In Oregon's Beautiful Willamette Valley, A Special Memorial Day Weekend Event--
The Chateau Lorane Fine Art and Wine Festival is welcoming local authors to participate in the popular annual event.
Jen Chambers, Joey Blum, Pat Edwards, Dan Armstong, Shirley Tallman, myself and literary magazine, Groundwaters contributors will be present on Saturday, May 23rd.
On Sunday, May 24, authors Carola Dunn, Dan Armstrong, Sharon Brandsma, Pat Edwards, myself and Groundwaters contributors will be featured.
Monday, May 25, Doug Card, Joe Blakley, Marva Dasef and Groundwaters contributors will be featured.
Chateau Lorane is located at 27415 Siuslaw River Rd., Lorane. www.chateaulorane.com
Monday, April 27, 2009
Saturday, March 21, 2009
THE SEARCH FOR CLUES
As a child growing up, I was always told I looked like my grandmother, often acted like her too. The way the comments were made didn't encourage me to ask questions. Besides, both of the grandmothers I knew were old-- it couldn't be one of them the conversation was about.
Many years later, when I began inheriting old family pictures, I discovered my grandmother had been a very pretty young woman. The only connecting resemblance I could find was dark hair and eyes. In addition to being pretty, she had come to a new country alone when she was only eighteen, much more adventurous than I had ever been. I wanted to know more, about her, about her family and about her home in Sweden.
It was difficult to find any information--a census record in nineteen hundred when she was a young wife and mother was about it. Everything I could find about Swedish history was written in Swedish-- no help for me.
I put the quest aside for another decade. This year, an Internet contact from a cousin I've never met gave me a few more tidbits of information, a marriage certificate and a parish census from Sweden. A few weeks later a third cousin and then a fourth joined our Internet site and added more information. The fourth to join the group lives in Sweden and is quite fluent in English.
I'm learning more about my grandmother and extended family all the time and many of the puzzle pieces are falling into place. What I have never had was the motivation to cause a young, pretty woman to go off on her own, leaving her family, home, culture and even her language behind.
A different kind of contact led me to a series of books--fiction based on fact, The Emigrant Novels by Vilhelm Moberg and translated by Gustaf Lannestock. The four books of the series follow a group of fictitious as they face the problems of their homeland, make the decision to leave, the journey and eventually build new lives for themselves. All the books are a good read and
interesting but it is the introduction of Book 1 and the portrayal of Swedish life in the 1850s that gave me the answers to my questions of why?
The introduction also increased my awareness of the difficulties a young, female emigrant would face in her new home. My respect has grown by leaps and bounds. My grandmother was very
strong.
If I am ever able to gather enough information to write her story, it will be far different that the vague picture I had envisioned from what little I knew about life in Sweden or even of the journey to North America.
As a child growing up, I was always told I looked like my grandmother, often acted like her too. The way the comments were made didn't encourage me to ask questions. Besides, both of the grandmothers I knew were old-- it couldn't be one of them the conversation was about.
Many years later, when I began inheriting old family pictures, I discovered my grandmother had been a very pretty young woman. The only connecting resemblance I could find was dark hair and eyes. In addition to being pretty, she had come to a new country alone when she was only eighteen, much more adventurous than I had ever been. I wanted to know more, about her, about her family and about her home in Sweden.
It was difficult to find any information--a census record in nineteen hundred when she was a young wife and mother was about it. Everything I could find about Swedish history was written in Swedish-- no help for me.
I put the quest aside for another decade. This year, an Internet contact from a cousin I've never met gave me a few more tidbits of information, a marriage certificate and a parish census from Sweden. A few weeks later a third cousin and then a fourth joined our Internet site and added more information. The fourth to join the group lives in Sweden and is quite fluent in English.
I'm learning more about my grandmother and extended family all the time and many of the puzzle pieces are falling into place. What I have never had was the motivation to cause a young, pretty woman to go off on her own, leaving her family, home, culture and even her language behind.
A different kind of contact led me to a series of books--fiction based on fact, The Emigrant Novels by Vilhelm Moberg and translated by Gustaf Lannestock. The four books of the series follow a group of fictitious as they face the problems of their homeland, make the decision to leave, the journey and eventually build new lives for themselves. All the books are a good read and
interesting but it is the introduction of Book 1 and the portrayal of Swedish life in the 1850s that gave me the answers to my questions of why?
