an 18th-century weekend

This was a perfect weekend. Combine a little sun, some research books, a bit of fiddling, and lots of writing and I'm happy. I fell in love with the photo at left, taken at Colonial Williamsburg in a silversmith's shoppe. I'm studying trades of two hundred years ago for an upcoming novel. This picture tells a story all its own.

Books I fell in love with this weekend:
George Washington, Spymaster by Thomas B. Allen
Eyewitness Books/American Revolution by Stuart Murray
Welcome to Felicity's World 1774 by Catherine Gourley

Yesterday Paul and I went to Old Time Fiddlers and he played a lively Celtic tune called, "Britches Full of Stitches." He was the youngest player there. The oldest? Ninety-three! This senior member has never had a lesson and doesn't read music but plays anything and everything extremely well. When he was a boy his mother threw his trumpet down an outhouse hole so he took up the violin. And he's been thanking his mother ever since:)

Now back to that colonial battlefield scene...

the view from our backyard

This is the view from our backyard - well, almost! It's beautiful Lake Crescent, just a mile down the road from our house. We live on the edge of Olympic National Park and had such incredible weather this weekend, I thought you might enjoy a bit of Washington scenery. Glacier-fed, this lake is up to 900 feet deep in places and is very cold even in summer. Both our boys were baptized in this lake, as was Randy. Me, not being the hardy type, opted for the big, warm baptistry at a Baptist church in Lexington, Kentucky at age 12.

So now we're off to busy week with writing at the forefront as I do a little extreme manuscript makeover. Meanwhile, Paul has been fiddling his heart out. He packed up his fiddle and went down to the old general store near here on Saturday, opened his violin case as he heard street musicians in Seattle do, and made a whopping $3.00 in about 30 minutes playing a few tunes. Wyatt went with him as his "manager," he said. Not many people came by but he was thrilled. He can't wait to do it again but I don't know if our rural road can handle it. He's only 9, after all.

I finished a fascinating historical novel by Ann Rinaldi this weekend entitled, Or Give Me Death, about the family of Patrick Henry, the famous statesman. The author said it was the hardest book she'd ever written because, unlike George Washington and Thomas Jefferson, Henry left no paper trail. We do know that his wife, Sarah, had a mental breakdown and had to be confined to the cellar of their home in a strait dress where a slave woman cared for her. Legend has it that he would go down every day and feed her. By all accounts, Henry was a wonderful father to his 17 (yes, seventeen!) children. The author wove an interesting thread into the novel by suggesting Henry's wife, Sarah, begged him to give her her freedom or let her die. She did die in February of 1775 at the age of thirty-seven, just weeks before her husband gave his famous "liberty or death" speech. A very moving, intense novel.

On a lighter note, happy Monday!

flop-eared mule

I hear you Kentuckians are iced-in at the moment. My folks in Berea have been without power for one of the first times ever. They went over to Richmond for supper and then returned to a very cold house and were going to sleep in front of their fireplace. When I was talking to Momma last night another big limb fell and sounded like a gunshot. Ice storms have a way of taking out a lot of those big old trees around their place and it makes me sad to lose them as they hold so many memories.

My favorite tree, a huge maple, decided to park some icy limbs on their deck yesterday. It's my favorite because my great-granny has a collection of rocks underneath from every county in Kentucky. And Kentucky has a lot of counties. When I was little the rock pile was simply astonishing to me but now when I go home it looks very small and the grass has grown up and hidden some of the treasures. Last year I took out an old rock (not sure which county it was from!) that had the imprint of a snake inside. Wyatt loved it.

Today is fiddling Wednesday for us. Paul and I go to Sequim for lessons and today he practices with an old fiddler for a performance in February. They're playing "Going to Boston" and a couple of other old tunes. "Flop-eared Mule" is a favorite. It's fun to watch his little fingers fly over the strings as he improves. He likes to play really fast. And yes, he's still sawing on those strings. Not sure how we're going to break his intensity.

On the scribbling front, I am past page 300 on Red River Daughter and have trimmed 14,000 words. I'll be getting the pages for The Frontiersman's Daughter soon for a last read-through/edit before it goes to print. I need to get back to book 3 but am not sure when.

And I have a Silas House book to pick up in town. A good day is always made better by a good book:) Happy Wednesday.

old time fiddlers

Praise Him with stringed instruments. Psalm 150:4

Paul and I drove about 40 miles east today, far out of the woods to an old grange hall in the middle of a sunny prairie in the heart of farmland (is that a run-on sentence?!). The backdrop of the Olympic Mountains was just beautiful. But the music coming out of the grange hall was moreso. We joined the Old Time Fiddlers Association today and Paul is on his way to owning his own violin and meeting some fascinating fiddling folks (and guitarists, banjo pickers, mandolin players, etc.). But today Paul was actually more interested in the finger foods than fiddling. We didn't bring his violin but will next time. This was our first time and they made us feel more than welcome.

I liked this fiddling group right away and could see doors of ministry swinging open as they talked about playing in nursing homes every week, at parties and weddings, etc. It's been my secret wish for years to have some sort of nursing home involvement. I have a heart for older people and enjoy their company so much. I feel more at ease with seniors than those my own age for some reason, maybe because I spent so much time with my granny and she was active in the Berea nursing home.

If the Lord let us pick our gifts before the foundation of the world I would have asked for the gift of music. Yes, even more than writing. I think I'm a fiddler at heart. You'll find a fiddler in every book I write.

Not much writing was done today but being away from it is sometimes as important as being immersed in it. And tonight, after grilling on the deck and sitting in front of that charming chimenea (outdoor fireplace, however it's spelled), I'm ready to start whittling again on the last 100 pages of The Preacher's Daughter. Since I can't fiddle, that is!

fiddling

I just had to share that we've found a fiddler who makes house calls! YEE-HAW! Maybe there are some advantages to living in the woods. Apparantly there are as many musicians out here as writers. He came to the house yesterday with his very personable assistant who heaved in a huge galvanized bucket with a rope and big piece of wood attached. This was used to keep time whiile he fiddled. But he didn't need the help, let me tell you. The boys found this tin tub type instrument very amusing - and one they can make themselves!

Anyway, for an hour or more we hosted Hee Haw in our very own living room and it was heavenly. I've always had a fondness for fiddlers. I even have a fiddler or two in my books. It didn't matter that he'd never heard of Renfro Valley or The Virginia Reel. He could play everything else and has been for 70 or so years. He left three of his CD's and Paul has to start practicing again. Their first piece is "Red Wing."

When he was very small, about 4, his grandfather found an old fiddle in a pile of garbage and gave it to him. This same fiddle, he said, has now been assessed at having a value in excess of $10,000 dollars. Really, one man's junk is another man's treasure. This man has been playing this same fiddle ever since and is a member of the Old Time Fiddlers Association. He plays all kinds of venues (this is a new word for me) and is performing at a festival today.

Music is such a mystery to me. I don't even understand the language but am glad Paul likes to play. The door has been kept open for him to continue and I am very thankful. Makes me wonder if Paul has a fiddling future in store. If so, it's a wonderful world.