the future may hold for two so in love as these. Even our own cold heart is warmed by the tenderness shared betwixt these two. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Tender days... one does recall them with such fondness...</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">A letter hath also arrived from Mistress Larner, detailing her recent journeys with<span class="Apple-style-span"> Miss Katherine and Mistress duPont, along with young Miss Hannah, to the market faire at Locust Grove. Near the falls of the Ohio it seems the foursome were most graciously welcomed into the duPont family home;<span class="Apple-style-span"> all candles lit, the table set and a fire soon laid in the hearth. The ladies</span><span class="Apple-style-span"> dined sumptuously and slept well tucked within the du Pont Mansion.</span></span></span></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlPGgzXRf3gVx6yeVcFeRjk4RAqOpmyYYkB7ODiZlqlwiGIidVr7d0XnmZfRX-NSMxVkTgEe9fQDSr1Xi510vJjAoHdVtPlGAGUJpfbvSETcrmuLlx0e776xmj7WvqIOe8G4ulIyK-aU19/s320/IMG_20101029_194238.jpg" style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 239px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5544409750490073794" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgruShBrryLd29osedCpQdY0nEveQ61Uk8tsC2SLCUtWARNGprh0NHzC_dwQkHnSyLZ66dvFrUva_MEdMUqtuvCQ1EbIk4VgjbzuBiDc-z4xAnO3wR0B_pZKoguiWdEeRXP4xQer2sokkSa/s320/IMG_20101029_193833.jpg" style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 239px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5544409754451167554" /><div> </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFFiPhOL07rsJimzKA_4ssET4vheThQ8SWqz89QgWRNpG4SfehJ_0z6U7UodVdSKnvyeXOqovVTW9RVys0zhmNTVxCMdbTeU3LLDs9dz-SF-2JFyJKoFymTA_wT3q-aEE5run1F8uD8vsV/s320/IMG_20101029_193725.jpg" style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 239px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5544409763248003330" /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Mistress duPont herself served tea upon the new day and the young ladies treated all assembled to a bit of a concert on the pianoforte in the music room.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7dKlQC1TM5q8xn83-eaj-oB7jtn393iUjSBijIuapU2sxqV0iHX-Sx8ZZPLp1jGqIUHUE5Cra3jcnPBz0m493ic_2SYMtAad6Psw1kZ2JrE4BGJvrVeYOiOr3dMVq5tfgoKu3I9jnrxIX/s320/IMG_20101030_111711.jpg" style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 239px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5544413287693800018" /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQhBj7ddEA3nzyOxe23i0xTal6vTOXnGiZ66ZsQzxWUHAlXkq9Ke7KHnCTOrDWLEX9xrLPve1t2gQHy1fx8X74xpuseAYZaNgT3A2rFiy7Jiku7Tgq7PWeVPRbdJffMMJvTI7_8gqhaLhP/s1600/IMG_20101030_111938.jpg"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQhBj7ddEA3nzyOxe23i0xTal6vTOXnGiZ66ZsQzxWUHAlXkq9Ke7KHnCTOrDWLEX9xrLPve1t2gQHy1fx8X74xpuseAYZaNgT3A2rFiy7Jiku7Tgq7PWeVPRbdJffMMJvTI7_8gqhaLhP/s320/IMG_20101030_111938.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5544413290764687138" style="cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px; " /></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZjpp4s0uDCLI0wJm0Rqg5zbhA1XTzYOX3o8WReOtLmv0_1N7-EOvEf5QNw07eouTIyro1v5q-mKzzuhiwcaQPjaY7l83ba9s7Z564YeHEaWyxwSo3ppjBbfRgmxxVbLZyaYEt1x8nzzXq/s1600/IMG_20101030_115148.jpg"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZjpp4s0uDCLI0wJm0Rqg5zbhA1XTzYOX3o8WReOtLmv0_1N7-EOvEf5QNw07eouTIyro1v5q-mKzzuhiwcaQPjaY7l83ba9s7Z564YeHEaWyxwSo3ppjBbfRgmxxVbLZyaYEt1x8nzzXq/s320/IMG_20101030_115148.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5544413315156553794" style="cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px; " /></span></a></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Following a stroll through the park, the ladies set off for Locust Grove and the market faire. A wedding was witnessed, friends enjoyed, a few new wares gathered and acquaintances new and old were much enjoyed. Mistress Larner and the <span class="Apple-style-span">ladies </span>spent a lovely time together with their hosts Mr. Medley and Miss Becky.</span></div><div> <span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHkf1P-SjJ5H7eog07L2h4S0ybUyov-rwZc9kOBEiiJvQjicUZmGj244ril5Ks2XrDip7kRzUG2PoczUx6JTD0KEZcoR9SZSrTuAuPJCkL1Br0SBFHI5P03dzJDyO6dSYhoqQexrxq3tBK/s320/irish+rover.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5544427586245279586" style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 156px; " /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Mr. and Mistress Hagee, Doc Muzzy and the artist Mark Selter and his lovely wife Mistress Selter joined together for a meal. The grand party carried on to the Tim Faulkner gallery where </span></span><a href="http://www.markselter.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Mr. Selter's fine art work</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> was shown to the delight of all. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNyVM1KOeNVXKeDzRxF3Mv4X6KcJ2tShyphenhyphencxOvLma-LNSg5xw60wEiS4zFKhDO7ReuOy78G8sbTiuzZ54jbROqQw3po7bCuAoh03oiPjNSLUZzrknUVjibDrQgfiWgkh2PcGbVc0ToLFBAK/s320/mark+and+angela.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5544427555340010802" style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">One can only ima</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">gine the scenes to w</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">hich Mr.</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> Selter gives life. His talent, according to Mistress Larner, is quite extraordinary. In fact it seems she is much carried away by it. We find this not </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">surprising</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> at all, being quite taken with him a</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">s well. Art seems much appreciated by Mistress Larner, as she and Miss Katherine are the subjects of a canvas in process by </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="http://artswithdocmuzzy.blogspot.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Doc Muzzy</span></span></a></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">, the first glimpse of which the ladies were able to take the following day. Ah, t'is dearly loved this canvas! The ladies were quite amazed and delighted with what they saw and find themselves hardly able to contain their enthusiasm whilst awaiting the final unveiling. </span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Dear ones, our candle hath burned down and dark prevents further correspondence, though surely we shall pick up the pen once more upon the morrow for many things we need must share. </span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Until then we remain <span class="Apple-style-span">yours,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Anne</span></div><div><br /></div>Mad Anne Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03219820685315057516noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8439424128458628389.post-67741646646767781922010-10-18T20:50:00.020-05:002010-10-18T22:45:19.779-05:00Piracy upon the banks of the Mississinewa<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">October 18.<br /><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">What’s this!? Another letter? Why yes, and by the style of hand one might speculate it to be from dear Cousin Z! With trembling hands the letter is turned over to reveal a splash of red wax with the initial Z. Indeed! ‘Tis from my dearest cousin!</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Dearest Cousin,</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I pray you forgive the dire nature of </span></span><a href="http://madannebailey.blogspot.com/2010/08/piracy.html"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">my last letter, sent in August</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">. I fear it m</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">ay have caused you pain to believe I had perhaps gone to my final resting place at the hands of a petty Governor.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwFcG1l6ViYesDkMsPctU9E0QEgoBw5qU2Ds09l10qGDGqghF4UaKc39TD4tjX3lGBGZ9r42ha0-suiZkZ4cMJlx3k5tbBHoJS-rUEfQsnLK_Rz9rxpjumzqc_eHBVNhJKVtzEQMr9H278/s200/2010_M1812_Suzanne.jpg" style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 180px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529587350872878402" /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Nay, cousin, do not fear, for as you can well discern by my strong hand; I am quite well and very much alive.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span></span>T’was questionable there for a time, indeed, I did quite fear for my life as the day of my hanging drew near. I’ll not trouble you too much to detail the horrid nature of my imprisonment, but suffice it to say I shall never be captured again! Better dead than to be forced to withstand the daily (and nightly!) horrors I’ve experienced. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">But all was not lost, for there was one with whom I was able to find some small solace. A young mop haired guard, smooth of cheek and tender of heart, who found himself quite distracted in his guard duty.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Oh my dear one, ‘tis truly a miracle I dinna find myself truthfully in the unhappy and delicate condition I had pled to the judge and Governor!</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Cousin, I tell you by the 24</span><sup><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">th</span></sup><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> day of my captivity I was beginning to fear the day whence it would be discovered (OR NOT!!) a wee babe would suffer consequence of it’s mother’s recklessness. Soon my fear took shape to the point of action, for I could not wait even one more day for the decision of the hangman. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15.8333px; "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4-hvfu-rZdV5of7bWmPCiB-RLqwRP-ptagM2EHPpkc15nTQA_CANYqTSWd5pvj3W3fM9TEg6Z2SC0wIayHaUbcwltanS5RXGhueUeUOoS-aLFs0SANEThxIHgKwnL-H0Gm0bK52J2DdDm/s1600/33760_1499371803355_1205965016_31265486_2021679_n.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4-hvfu-rZdV5of7bWmPCiB-RLqwRP-ptagM2EHPpkc15nTQA_CANYqTSWd5pvj3W3fM9TEg6Z2SC0wIayHaUbcwltanS5RXGhueUeUOoS-aLFs0SANEThxIHgKwnL-H0Gm0bK52J2DdDm/s200/33760_1499371803355_1205965016_31265486_2021679_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529597481657924914" style="cursor: pointer; width: 159px; height: 240px; " /></a></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">T</span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">h</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">e fair </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">lad I mentioned was quite enamored and I found it was quite possible to slide my left hand to that which was desired, by distracting with my right until a solid form took shape, as I lifted gently from his pocket the key to my survival. Forgive me cousin, for I was forced to give the young lad quite a thump upon his head to ensure my retreat from the stinking cell within which I had been retained. Once free from the walls of my cell I paid my respects to those who had not been so lucky, a glass lifted to their spirits.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlR0n14WuwnYSUOS9hyxVKfTkpY1wStgnshbSano2F1MiGrLrQ8swmyW0c1N4j_uxKgTxp9QduTNAYYEkfpuWdZo6g_2SfTQgame4H7jqRzf3PMteT2nty0NDcIg3hUJl5K7TlhMRxErWY/s320/n1075293994_127333_1952.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529570589056231858" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 288px; height: 384px; " /></span></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Quickly from this hated place did some mates and I retreat. Time passed as it always does and I found myself in with a new crew upon the Great Lakes. Indeed, under Lieutenant Garland and Captain McCrary a crew of likeminded souls had gathered a bit south of the Great Lakes to ply their trade upon the Mississinewa River.</span></span></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Ah dear cousin, how well we did fall in with this crew. Upon arrival within our temporary camp along the river we encountered a dear dear gentleman who presents himself as an honest trader; Mr. B who sells fine wares, most with the blood stains removed. </span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">And the Widow Black too with her coffeehouse, a fine and honest businessperson she is I can tell you. Of course she has no control over who enters the coffeehouse and what commerce may be conducted within it’s confines. Sure and doesn’t she make the finest coffee ya ever had? Of course she does.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis8PjifR0Z48FCddQBF2rrnx9OroOjS9iKczI9U6WCSPLjaNDtySU_BezOSuKEsSIZJFkYcdmL9ji_Eqfu2_FJxIhib_Z63x_XvuTnX2LJowcDtkYMTzffxTHmWAMmmRf2udi1MtCm36UD/s1600/68336_1422298843559_1415348547_30924972_7458261_n.jpg"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis8PjifR0Z48FCddQBF2rrnx9OroOjS9iKczI9U6WCSPLjaNDtySU_BezOSuKEsSIZJFkYcdmL9ji_Eqfu2_FJxIhib_Z63x_XvuTnX2LJowcDtkYMTzffxTHmWAMmmRf2udi1MtCm36UD/s200/68336_1422298843559_1415348547_30924972_7458261_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529572393690200178" style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 180px; " /></span></a></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1vIX6ZJz3z8gzwkmMiGxVPAY6P3YnhNT6bgu4syoS8ohSOHmI0xSmkCK8rnM_zHkiWG2DAKFle-QMyZTicaa1-wXR6uUUmFgSodSgCXi0A-6RkAeEgHZRsZxJDuFfvDBZxtlKvwXDv9qd/s1600/72405_1499380843581_1205965016_31265530_1073371_n.jpg"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1vIX6ZJz3z8gzwkmMiGxVPAY6P3YnhNT6bgu4syoS8ohSOHmI0xSmkCK8rnM_zHkiWG2DAKFle-QMyZTicaa1-wXR6uUUmFgSodSgCXi0A-6RkAeEgHZRsZxJDuFfvDBZxtlKvwXDv9qd/s200/72405_1499380843581_1205965016_31265530_1073371_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529572405209151298" style="cursor: pointer; width: 159px; height: 240px; " /></span></a></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirhRUZhpKtyYgbZWb4Hj_wHKgG4q22w4_fGMq2_XVLBcJf6ETIHPWaVkY6v3Rlw-qTpTqKnjW-NyUemD7QtRgrrZ5NpOvKqKisK4fEkmxdVJ3chX1wfNA30qHzw_1B6TgzB3OrLUc8cdgn/s1600/36165_1499381643601_1205965016_31265537_8113093_n.jpg"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirhRUZhpKtyYgbZWb4Hj_wHKgG4q22w4_fGMq2_XVLBcJf6ETIHPWaVkY6v3Rlw-qTpTqKnjW-NyUemD7QtRgrrZ5NpOvKqKisK4fEkmxdVJ3chX1wfNA30qHzw_1B6TgzB3OrLUc8cdgn/s200/36165_1499381643601_1205965016_31265537_8113093_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529572416011354978" style="cursor: pointer; width: 163px; height: 240px; " /></span></a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1vIX6ZJz3z8gzwkmMiGxVPAY6P3YnhNT6bgu4syoS8ohSOHmI0xSmkCK8rnM_zHkiWG2DAKFle-QMyZTicaa1-wXR6uUUmFgSodSgCXi0A-6RkAeEgHZRsZxJDuFfvDBZxtlKvwXDv9qd/s1600/72405_1499380843581_1205965016_31265530_1073371_n.jpg"></a></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">And there was Remington, dear Remi, Cousin I’m sure you’d be quite mad about such a young lad as he, most useful he is too! Indeed nary a dish was wantin for the wash water. Though he did slack a bit on the Lords day, leaving our dear Captain Dollinger to act the scullery maid, and that after the waffle man had made fine waffles all morning! No doubt dear Remi shall pay for his late sleeping. Aye, the camp was well filled with ladies and even an apothecary to treat any wounds, ailments or perfidy which might have been visited upon crew or guests. There too was another fine gent whose presence was not oft seen. A well dressed fellow Mr. K, indeed just the very type one would wish to be entertained by at a fete or grand ball, presented by day as a Navy artilleryman, and rogue by night!</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Ay0lMosMpPWVD7Qhu4qjx0sKR6_Uqe1m-mKnce09V6Y9SifjMoeQYkCKJhEDw2B5crgM1N_10cBRBmMQe72Vym4AnZjYKlDl0OfP1fMHYNHjln-Of6wjUjo0aHt73LmCWUzxRMAjR-N9/s1600/66314_1422250642354_1415348547_30924926_4494183_n.jpg"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Ay0lMosMpPWVD7Qhu4qjx0sKR6_Uqe1m-mKnce09V6Y9SifjMoeQYkCKJhEDw2B5crgM1N_10cBRBmMQe72Vym4AnZjYKlDl0OfP1fMHYNHjln-Of6wjUjo0aHt73LmCWUzxRMAjR-N9/s200/66314_1422250642354_1415348547_30924926_4494183_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529574599207206786" style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 180px; " /></span></a></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFBPlOa2yuaNqB6iJ33__Iy__CNWbp7Z-ldYM_F9KcAAnpjhxeLyhbXHNCWYe60x5IrdZnAbCQhKcP6AwXVb5HfB_guIBSRtDfuzud6AHBTBkoGGQhLxwy3udYgX-Zgecm72AeomzzcqK3/s1600/66664_1643390890483_1408186892_1709718_5710770_s.jpg"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFBPlOa2yuaNqB6iJ33__Iy__CNWbp7Z-ldYM_F9KcAAnpjhxeLyhbXHNCWYe60x5IrdZnAbCQhKcP6AwXVb5HfB_guIBSRtDfuzud6AHBTBkoGGQhLxwy3udYgX-Zgecm72AeomzzcqK3/s200/66664_1643390890483_1408186892_1709718_5710770_s.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529587778715047154" style="cursor: pointer; width: 156px; height: 117px; " /></span></a></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHohq04k5x5RUsRNRwifhTHX0LZXeKmUoT2jDy0aU5timX0cN6NkqKy9QR1LzcvgrAie8LiLCcTObThEQ1RvrvXuRR3NqWDG3F7FYih3sYsCQM11oVQkJXjiILnFE8Rx8QOxs-kWgJUQzA/s1600/33433_1402668905843_1205965016_31036853_4129210_n.jpg"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHohq04k5x5RUsRNRwifhTHX0LZXeKmUoT2jDy0aU5timX0cN6NkqKy9QR1LzcvgrAie8LiLCcTObThEQ1RvrvXuRR3NqWDG3F7FYih3sYsCQM11oVQkJXjiILnFE8Rx8QOxs-kWgJUQzA/s200/33433_1402668905843_1205965016_31036853_4129210_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529588899900978994" style="cursor: pointer; width: 172px; height: 240px; " /></span></a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8WpVKSljJ_ppZBBSzVt5P5KyMLaobSmNaO-67qGszgWSxMWywPjscLm1EbSPMJJmgtWxf1IO3Cy-_aiqUIhyphenhyphenDd8TZZKRrt4FOslrG4OcDnoil0v-zeejrS00sAwJKTjyt6AVQ2QhDxR3z/s1600/68901_1499376243466_1205965016_31265508_424617_n.jpg"></a></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">But Cousin, dear cousin we leave last for our description; the Captain, who has been but briefly mentioned previously. Captain McCrary, master of seas, rivers and great lakes, plunderer of women and treasure. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW14IkHpCZVd7hs53pbYm6dJd2VFHsVAvlMcW9M3kedRyH2HLVSV4vJFcDRBbfWv5iYulYT-kZFj-n7sZaSSLNuGrpY5PeiesNATxnmJhZWL0vM3FJVsasrKkC4cxHNTxYmps4q7s98Ptd/s1600/captain+m.jpg"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW14IkHpCZVd7hs53pbYm6dJd2VFHsVAvlMcW9M3kedRyH2HLVSV4vJFcDRBbfWv5iYulYT-kZFj-n7sZaSSLNuGrpY5PeiesNATxnmJhZWL0vM3FJVsasrKkC4cxHNTxYmps4q7s98Ptd/s320/captain+m.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529575565514232834" style="cursor: pointer; width: 255px; height: 384px; " /></span></a></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjas5WNSLe3Bny7QZVwlC-NjivX-vHvdccqYvoQspy5aVWZ86l4epV_VekyBaCyjpC216lkD7QXCWfGYeUHgfLCggduEUG0RO-yPBAsv9nPHrDXl6ikuD2ycVbNBxt2f1qJ1zt8WLXkTBc3/s1600/67591_1499379723553_1205965016_31265525_5996501_n.jpg"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjas5WNSLe3Bny7QZVwlC-NjivX-vHvdccqYvoQspy5aVWZ86l4epV_VekyBaCyjpC216lkD7QXCWfGYeUHgfLCggduEUG0RO-yPBAsv9nPHrDXl6ikuD2ycVbNBxt2f1qJ1zt8WLXkTBc3/s320/67591_1499379723553_1205965016_31265525_5996501_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529591102082057314" style="cursor: pointer; width: 384px; height: 247px; " /></span></a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">He who is known far and wide, for his reputation (well deserved) does for certain precede him. Upon the Captain’s mercy we did fall, pleading to join the sanctuary and protection of his crew. Our fate in his hands, he put to test our skills, talents and abilities. To gain the right to belong, one must be willing to give all to the crew. The captain demanded of me that I make the most of my two best talents in luring in a rival crew and their suspected savage allies. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The crew loaded into several boats and off to a nearby island we quickly disembarked. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoUsr0yOVNYS4Lgegq4r8yN4cmBvpWTXUpH6cvVx-fhP-jNysPo6OV-K4bTUApXCDSUMGEKDeFvYB5uMbY35HZ85Ifr7t-iNNhFPRxbWtKdbLHiCqkxledJj_hS5FNLoY3hiUn5OSsFzLk/s1600/44947_1499381203590_1205965016_31265534_91157_n.jpg"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoUsr0yOVNYS4Lgegq4r8yN4cmBvpWTXUpH6cvVx-fhP-jNysPo6OV-K4bTUApXCDSUMGEKDeFvYB5uMbY35HZ85Ifr7t-iNNhFPRxbWtKdbLHiCqkxledJj_hS5FNLoY3hiUn5OSsFzLk/s320/44947_1499381203590_1205965016_31265534_91157_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529576761470704530" style="cursor: pointer; width: 384px; height: 264px; " /></span></a></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I, to the front most of the isle; to plead, beg, cry and display most or all of my feminine wiles, to entice the enemy into our waiting hands and muskets! The crew and captain at my back, I presented myself</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">as quite a</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">pathetic and pitiful creature, crying and begging for a gentleman to “please, please save me,” whilst my loaded, cocked and ready pistol was snuggly stowed within my basket at my arm. Alas t’was to no avail, the cowardly bastards refused to come within range of my pistol. (Forgive me dear cousin, my wicked words, I beg you quickly forget such hard words.) Though it was not long afore the fight was on and bravely the Great Lakes River Pyrates did fight!</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Dearest, worry not, but I myself was slightly wounded in the fray as a would-be assassin knocked me senseless. Thankfully, a member of the crew readily dispatched the red savage’s soul to Hell afore the mortal blow could be dealt.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I was left with nothing too much but a lump upon the head and the red mark of his vile body upon mine, ack, cousin, I do swear I can still smell the stench of his grease upon me! Horrid! </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The day’s work done, we returned to our camp and found the dear Mr. B’s delicious burgoo bubbling and smelling as a meal fit for a king. Indeed the meal was quite satisfying.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6JozKcjIseDmoNoWmgdEuNLoZZorBQNDklFteQKgggPDvfBUXI90Y_aJBKKdmSgZu8gbqEUBo65N9j5dGFm7GjCgM9oc2q2lL5RbQQO6Q3psXVCStuRDffACPaPwGSa4nbBggirWG-VqY/s200/69823_1499378363519_1205965016_31265518_4322741_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529579825528678546" style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 159px; " /></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15.8333px; "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNPiwDJfIpuuXyXob6usVHGfMqemAPRAtYnipmBoTChbaB958ivU0BKGlzKiP-WAa1enk57OMZdpg6LkFD0dp56lpciP-6SDDQJSnRcEfHYLFMcSD8UMYVSXSZ-RSWkRzKrQyaAjCOhOHg/s1600/68763_1499377803505_1205965016_31265516_4238114_n.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNPiwDJfIpuuXyXob6usVHGfMqemAPRAtYnipmBoTChbaB958ivU0BKGlzKiP-WAa1enk57OMZdpg6LkFD0dp56lpciP-6SDDQJSnRcEfHYLFMcSD8UMYVSXSZ-RSWkRzKrQyaAjCOhOHg/s320/68763_1499377803505_1205965016_31265516_4238114_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529596100851820434" style="cursor: pointer; width: 255px; height: 384px; " /></a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15.8333px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">L</span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">ater, as the time of the Grand Ball drew near the ladies of the camp and indeed many of the men, presented themselves in a new light, quite clean, proper and well healed. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">race to the regency had presented several of the ladies with new gowns which were quite astounding and even Mr. Henderson was well turned out in a fine pair of trousers. Captain McCrary, Remington and Mr. B presented themselves quite well armed! Indeed, every member of the crew held some little surprise for any man who should dare attempt liberties with the Pyrate crew!</span></span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaGHQ0Y707Czb1KMNovFLJUTqI0KDLtpvUtTPhKgZ_Oi0DpvCwAUfwzMVji_EeHL4AF6oyKUaT_0PnapQBMa3ZofU5wZtfUzEVg8O3AEazK7-33nfGzjkCtgzHDpfLBNO96xEbFGR7eG1n/s1600/39546_1499376003460_1205965016_31265507_3781556_n.jpg"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaGHQ0Y707Czb1KMNovFLJUTqI0KDLtpvUtTPhKgZ_Oi0DpvCwAUfwzMVji_EeHL4AF6oyKUaT_0PnapQBMa3ZofU5wZtfUzEVg8O3AEazK7-33nfGzjkCtgzHDpfLBNO96xEbFGR7eG1n/s200/39546_1499376003460_1205965016_31265507_3781556_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529579826147026098" style="cursor: pointer; width: 180px; height: 240px; " /></span></a></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8WpVKSljJ_ppZBBSzVt5P5KyMLaobSmNaO-67qGszgWSxMWywPjscLm1EbSPMJJmgtWxf1IO3Cy-_aiqUIhyphenhyphenDd8TZZKRrt4FOslrG4OcDnoil0v-zeejrS00sAwJKTjyt6AVQ2QhDxR3z/s200/68901_1499376243466_1205965016_31265508_424617_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529574599815241922" style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 163px; " /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbSSt-DeO84M6FZbeosrtl5GvaWW9tAHM31Tx2Blgtxwjm6Ybr_rF3yGrKw4YwTirczfOQoE8HZ9Ww5tzAVlJrfIn1Lq1VonRnbHM6xCCLKyGU8cyoT4Sd70PmU3NQTJvSAqb5SPJHKPwQ/s1600/44964_1499378963534_1205965016_31265521_8281485_n.jpg"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbSSt-DeO84M6FZbeosrtl5GvaWW9tAHM31Tx2Blgtxwjm6Ybr_rF3yGrKw4YwTirczfOQoE8HZ9Ww5tzAVlJrfIn1Lq1VonRnbHM6xCCLKyGU8cyoT4Sd70PmU3NQTJvSAqb5SPJHKPwQ/s200/44964_1499378963534_1205965016_31265521_8281485_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529580856061121474" style="cursor: pointer; width: 139px; height: 240px; " /></span></a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Off we set for the Grand Ball, which did not disappoint all who attended, though those better accustomed to dancing were perhaps a bit displeased. The fine Mr. K, looking quite dashing escorted my return to the pyrate camp, with one short but much enjoyed stop at the Navy Artillery camp. One does try so hard Cousin to maintain the countenance of a lady, and yet I fear I failed. In a feeble attempt at humor my wicked nature was quite audibly displayed. Though the gentlemen did laugh quite heartily, so perhaps my fears are unsubstantiated.