Fort Laramie at Last

 Even though I grew up in Wyoming, as Did my Mom and her Dad before her - I had never been to Fort Laramie.  I grew up in the North-West corner of the State by Yellowstone Park.  So when I began researching for my Oregon Trail Novel, from my home here in the Pacific Redwoods, I used a lot of library books and mail order brochures, and as the years passed, Google and facebook.

 Facebook has a wonderful page about the Fort Laramie Historic Site at

https://www.facebook.com/FortLaramieNHS

 but still, even though we traveled back to visit family, we never quite made it to the fort, until this July.  This time, with my book published, and with having just taught it to a class of 4th and 5th graders, I really wanted to see the place in person. So we found it, kind of between whereby Sister-in-law and my Mother-in-law live and as soon as we got there, the sky opened up and dumped a flood of rain on us.

 but we are immune to rain after 30 years in the Pacific Northwest and also appeared to be the only visitors there who didn't own umbrellas, they don't work when you live where the rain comes down sideways.

 Anyway, I got to get out and stroll the grounds and grouse the rooms and get in on a "women at the fort" talk.  It was fascinating, but I learned it no longer looks much like the walled compound I had read about on that location in 1850.  The Fort has changed over the years, but the hail and heat and long miles to get to it remain the same, and when you think of doing those miles on foot or in a wagon, they appear so daunting!

 I like to camp, and I guess I could call this fun for maybe a month, but to travel in this for six months? I think I am glad I never had to do that, and yet, I wonder.

 To see my Novel about two fifteen year old girls, traveling across North America 152 years apart, but still helping each other, see here Double Time On The Oregon Trail

http://www.amazon.com/Double-Time-The-Oregon-Trail/dp/1478160926/ref=tmm_pap_title_0

 a bit of the novel where I wrote about the fort follows at the end of this post

 Della stopped writing as a powerful memory hit her. She had been holding the hand of one of her students as the child jerked and screamed and died. There had been no time for the family to stop and mourn, but the men had immediately scraped out a shallow grave, wrapped the small body in a sheet and said a prayer before covering the grave with stones and more dirt and leaving it unmarked. All up and down the wagons, small groups were gathered for similar hurried funerals.

She blinked back tears and remembered the relief she had felt at reaching Fort Laramie for her Mother's sake. Dipping her pen once again in the unstoppered ink bottle, she picked up the writing again,

“People tell me that the cholera seems to leave people alone once they make it to Fort Laramie. No one knows what causes it but they think the water is faster here and the land is higher and someway that adds protection. Our group is much smaller now than when we left St. Louis and the Cholera and accidents and weather and people shooting themselves have caused us to leave too many graves scattered behind us. The saddest part is that we will never be able to find the graves again, even if we ever come back this way. To hide the bodies from the wolves, or to keep them from being dug up for their clothing, we hid the grave by packing down the dirt and after that driving wagons across it, and if we had time, even building a campfire on top.

“I doubted that she would agree, because Mother thinks that Doctors are all quacks. The fact that she didn't argue tells me she was feeling more poorly than she allowed to us. We did get Mother to see the fort Dr. today, and the man gave her a bottle of tonic which he says will stimulate her liver and clean her blood and leave her strong and healthy. He also gave her some Calomel, and told her that she should stop taking it once she feels her face go numb and she begins to drool a bit. Then she will know it is working. He said that after that, if she is still feeling poorly it is safer to switch to using arsenic to improve her health. He charged Father two dollars. Then he treated many other members of our group with such complaints as burns and gunshots and the bloody flux.

“Orville said he must make a lot of money and the Dr. said he sometimes made as much as five dollars when he needed to perform an amputation. Orville said being a Fort Dr. must be a grand way to become rich and the Dr. did not argue. Later, one of the girls who lives here told me that the Dr. often treats people for free or for a bit of trade if he knows they could not pay for him.

“Back East we did not go to Doctors, The home remedies are better and safer, and for certain no-one goes to a hospital if they want to live. Many people decide to hang a shingle and be a Dr. if they can't make money from another trade. Here on the trail they seem to be better, I think they see so many people that they get more practice doing the kind of healing that needs done here. Or maybe the kind of person who cheats people is too lazy to brave the trail.

“We did get me a new pen in a leather case, with a few nibs, but I feel guilty for asking when the prices here are so much higher than in St. Louis.

“Mother says she is grateful that we have enough bacon, and that our chickens provide eggs, but we purchase more cornmeal to refill the barrels. Maybe there was enough to make it to Oregon but it also protects our eggs and Mother's china, which is packed into the barrels with it.