The introduction also increased my awareness of the difficulties a young, female emigrant would face in her new home. My respect has grown by leaps and bounds. My grandmother was very
strong.
If I am ever able to gather enough information to write her story, it will be far different that the vague picture I had envisioned from what little I knew about life in Sweden or even of the journey to North America.
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
I have just finished reading Buffaloed by Fairlee Winfield. A fun read with a fascinating look at the west just as it was changing and beginning to modernize itself. With artist Charles Russell and a plucky and determined Norwegian immigrant at the center of the story, it moves quickly and often makes you smile.
Sunday, January 04, 2009
PREPARING FOR THE NEW YEAR
With the disarray of our current economic situation and environment damage, I've begun reading THE GREEN COLLAR ECONOMY by Van Jones. The premise that the economy and the environment are tied together and that solutions for both are not only possible, they can be within reach are presented by the author. The book offers a plan to get there. It's well recommended and worth reading as we seek new directions.
With the disarray of our current economic situation and environment damage, I've begun reading THE GREEN COLLAR ECONOMY by Van Jones. The premise that the economy and the environment are tied together and that solutions for both are not only possible, they can be within reach are presented by the author. The book offers a plan to get there. It's well recommended and worth reading as we seek new directions.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
DECEMBER NIGHT
When the chime of the anniversary clock let me know it was eleven, I began the nightly routine of shutting down the computer, locking the doors and turning out the lights. Finished with my personal bedtime preparations, I turned out the last light and moved to the bedroom window facing the house directly across our quiet suburban street. I put the blind up far enough to see out and stood still to watch the barely lit landscape.
A black cat strolled up the driveway I was perusing, not sensing any danger to it's unwelcome exploration of that yard. I knew the arrogant cat, I'd run it off the fence closest to my bird feeder countless times. At least it probably wouldn't be hunting birds in the middle of the night.
The next nighttime visitor was a stranger surprise. A fawn, past the spotted stage but not grown was making her way around the corner from the usually busy cross street. She seemed hesitant on the asphalt and stopped, tense when a car went by on the street behind her. I watched in amazement as she turned and went into the shadows behind the neighbors tree. I couldn't think of where she had come from. A very developed suburb built on farm land during the seventies left few places for deer.
Looking up again, I saw the signal I'd been waiting for. The drapes in the unlighted house across the street had opened slightly. I knew the tiny, frail and very elderly woman who lives there was seeing the empty street and my raised blind. Her husband was now in a care center and she was alone in the large house, often afraid. Since the day she'd told me she found comfort in a late night survey of the outside world, I've made the effort to let her know she has a sister across that road. When we see each other during the daytime hours, in the yards or at the mailbox, we might chat a little but we never mention the late night silent connection. Its a confidence we don't talk about but she doesn't mention being so afraid anymore.
When the chime of the anniversary clock let me know it was eleven, I began the nightly routine of shutting down the computer, locking the doors and turning out the lights. Finished with my personal bedtime preparations, I turned out the last light and moved to the bedroom window facing the house directly across our quiet suburban street. I put the blind up far enough to see out and stood still to watch the barely lit landscape.
A black cat strolled up the driveway I was perusing, not sensing any danger to it's unwelcome exploration of that yard. I knew the arrogant cat, I'd run it off the fence closest to my bird feeder countless times. At least it probably wouldn't be hunting birds in the middle of the night.
The next nighttime visitor was a stranger surprise. A fawn, past the spotted stage but not grown was making her way around the corner from the usually busy cross street. She seemed hesitant on the asphalt and stopped, tense when a car went by on the street behind her. I watched in amazement as she turned and went into the shadows behind the neighbors tree. I couldn't think of where she had come from. A very developed suburb built on farm land during the seventies left few places for deer.