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Soon Mr. K and I retired back to the Pyrate camp whereupon we discovered nearly all and every man of the 42</span><sup><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">nd</span></sup><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> Highland Brigade had also gathered upon the steep bank of the river. My e</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15.8333px; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">scort faded into the darkness of the camp and the boys of the brigade did their best to e</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13.1944px; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">ntertain us. Ah, and so they did dear cousin, for there are a few lads amongst them one would s</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13.1944px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; ">urely consider entertaining! Though more as a catch and release, than on a permanent basis.</span></span></span></p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15.8333px; "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnwdEfZiloOSjR1HcNaiiaBVZY5kfW_m5zYcOGUDTMivvCePjXJWXwv4CLZpETJbIJNFxt1crfMNM-eFG8alaDI772YoTpNztAJbSuGwjH4OtWyfsccJbJXTXiqHzzjocMX40rALwoSQZe/s1600/68348_1422250922361_1415348547_30924928_2397785_n.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnwdEfZiloOSjR1HcNaiiaBVZY5kfW_m5zYcOGUDTMivvCePjXJWXwv4CLZpETJbIJNFxt1crfMNM-eFG8alaDI772YoTpNztAJbSuGwjH4OtWyfsccJbJXTXiqHzzjocMX40rALwoSQZe/s320/68348_1422250922361_1415348547_30924928_2397785_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529596089359210754" style="cursor: pointer; width: 384px; height: 288px; " /></a></span><br /></span> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Dearest cousin, you’ll note my name again does not appear upon the end of this missive to you. For surely, I would never want you to be threatened by my wickedness. I fear I have acquired a skill most unsuitable for any lady, aye, as I’ve told you before; the slight of my hand has garnered a prize or two! Indeed, the highland lads gave up much the evening of the Grand Ball. Daggers, knives, and swords of all shape and size did pass through my hands. The grandest prize of all, you’ll nary believe, but truly I tell thee, the Captain’s own fine sword!</span></p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQhUeTIEvDmbrbScuTftPFUfW1fX0ehDvvJEAb_0mOLVCfGi752gPOToH5Csv3AYho5Ld2iPrmi66kpamgimpyYf-yU6mysfVfYgLG8WpYbqUD36CjmLiTA_WQVaksSZQmhm4r3UgS6LUe/s320/37172_1499371163339_1205965016_31265483_5829934_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529584215002420802" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 255px; height: 384px; " /></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> Yes, indeed the very Captain’s sword, made for him by the master sword and knife maker Mr. Glenn McClain! With a bump and caress it was out of his sheath and quickly into my possession. Cousin, you can hardly imagine his face as I laid it across my arm and offered it back to him, merely to show him the skills which he now commands. The snarl which crossed his lips turned to a glinty smile as he saw the income I would surly procure on behalf of the crew. Together, the remainder of the evening we did make many a mark pay for their attendance at the Pyrate party. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The following day we discovered many an item left within our camp, aye fine things lost over the dangerously high river embankment, as many as four or possibly five gentlemen experienced a last step which brought them into the cool waters of the Mississinewa. Our plan had worked perfectly!</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">As the sun rose, the Widow Black was piteously slow in procuring her lifesaving elixir and we found ourselves quite ready to go to blows. Were it not for a hidden stash of the miracle sustenance of early morning life, I fear dear cousin how the day would have begun. Tempers flared upon the new day, yet after a time the brew was perfected and our cups once more filled. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15.8333px; "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsTtSHhbHxTSPoANqBRoKT6Ju4bI7LpWoQGbhe4jRdjIvXHUoGxCg_bILwzAcNkdAMHIiMyiguzX6fY7yoenD4VCMw5q9FrM_VeyqPFYxVUxer4Qrm1iydz-gUSHKWV3s3ezqB9H5qUtR3/s1600/69168_1499381803605_1205965016_31265538_2853215_n.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsTtSHhbHxTSPoANqBRoKT6Ju4bI7LpWoQGbhe4jRdjIvXHUoGxCg_bILwzAcNkdAMHIiMyiguzX6fY7yoenD4VCMw5q9FrM_VeyqPFYxVUxer4Qrm1iydz-gUSHKWV3s3ezqB9H5qUtR3/s320/69168_1499381803605_1205965016_31265538_2853215_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529596107438684274" style="cursor: pointer; width: 384px; height: 246px; " /></a></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Battles raged once more upon the river, many lives were lost and yet Cousin we were most</span></p><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik-rOdEJOkrsJ8-3OZaBgR3YzW62NQQot3tO3PLF7FiZN6wZZe9P_5VZ2-uX7OIF4p0Sbf1n-NBS2g7hONJ5jJO8ka8MNkCfH0eoh1EA_7eINjyXarA2F0BxAmJlPm0-3Yod62jdl3VJmv/s320/67780_1499379243541_1205965016_31265522_2718610_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529585729020073602" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 236px; height: 384px; color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; " /><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> fortunate to not only live through another beautiful day, we cleared the land and seas of</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">our enemies, greedily took their weapons and plunder and set off to return to our camp none the less for the work.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Dearest, I know not when we shall ever see one another again, yet I beg you to keep me in your heart and in your prayers as you are in mine,</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">All my love dear Cousin,</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Z</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Lest anyone be overly concerned for the fate of the pyrate Z, let it be known no actual thievery took place at the Pyrate camp on the banks of the Mississinewa River, further, all missing items were returned to their rightful owners. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Imagery Credits to The Divine </span><a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1205965016"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Mistress Karen Garland, </span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">and dear </span><a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1415348547"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Paul Kraase</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> who first displayed their images within the book of faces.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15.8333px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">For another perspective on Pirates of Paynetown visit the Pirate Surgeons Journal </span><a href="http://www.markck.com/pages/Piracy/Paynetown10/Paynetown_10_Ch5.htm"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">http:</span>//www.markck.com/pages/Piracy/Paynetown10/Paynetown_10_Ch5.htm</a></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15.8333px; "> </span> </p>Mad Anne Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03219820685315057516noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8439424128458628389.post-1217344586671484062010-10-11T20:56:00.018-05:002010-10-11T23:33:48.292-05:00Siege of Boonesborough<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRu3jMhAGq8p2EZfBv3qkuUmqk86q-Jg7cTGCtUl64OO9neE3ZPplhad4nbmD-ymW0LFphRvZ0udmWYJvR-lGK8vZgiW5rDmwyhdAJFqAZBTi1xg8DMfCvAn8D2oOe0ElDVUmTe5LbeoqK/s1600/31787_118023251563526_100000675542350_143176_3448833_n.jpg"></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><u><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></u></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCMQzUgeZHEkUnJks3Lk-gUe0OvFsSwt9cempMUHNoS-mlgC2NNKHptbNGp76plOC6r3bPIP4eMwmhRZWU36MTAshalFgwou8Ki8nZr6XFniNcHZulWp2e2_S5P6YBF65u5KAxFbHehvNm/s1600/IMG_0736.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 288px; height: 384px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCMQzUgeZHEkUnJks3Lk-gUe0OvFsSwt9cempMUHNoS-mlgC2NNKHptbNGp76plOC6r3bPIP4eMwmhRZWU36MTAshalFgwou8Ki8nZr6XFniNcHZulWp2e2_S5P6YBF65u5KAxFbHehvNm/s320/IMG_0736.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526975932176405218" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span">September 1778,</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span">In June our friend Mr. Boone returned from his forced captivity at Chillicothe with dire w</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span">arnings of a coming Shawnee attack. The men of his fort are of differing thoughts, so</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span">me believe without hesitation whilst others question his integrity. Months have passed since his return to the fort and no attack has been made. The men of Boonesborough have made small raids against the Shawnee, but have been unable to find Blackfish or his warriors. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span">The season for war is surely upon us, we shall garrison with Mr. Boone and be well prepared should the Shawnee leader Blackfish appear from the forest to make good upon his threats.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Our journey was most uneventful, though there were signs of recent savage activities. Indeed the half faced shelter outside the fort fairly stank of their presence.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkXCvLC3Mo31Hx8JrNK9ON8LDwlXj8ZZiRRfvEy_k_AlFeXERBA0Z9d31r7ZvtlGvjB6ddyqDXQZYznXRpi__-pOBt-8_3rpuL_YkAQEgXLy5KAzTG0i0PHqDftkvqGcAyfCU54fh8-Iiz/s320/100_0616.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 384px; height: 288px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526978971608251618" /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Further, a pair of odd items; a box of sorts and bit of white toweling with the marks of the hideous paint used by savages, had been inexplicably left. Once Mr. Mains and his small niece, Savannah Rae were ensconced within the meager walls of the shelter, my companions and I passed a lovely evening, even with stench and threat of nearby savages, both of red skin and red coat! Mr. MacGillie and Mr. Kell as well as Mr. and Mistress Selter, the dear Heasleys and Mistress Reasoner were amongst those with whom we enjoyed the evening. The slight misting rain which occasionally turned a bit harder was nothing when compared with past visits to Mr. Boone's fort. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Upon the new day the sun burned a mist from the fields outside the fort gates. Many friends had gathered and the time passed quickly as children played, couples strolled the grounds, and many cups of warm coffee were enjoyed with friends.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggJp6xI9dyTc20tXOUjTS-Pu0Fa2aMbdXEJetJ1GcCSWo08ze9a3EMLTjD1_DD6TssgEeQGrdj57XJpcAbC8fiGD9z18vKhmhKtCT-6YzSmKvRGJxGWO8HQuXeuPiHCVbTbwSdtzdbbxp2/s320/IMG_0746.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526983105741081106" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 384px; height: 288px; " /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNY5ftmI5oalPVw9ls_MbmBvH3pKfcCpGV7Jcf6AFrJixD16SNFbTrmzc7lZtk5Foq1gRO_eU0N9-ntNa5mMzGYZqx9PZYEdzEPnwkRb025BjoiHgjOjX_tV0QwSZbOpKFhE12aLMl0Jv3/s320/IMG_0744.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526983116700444866" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 288px; height: 384px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaZgZXfn2FEFPSO_3pbJLZJ9gCWQW1kBLSRGvjgLcbD2m78F2SxNF-aebGhkYToC8WJmmprxOLBZhO8a-Ds-oFWcGYxRI_jaRolxSlJY0pAYfqv1mWIdXz7RXgmfiXbNLCr5-aTqGUBIKP/s320/103_0116.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526983108063865922" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 384px; height: 288px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Suddenly, with no warning, savage beasts sprang from the trees, causing the children, women and even men to scatter across the grounds racing for all they were worth to the safety of the fort. Quickly the gates were secured and guards posted in every possible position. It was Blackfish and contingent of British allies! </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Strangely, a young man of colour called Pompi, was sent forth bearing a white flag. He hailed the fort crying "Sheltowee, your father would speak to you!"</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihtISWwIf7JWfxAza7OaYmbnTYk2YMI7XjJZ-AZynYWJQaolxcYXMl53aVDwuuGNVsyAjVYgLFuaPiRP1Ms-iczJVgUKlznra_-34O0NfOMr5KGm_XWhXQR0FbR7BLz-d2f0IpnYz4M3fV/s320/IMG_0752.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526986148886730434" style="cursor: pointer; width: 384px; height: 288px; " /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Mr. Boone, recognizing the lad, stepped out of the safety of the fort and approached his former captors. Blackfish and Boone spoke closely for a time, Blackfish reminded Mr. Boone of his promise to surrender the fort if the women and children were carried safely to Detroit. Boone replied other men had become responsible for the safety of the fort and those housed within, and they did not make the promise to give up without a fight. The two spoke heatedly, and each returned to his people upon several occasions. Little did Blackfish know Daniel was stalling for time, believing troops were well on their way to lend aid in the defense of the fort.</span></span></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFfH8IK9prqtg1aKPs5H0YVZkJ4h-IjSdkgRzLgjLZOufSwg7GSLKXTXJAiurPRBgNZ6PtjPuosbYRyENCcfDU9WMj2ZdRWKZPTMJL9OMqflZ5unjD6otae2m31oYP3QxGLC5kcAMlXIwo/s1600/IMG_2981.JPG"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFfH8IK9prqtg1aKPs5H0YVZkJ4h-IjSdkgRzLgjLZOufSwg7GSLKXTXJAiurPRBgNZ6PtjPuosbYRyENCcfDU9WMj2ZdRWKZPTMJL9OMqflZ5unjD6otae2m31oYP3QxGLC5kcAMlXIwo/s320/IMG_2981.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526986153692511218" style="cursor: pointer; width: 384px; height: 256px; " /></span></span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Blackfish demanded of Boone "By what right had the white people taken possession of this country?" Boone presented evidence to Blackfish the Cherokee people had sold him the land at Sycamore Shoals, and Blackfish's own ally from the Cherokee people verified this. Again the two departed company, only to return to talks with their people. Colonel Callaway, whose own daughters had been captured with Jemima Boone just two years ago, was most severely at odds with Mr. Boone. It was an intense time, both inside and outside the fort walls. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Guards remained posted in all positions even a few women wearing men's hunting shirts were stationed upon the roofs, giving the Shawnee the impression there were many far beyond the nearly forty souls garrisoned within the walls.</span></span></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpNg77ITmu6Z4F90qxOr4dmTcLXLiSHP9q9ScD-CkZc-o8qhXd6JFP8sURZ4wFPxD5r4KQhrIIr1ZGGRO4m7rPa69oNt5rBNC2BDkY_MoIVFHxQckgHb4TPSQwCgV7TcpkSvl4cRktVyUI/s1600/IMG_2967.JPG"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpNg77ITmu6Z4F90qxOr4dmTcLXLiSHP9q9ScD-CkZc-o8qhXd6JFP8sURZ4wFPxD5r4KQhrIIr1ZGGRO4m7rPa69oNt5rBNC2BDkY_MoIVFHxQckgHb4TPSQwCgV7TcpkSvl4cRktVyUI/s320/IMG_2967.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526993365325574114" style="cursor: pointer; width: 384px; height: 256px; " /></span></span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Blackfish and Boone once more returned to their negotiations, coming to the agreement the Shawnee would remain fast to the Ohio River Boundary if Boone and his men swore allegiance to the King. The treaties were made and upon the request of Blackfish a "long shake" was initiated, this entailed two indians shaking the hands of each white man. Fearing something may be afoot Mr. Boone had given the men warning that should he toss his hat, the guards would commence shooting whatever target their eye may fall upon. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Surely a clearer premonition was never made, for once each man was taken in hand by two indians a commotion broke out and a bloody battle ensued.</span></span></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNdtA0E3njQQynLaNnvlMo5zXg8e6ymWR9GEAyWgoBZmNZkm_Tuq9qeDeS80Aeg3Ra0I7_DwG_Hz9nU78cgsq7bpTFF9gSjBgMkVjaONnybdFYZoCYV730imI00FTQvsftdPwh4uj42uks/s1600/IMG_0763.jpg"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNdtA0E3njQQynLaNnvlMo5zXg8e6ymWR9GEAyWgoBZmNZkm_Tuq9qeDeS80Aeg3Ra0I7_DwG_Hz9nU78cgsq7bpTFF9gSjBgMkVjaONnybdFYZoCYV730imI00FTQvsftdPwh4uj42uks/s320/IMG_0763.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526993359622066466" style="cursor: pointer; width: 384px; height: 288px; " /></span></span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span">The men fought bravely as the yellow dogs bit, kicked and used anything at hand, including a stump with which to beat down our men. Fires were set, and even a tunnel was commenced to being dug, but still we held them back.</span></span></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyQ7YDcXCJk5c3Z2J3hD2K5Zs3ZeIxb9imBKmkiHEzq3aixJDGFnA3VRXGGtKmmyHo-3J2BZ6fIpmLrmaEVQjP0qfGF6pD9dhbW8enwKTsiTF8lQpbYvqGm4DxO2C9RDLWLm2h5UxPO-RZ/s1600/IMG_2985.JPG"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyQ7YDcXCJk5c3Z2J3hD2K5Zs3ZeIxb9imBKmkiHEzq3aixJDGFnA3VRXGGtKmmyHo-3J2BZ6fIpmLrmaEVQjP0qfGF6pD9dhbW8enwKTsiTF8lQpbYvqGm4DxO2C9RDLWLm2h5UxPO-RZ/s320/IMG_2985.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526996415083156658" style="cursor: pointer; width: 384px; height: 256px; " /></span></span></a></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZeX0ORZwyo6Pnqqf8gD3yFhzG5wOl3SGyPTi3HwTgTG0x5Gjfy165rjaru2aXSkqIxYK_5_5QMJLf0Ax8G3IZ1LgOy3TjNY61ES520Bxggd95ql9qK25Cjcot_XDJ6gOG0Vf2LrjQ2xC_/s1600/IMG_0766.jpg"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZeX0ORZwyo6Pnqqf8gD3yFhzG5wOl3SGyPTi3HwTgTG0x5Gjfy165rjaru2aXSkqIxYK_5_5QMJLf0Ax8G3IZ1LgOy3TjNY61ES520Bxggd95ql9qK25Cjcot_XDJ6gOG0Vf2LrjQ2xC_/s320/IMG_0766.