Looking up again, I saw the signal I'd been waiting for. The drapes in the unlighted house across the street had opened slightly. I knew the tiny, frail and very elderly woman who lives there was seeing the empty street and my raised blind. Her husband was now in a care center and she was alone in the large house, often afraid. Since the day she'd told me she found comfort in a late night survey of the outside world, I've made the effort to let her know she has a sister across that road. When we see each other during the daytime hours, in the yards or at the mailbox, we might chat a little but we never mention the late night silent connection. Its a confidence we don't talk about but she doesn't mention being so afraid anymore.
Sunday, December 07, 2008
CURIOSITY LEADS IN A NEW DIRECTION
Tired of my own questions about the life of the two and sometimes three crows who patrol my front yard, I took the advice of a friendly bookstore owner and began looking for information. I didn't find the book she suggested but I did find "In The Company of Crows and Ravens" by John M. Marzluff and Tony Angell. There was a lot more to know than I imagined. This well researched and well written book opened my eyes to the relationship between humans and the crow, or corvid, family. Fascinating.
Tired of my own questions about the life of the two and sometimes three crows who patrol my front yard, I took the advice of a friendly bookstore owner and began looking for information. I didn't find the book she suggested but I did find "In The Company of Crows and Ravens" by John M. Marzluff and Tony Angell. There was a lot more to know than I imagined. This well researched and well written book opened my eyes to the relationship between humans and the crow, or corvid, family. Fascinating.
Friday, November 07, 2008
A Special Project
Oregon is celebrating it's sesquicentennial (150th) birthday next year. To help with that celebration, the Readers Theater Group I belong to is putting together a program, "Voices of Oregon Women." We are using excerpts of manuscripts from the Federal Writers' Project during 1936-1940. Almost half way between Oregon's birth date and the present.
Not the stories of the pioneers who came from the east in ox team wagons. These are snippets of life stories told by their descendants and those who followed. They tell of the difficulties and pleasures of the lives they forged in the northwest.
None of the sections we're doing are very long, we want to do ten or so. The hardest part is deciding which fragments we can leave out:struggles with the hoop skirts, the unbroken horses to pull the stage, sixteen children in a two room log cabin, compensation for a teacher-all interesting.
The stories are told by descendants of families who came from different parts of the country in a time before we were all hearing a standardized language. Radio wasn't available in all places during the 1930's. There are expressions and speech patterns I'd never heard. I've had to go looking for the meanings of a few. "A knitter of the first water," was easy to understand even if I'd never heard it used. I had more trouble with hoodlumish "plug uglies."
These life histories were compiled and transcribed by the staff of the Folklore Project of the Federal Writers Project for the WPA. The Library of Congress collection includes 2,900 documents representing the work of over 300 writers from 24states. Oregon is one of the states with access available on the Internet. They are fascinating stories.
For those interested in reading the stories, the Internet address for the home page is http:rs6.loc.gov/ammem/wpaintro/wpahome.html
Oregon is celebrating it's sesquicentennial (150th) birthday next year. To help with that celebration, the Readers Theater Group I belong to is putting together a program, "Voices of Oregon Women." We are using excerpts of manuscripts from the Federal Writers' Project during 1936-1940. Almost half way between Oregon's birth date and the present.
Not the stories of the pioneers who came from the east in ox team wagons. These are snippets of life stories told by their descendants and those who followed. They tell of the difficulties and pleasures of the lives they forged in the northwest.
None of the sections we're doing are very long, we want to do ten or so. The hardest part is deciding which fragments we can leave out:struggles with the hoop skirts, the unbroken horses to pull the stage, sixteen children in a two room log cabin, compensation for a teacher-all interesting.
The stories are told by descendants of families who came from different parts of the country in a time before we were all hearing a standardized language. Radio wasn't available in all places during the 1930's. There are expressions and speech patterns I'd never heard. I've had to go looking for the meanings of a few. "A knitter of the first water," was easy to understand even if I'd never heard it used. I had more trouble with hoodlumish "plug uglies."
These life histories were compiled and transcribed by the staff of the Folklore Project of the Federal Writers Project for the WPA. The Library of Congress collection includes 2,900 documents representing the work of over 300 writers from 24states. Oregon is one of the states with access available on the Internet. They are fascinating stories.
For those interested in reading the stories, the Internet address for the home page is http:rs6.loc.gov/ammem/wpaintro/wpahome.html
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