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526996407760975250" style="cursor: pointer; width: 384px; height: 288px; " /></span></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXsw1__IYMfVfPO2PUoC8jkZtetJS4_9p327woFwZ_ortM6aGx-weMuCfGiwcet4I6L_6EOmfJOrzvaP3vrnj2iLmz9qtvXdymYJj4k3xC1g6C0MvKehKzKl0qG12QuaIUV5DhHl3LONCQ/s1600/IMG_0771.jpg"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXsw1__IYMfVfPO2PUoC8jkZtetJS4_9p327woFwZ_ortM6aGx-weMuCfGiwcet4I6L_6EOmfJOrzvaP3vrnj2iLmz9qtvXdymYJj4k3xC1g6C0MvKehKzKl0qG12QuaIUV5DhHl3LONCQ/s320/IMG_0771.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526996411648368530" style="cursor: pointer; width: 384px; height: 288px; " /></span></span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span">The battle raged on for eleven long days. We witnessed the capture of one woman who, with a party of others had passed the rear flank of the savages. Sadly, her bravery was her undoing, as she was cut down and captured by a contingent of savages and damnable Britts. The savagery of these white men are oft overlooked, yet we saw with our own eyes, this woman savagely beaten, tied and carried toward a burning pole. Hope struck momentarily as she broke free of her bonds and nearly escaped, only to be caught up again and threatened to be tied with the length of rope she carried upon her belt. Amazingly the woman lifted the length of rope with quick slight of hand and dashed it into the fire, the fight continued, until she was swept off her feet and dealt a final blow with a belt ax. The man who had landed the blow went so far as to claim her blond scalp lifting a sizable portion, which was passed amongst the savages as if a token of their strength. Though hideously murdered, we had only one thought, she had fought so hard she had forced them to kill her upon the field rather than be taken alive back to their camps for ungodly tortures or burning upon the post. </span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi21-1wQ-JKAZ0yEHLfAd3wEWF2DJKVRNTedZYmWKR-F0I13p4hrKuN5I3L8c40rKKb5NIIGERVGgUzc1VLpK3eXTMTOQpNbKOJUWjcjtePPrJh0Qt4K1A7XfbuC-lySOfJ0MFe7aZDrmwo/s320/IMG_0770.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527001929680837138" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 384px; height: 288px; " /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqGHs0wlQ8Hx7F5SyXfo6jZ7CF62BqQSa-pOcp4WHXwe2VLOvP6whp2OGd3iClF_ito7-ZTYQZp21IN7cljZloKczr-79rWmBQ4Xq9EGoULU49lbqGw4tIWaQT0dkBQE1oPH4fZjo4X0LI/s320/IMG_0784.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527001908175456194" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 384px; height: 288px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Long did the fires burn, but as it was God's will a mighty storm came upon us and damped out the fire and the will of the savages to fight. Triumphant, the dawn did come and much rejoicing was had by all.</span></span></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjUweoyBwlNHOVGQFvWmzwymBA2kgXOjKjJeyAjZYZnW0FTRL0vPIDu1_R2916j8S1CTY1NvtHayAhwe1jffAbUyo5yv3PFURBnJGwhCyy-JvBh0l5Ve-mGahT738GziS1CUmcUQEOwFJL/s400/60477_1285035545149_1807969033_541895_7015954_s.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527001307631499266" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 156px; height: 156px; " /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span">The coolness of the morning was warmed by strong coffee, good company and the Wor</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span">d given to us by Parson John. We departed sadly fro</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span">m the company of our dearest friends. The memory of their warmth, the laughter amongst us and thoughts of those who were no longer with us haunted the long journey home. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Our return to our little cabin brought a bit of good tidings, for a package had been delivered upon our doorstep whilst we were out. Indeed, a small package bearing a lovely gift was just the very thing to raise us from our sour spirits, as we had been mulling over thoughts of friends, and loved ones. The brightness of color, the perfection of it's stitching and every detail brought such cheer to our hearts! A fine pocketbook was enclosed within the tiny package. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTNobwSxNSJDckvTAPTKDqer-4q-wdI86mqfRyvBD2VQ4_c2G4ydxPydwM4pqPH0ay051zEBoHDemZjyn0IHp992vRL1TwKeaMn6z8Awqr3LxARFPmrM9SyGVly_cVo9nVr7IwUUMEbjHG/s320/63300_1530957188615_1075293994_1460748_6510460_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527006592342294338" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 384px; height: 286px; " /></span><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRu3jMhAGq8p2EZfBv3qkuUmqk86q-Jg7cTGCtUl64OO9neE3ZPplhad4nbmD-ymW0LFphRvZ0udmWYJvR-lGK8vZgiW5rDmwyhdAJFqAZBTi1xg8DMfCvAn8D2oOe0ElDVUmTe5LbeoqK/s400/31787_118023251563526_100000675542350_143176_3448833_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527008032332742082" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 360px; height: 480px; color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; " /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Yes, a pocketbook made by the hands of our dear friend Amanda Webster, mother of the darling baby Grace, whom we remember most fondly from our visit to Mr. Martin's Station. </span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Once more our thoughts turn to friends and though our spirit is much brightened with fond memories, we long too for others to know we wish them well, whatever distances and time separate us. </span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Much thanks and image credits to </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><a href="http://docmuzzy.com/default.aspx">Doc Muzzy and his Cannon.</a></span></div><div>Also, Mr. VonDieligen whose images were first seen by <a href="http://frontierfolk.net/phpBB/viewtopic.php?t=33063&postdays=0&postorder=asc&start=0">frontier folk</a>. And finally <a href="http://www.markselter.com/">Mr. Selter, </a>who made them available first in the book of faces, and whose fine art may be enjoyed by many interested in the 18th Century. </div>Mad Anne Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03219820685315057516noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8439424128458628389.post-12203041639596397432010-09-28T06:07:00.005-05:002010-09-28T06:47:34.496-05:00Friends<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_OCucTumA_fVIXvkFG2p4arnGrX2Kf_Kbnr2rkrT8v3Pnwf77dt9FUCG_HtbS5l1c1EESNI7GsIpklEc1WZSu5HARi8UW1Jgh4hDIGn8ANRF-yBajwktcg5wdyqUOtm2px5egayXXpxNX/s1600/38524_1464651251008_1075293994_1296718_2132300_n.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 288px; height: 384px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_OCucTumA_fVIXvkFG2p4arnGrX2Kf_Kbnr2rkrT8v3Pnwf77dt9FUCG_HtbS5l1c1EESNI7GsIpklEc1WZSu5HARi8UW1Jgh4hDIGn8ANRF-yBajwktcg5wdyqUOtm2px5egayXXpxNX/s320/38524_1464651251008_1075293994_1296718_2132300_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521927460067483714" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Our thoughts this dark and cool morn lean heavily toward dear friends. The days most recently passed were filled with the warmth and laughter of many friends near and dear; those whom we see oft, and those whom we only cross paths with but few times a year. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Yet, we found it was those friends whom we did not see who were most oft upon our mind. One wonders what makes another man or woman a friend? Is it a similar spirit, common interests, or perhaps that each carries a spark from the same flame? These answers are far beyond this simple woman's understanding, yet surely there is an answer. For there are times when one merely crosses paths with another but briefly and suddenly a new friend for life is made. Yet, with others one sees time and again there is no connection. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Further, there are those who may not know the depth and breadth of feeling they have wrought upon the hearts of others. Travelers of this earth, believing themselves alone, who carry with them the love, concern and prayers of many. Perhaps not knowing, until burdens become too heavy to carry alone, there are those nearby who are ready to take up the load, to lend a hand, to offer comfort, and strength. We can only pray those friends in need know there are many who wish them well.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15.8333px; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVRN_3GPtyguQg_BQ30f2hyphenhyphen36zqz9aVgcHUooLVMUPaynMyVAh-WWCc_2PnC14I_iMt2q8NSDA3SgCaFgFK4eCU0MWRlH2JhoUooaqMA7xjfcqlsEnxE6i2eRIh_YqIyZrmf5-SYqouC60/s320/38524_1464651411012_1075293994_1296722_1445846_n.jpg" style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 384px; height: 288px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521927464861270098" /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15.8333px; "> </span></div></div></div>Mad Anne Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03219820685315057516noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8439424128458628389.post-84037943262002739792010-09-20T20:40:00.020-05:002010-09-21T21:28:55.260-05:00Fort Miamis, Menominee and Kohkohmah<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">20 Sept.<br /></span><div><div><div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Dearest Ones,<br /></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0pt; LINE-HEIGHT: normal"><span style="font-family:'Georgia','serif';color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">The time hath nearly flown by since our last letters. The weeks p</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family:'Georgia','serif';color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">ast </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family:'Georgia','serif';color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">have been mightily hot and dry, the dust of the trail fills our nose and leaves </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family:'Georgia','serif';color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">a b</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family:'Georgia','serif';color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">itter taste. Though truth told, the bitterness may better be accounted for by the devastating losses suffered upon the field</span></span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family:'Georgia','serif';color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> of battle. Indeed this bitter truth leaves a vile taste which is barely choked down and roil</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">s the guts. Aye, a season of death hath descended mercilessly upon us.</span></span></span></span><br /><br /></p><div><br /></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0pt; LINE-HEIGHT: normal"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Georgia','serif'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'font-family:'Times New Roman';color:black;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:15;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519186697684351250" style="WIDTH: 384px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 332px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRoMfiyib40bkjqB5cKybo50IHeOf2aV0xWyvzGTKNfL8mDHbIZZxTrudSnPWor1UZl8gQa7Ee2YehWA1S50w2DZWDis9iOnmqrmS84ZNp32WjvbX5I5V9FiuPweYiRee_aeS7SyZepCjx/s320/5168_1014851552075_1848683565_25952_1046932_n.jpg" border="0" /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">A<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">n evi</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">l</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"> ad</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">v</span></span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:15;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">er</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">sa</span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">ry an</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:15;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">d an ever changing b</span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">and of red and bl</span></span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">ack painted men seemingly chase us day and night from fort to station, settlement to rendezvous and back. Lying i</span></span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">n wait behind trees, crawling between rocks and slipping from shadow to sun; dogs they be! Greatly tired we are of their iniquitous ways!</span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:13;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:15;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:13;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:10;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:9;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:7;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519189646752454338" style="WIDTH: 384px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 288px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi82jTNb5pgS3tJEQS4SgmM4fylViEyF8XH-8TPVvU_uHC6Kts_0eBeZT8jqX33Ar8gcSMF1fgaSFIrsuVgXU-jzYLbOJyX2BuKdhUt4H6QBakqTfk-fm5Mj5qJ_hMQANr7I76B_GIxZvTq/s320/58737_1588804237020_1143267832_31704235_768901_n.jpg" border="0" /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><br /><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Since last posting letters, our travels have been north to <a href="http://www.oldfortwayne.org/"><span class="Apple-style-span">Fort Miamis</span></a>, further north to rendezvous with the Menominee, south to the <a href="http://www.graphicenterprises.net/html/long_run.html"><span class="Apple-style-span">Painted Stone Settlement</span></a> and of most recent time we have returned to our home territory to fight the French and their allies at <a href="http://www.kohkohmah.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span">Kohkohmah</span></a>.</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"></span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">A brief interlude during the Menominee rendezvous, granted us a small bit of pleasure and time with those loved best of all. Indeed!! those very most beloved; my dearest Katie Rose, Netha, Roundman, Charlie, Reggie (who left us too soon for home upon hearing of the birth of a wee grandson!) The dear Reeves family, the Shinnabargers, Mr. Rogers, the Collins girls, the Spooners and others too numerous to name, made our time pass too quickly.</span></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyrvWFtWZHon2K4XQb2JuJnvO75aPSacXNgbbkw8m9Q9fubEHNpQ1vPipAMfKpt6hnV5DFoiG1NhdNIKx28RQfWPQAwpf3-cEMt4e00PFvR3ILPRZ8AQ4DNtrMB8F30sK_qZCeP2Kj1oLL/s1600/P1030194.JPG"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizhXKejbFG2IAaw-f1Zr1QNbVep8z07ipGphkI1Un3qFNHvNFDRBhLgyhZHHKOaxbyyZsp-hxFbvipnS35zpQwEt9O39F9ACatAjw474vO2ZW7iebpuHN6CfZP8ckAgJq5qXUrOEiX5x2N/s1600/P1030202.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519471748331705202" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizhXKejbFG2IAaw-f1Zr1QNbVep8z07ipGphkI1Un3qFNHvNFDRBhLgyhZHHKOaxbyyZsp-hxFbvipnS35zpQwEt9O39F9ACatAjw474vO2ZW7iebpuHN6CfZP8ckAgJq5qXUrOEiX5x2N/s320/P1030202.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSiAIPrZt8AgUcNwpTMxM_HxwWcBSBGcjJptQ414RUw_w0zYwKeACYp09HmKmO-z_xy9Gvc5EyNjPEAmGrQ7uAtOkip96X7noPOHdF8FgM-069Q4VDNXjKJmrfps9AT014vDdVW9JKuCWZ/s1600/P1030191.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519472480186505938" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSiAIPrZt8AgUcNwpTMxM_HxwWcBSBGcjJptQ414RUw_w0zYwKeACYp09HmKmO-z_xy9Gvc5EyNjPEAmGrQ7uAtOkip96X7noPOHdF8FgM-069Q4VDNXjKJmrfps9AT014vDdVW9JKuCWZ/s320/P1030191.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbESM65vdLwXEJnsfb_xQ3bn-6tQmQf87kIk3a-h24dPXb4pasY9Zb_xyp5jfoA0xunrG2Ein_oWc3IfEOpEbf0Zv-SD8QzisXoQkKqda-oJd8EGNAiDu18Uq8FZbN1BpyDJPEQdwnnTO3/s1600/P1030202.JPG"></a></span></div><br /><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">However, t'is with the very most sincere regret we must report massive losses, with few exceptions. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:15;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Further, that which troubles us most, are those dear ones lost not in valor to death upon the field, but lost to us by <strong>thieves of children and women</strong>! I fear most for those poo</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">r little ones; snatched, plucked, and yes, taken from mother's stretched hands whilst their beleaguered fathers fight to the last breath!</span></span></div><br /><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"></span></div><br /><br /><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519195169707108994" style="WIDTH: 384px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 288px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicQSTTcHVuNsAxfETU82xCgWeHu-YTNl28L4VbnXkC2DVwC7UkNzMLqz6RSSSsUWl-3sqdY7wvSFkkc4DiVfhyphenhyphenyZb4cdhpAy_fT_rDhPbE-a4cNmYSmb39cQkpnKBaDTS2M4lYEuewrSxR/s320/60065_1588807597104_1143267832_31704241_7751715_n.jpg" border="0" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:15;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519201761219244786" style="WIDTH: 384px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 288px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbFAdpcAamk0bi3VU8sZKzI0P6OSb0D1Y8lBq3xXpjPJnvBfVT3cR291X2V6-dVkzcAhzbLZwvu99NBfxr4CSb1VocvwKtvvx1rYvIX-plBN5P0UwgYH3RrbhhO-Jr1di4W6RKDQzkY0OW/s320/59127_432403332874_637567874_5237133_6425057_n.jpg" border="0" /></span></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Most of these dear lost babes are never to be seen again...it tears my very soul to have born witness to such </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">treachery committed by those who are but mere children themselves. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Indeed, even the women of these clans take part in the theft of our dear ones. The only consolation in this wickedness is the possibility a few chosen captives will be well treated, though one can hardly imagine!</span></div><br /><br /><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519195178728695554" style="WIDTH: 384px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 254px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSiidgWXaHSOUb8mALflM7mcIxxaY1O7s5FT9WNuyYhvW0QDV_dKVeP8VAN1fGpbZDARmFuWcYlBvLzeA0hnmLsV9vhtcLZKM8PPjN8sWIhmbJdeSJG2AmCpxOdr_PIFnH8INno_BLaTFC/s320/10535_1149394467268_1599806075_377408_1373895_n.jpg" border="0" /></span></div><br /><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">And lo! those once chosen to act as children, may one day be struck down for the crime of attempting with their last breath to return to those </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">who love them most. Such tyranny!!</span></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFzL2tXKY07gA0tr-ADZIVUHar_6XPojBAfZfeZtSuXvfpvFK0MP-bCcjUWfEKgRJOgG41PL7VtI97W-9Ci0tTDveInhbBNrKUC2vKjOcT1LxDdY9hSGgI0GicH9z0OZHeWPMfsSEJZ-aG/s1600/P1030174.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519474974395659954" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFzL2tXKY07gA0tr-ADZIVUHar_6XPojBAfZfeZtSuXvfpvFK0MP-bCcjUWfEKgRJOgG41PL7VtI97W-9Ci0tTDveInhbBNrKUC2vKjOcT1LxDdY9hSGgI0GicH9z0OZHeWPMfsSEJZ-aG/s320/P1030174.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">But fear not reader, we fought against the evil at every opportunity! </span><br /><br /></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519198895907035442" style="WIDTH: 384px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 288px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipLyoUjpqeq5n_iaqNXJS1lpdHd6wsEliqLWNpjWXYqm9U3LWcpyVj84QS2S8EOXQ-y62mwQOk3nw08fzSbsYT6c_5td0DkuGYj0wWfVLoCH0W81ble_fV_glNNodOXP0vMKl56gw4Cauk/s320/_9113553a.JPG" border="0" /></span></div><br /><br /><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Nay, we did not run fr</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">om the fight! nor did we behave as ladies once set upon!</span></div><br /><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519200189431084770" style="WIDTH: 384px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 254px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt8QUT3GlyfpPyE7QQM8KyU8-enVjhYQxN79UFl6CfMg_1ssRSJgjcGc05UzXgS2jfj-nPEDDHA4bwrqDrEyP4ICV99JIeIXlo9ytwCzD-WQ4-CGF8Cvy7gQfGyWfaz3ZZFsqxJTjjuk4N/s320/10535_1149394707274_1599806075_377414_2838485_n.jpg" border="0" /></span></div><br /><br /><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:15;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519201769869025170" style="WIDTH: 384px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 288px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3r4q7Iwmmn1y05BtX14yMwRkxv60tfRiQSCAa70VSd1F_2Jlrtf4uVQQdgVmTzogH-oJxuBKf0kT1ht9jHiF1xshZIVI9A-n_-MYtwBPFWjSaIf__ITmAsc07ydXB8Su-dgrGyNHrCIsw/s320/60173_432391627874_637567874_5236938_4650802_n.jpg" border="0" /></span></span></div><br /><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">But all was lost time and again...</span></div><br /><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:15;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519201757111087554" style="WIDTH: 384px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 288px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIi2lUeqzR7hPU1Dy8wpoExnHJFoO2iM7cu2jLgbZCLWhqw0MtbeyNigxhCrNFFSfXQYcwkmo1hi_hu1P6QX9-IhuR1N8I6F4B20tvpD9Y53gFnMbspuQ1XqtfOrGUnzF5-WnOSWmxBaze/s320/58602_1588836117817_1143267832_31704282_7617063_n.jpg" border="0" /></span></span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Dearest reader, we wish with all of our hearts for good tidings, we beg for a time of calm and happiness to once more reign. With fervor we recall days gone by when all was sunshine, with no fear in our hearts, the breeze in our hair and lightness in our steps!</span></span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:15;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:15;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519203698255124226" style="WIDTH: 266px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 384px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCnQwZdGH2EtDqsvh6yK7BnNbf6vZUPPxJ9qi3hyYog13diNxT4yqgk3zzV0nIyk4SpWnoVqGz4OZ3PKm_JcVDc_4LdE7hyogLVHUkEtexrIivc1U0p2r2eDgFVr13HR9phiZnM1Zuqj_k/s320/Skipping+along.jpg" border="0" /></span></span></span></div><br /><br /><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Until such time as these savages turn tail, duck and run to the holes from whence they came, we will recall such things with a spark in our hearts that ignites the will in us to continue the fight!</span></span></span></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinFdRFoRrfSKxlapMo4ghWC-6PWaK6zAY6Gyr_KNkPna6P-EbuG7e6UM6D6lR9Y0yvi465LfEAJOgYmYOgfNZxyiD6anuU6hQYlCqPi5R3-L7bX6DtmdrlpycW1ZCNkp8wQdMvNNuY7uq7/s1600/P1020787.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519480320169067762" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinFdRFoRrfSKxlapMo4ghWC-6PWaK6zAY6Gyr_KNkPna6P-EbuG7e6UM6D6lR9Y0yvi465LfEAJOgYmYOgfNZxyiD6anuU6hQYlCqPi5R3-L7bX6DtmdrlpycW1ZCNkp8wQdMvNNuY7uq7/s320/P1020787.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">And Lo! there are those like us who have that spark in their heart, the heat in their bellies and the means by which to fight! It is with great pleasure we join company with Captain Wulff's Ranger Company.</span></span></span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:15;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:15;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:15;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgOBzoodfWW2UH-dx55x-Y-r50hKm5zaTf3eNHNxV9CjwPWsKdXtZD7QgiVvRvUXHacooXPWjW9ilMm1_LBySPZyzsN2jQbz_nDN_P7hLRUJYBAX7kk5QADk8WG49xwuJx0yc_GyrT3U_a/s1600/IMG_0302.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519205586491270562" style="WIDTH: 384px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 288px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgOBzoodfWW2UH-dx55x-Y-r50hKm5zaTf3eNHNxV9CjwPWsKdXtZD7QgiVvRvUXHacooXPWjW9ilMm1_LBySPZyzsN2jQbz_nDN_P7hLRUJYBAX7kk5QADk8WG49xwuJx0yc_GyrT3U_a/s320/IMG_0302.JPG" border="0" /></a></span></span></span></span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Dearest, we leave you with this tiny flame of hope for the future, as we join this company of rangers in the battles along the frontier.</span></span></span></div><br /><div>your humble servant</div><div>A</div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Post Script:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">We wish to offer sincere thanks to the DeEsche's, Shanna Hayes, Michael Yarberry, Bill Bower, Matt Wulff, Gloria Dockery and Sandy Fike for the use of their sketchings, previously published within the book of faces. And to our good friends at </span><a href="http://www.graphicenterprises.net/index.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Pioneer Times, </span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Graphic Enterprises for all that they do to support those of us who wait eagerly each week to see the front page of their "paper." </span><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="http://www.graphicenterprises.net/index.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">http://www.graphicenterprises.net/index.html</span></a></span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">A</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Post Post Script:</span></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Further, we hold a tremendous debt of gratitude to those noble savage adversaries who allow us to speak so hideously of them, kill them and who kill us on a weekly basis. We sincerely value the skill, talent and time spent pursuing the best possible portrayals. We'll not begin to name names herein, as there are too many and too great the likelihood of neglecting even a single one. You, my dear friends of red paint, red coat and blue coat; I honor and respect each of you and your "uncommon genius," to borrow the words of William Henry Harrison's compliment to his great adversary, Tecumseh. </span></span></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:15;"></span></span></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div></div></div></div></div></div>Mad Anne Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03219820685315057516noreply@blogger.com1