“Orville begged until he convinced one of the soldiers to allow him and three of his friends to climb up on the top of the rooms which are built around the inside walls. The roofs of these rooms become a walkway by which means the soldiers can patrol the high outer wall without making targets of themselves. I was expected to be more interested in shopping, but I envied the boys ability to explore that view. It wouldn't have been right for a young lady to talk so freely with the soldiers and for a moment I wished I were 10 instead of 15, so I could worry less about 'proper.'”

“Della, Blow out that lantern and come to bed now.” Her Mother's voice interrupted the flow of her thoughts and Della looked at the burning candle behind the glass doors of the lantern. Those precious candles must last until Oregon City when they would finally have time to make more unlike the butter which churned itself on the trail, candle making could be very time consuming. She stoppered the ink, put away her journal and blew out the candle. Then she closed her eyes briefly to allow them to adjust to the dimmer light and when she opened them again the brilliance of the stars dancing above her took her smiling into sleep.

Another Birthday

 Every Year they roll around and I do my best to ignore them. Birthdays that is.  Even as a child, I remember being more embarrassed by the expectation that other people would treat me special and insecure how to handle it gracefully, when I spent a lot of my time avoiding being the center of attention.  The little girl I was, was teased a lot, and rebuffed for saying hello, or looking too long at the other, more popular kids.  It was hard to believe that people wanted to make my day special, so I always doubted it, thinking that if kids came to my party, then it was because they wanted to play in the park across the street or because their parents made them.

 I pretty much avoided being in the spotlight, and even on my wedding day managed to sneak away and get married with only my parents, grandma and brothers attending at the last minute in an upstairs office above main street.

 So now, the fact that I have friends and family who have loved me so long, and so completely that I can stand up and say, "Today is my Day!  Look at me!  I am loved."  I can put on the funny hat that demands attention and stand in front of a classroom and demand attention for myself. I can walk to a podium and tell you all about myself and why I love the stories and beauty in this world.

 That is because this world is more full of good people than I ever suspected as a child, and now when I celebrate my birthday, I celebrate another year of being ME surrounded by YOU.

 The world is made up of good and bad, but my 51 years convince me that it is always possible to see the good if you look, and always possible to choose to let other people see the good in you.

 and you know, I'm looking forward to the rest of my life, to the stories I still have to tell and to the people I get to share them with.  I'm good at being an audience and listening to your stories too.

Happy Birthday to me, and thanks to all of you.

I Am Writing Again

 Today being July First means that Camp NaNoWriMo is once again open and letting people explore the thrill of writing fast and intently without too much regard for the finished product.  This is after all, meant to be a quick and dirty rough draft of a novel.

 I'm not there.  I have been working on this novel for quite awhile and have 60,000 words which tell me not to ignore them just because it is camp time. So this year, I am not beginning fresh, and I am editing and writing and loving it.  Such a good feeling to open a manuscript i had closed months ago, and find things I no longer remember writing, and realizing it is better than I hold even though it is a long way from done.

The first draft of Duffy Barkley and my first completed "books", from when I was 10

 Because it is July, and I am not teaching (or unfortunately bringing in any income) I have time to write, and time to play as long as the play is cheap, so I have also been walking at the Redwoods near home. What a great place to look for something to spark my imagination.

 Nothing makes me feel smaller, or yet more a part of something beautiful, than the redwoods

 Also, I managed to capture a rainbow in my living room, if I can do that, surely I can capture the third adventure of Duffy Barkley on paper

Here is a brief sample from where I got to rereading this morning

Oh-oh-ing's eyes gave him sympathy, but no mercy. “Of course it is hard to be you Duffy, it is hard to be anyone. We all have our burdens and the times when the energy to make the effort seems impossible. Then we keep making the effort until we die and our children keep on in our place.”

“Oh, thanks a lot!” he muttered sarcastically.

“You are welcome.” She answered sincerely. He looked up in time to see her mouth twist into a smile that was part amused, part sympathetic but wholly without unkindness. Then she used both of her hands to push her mane back from the sides of her face and when she dropped her hands to his shoulders again her face was serious.

“I don't know what we do next,” Duffy said, with nevertheless, a bit more hope than before he had been reminded that he wasn't alone.

The gathering of Oorah were no longer looking directly at Duffy but had turned away, and now faced the forest. There was a movement in the crowd as it parted left and right and opened a clear path from the back to just in front of Duffy. Oh-oh-ing kept an arm around Duffy's shoulders and murmured low so that only he could hear, “You are not our only unexpected guests at the present time. You remember?”

Duffy's jaw dropped as he stared at the approaching trio. The spectacle their combined presence created would not have looked out of place in the Big Parades back on Earth. A large blue bear, not painted, not a teddy bear costume on a man, not a balloon, but a sky blue, lumbering, four legged predator came down the aisle the parted crowd had created.

He would have been spectacular alone.

He was not alone. Riding on his back was a vividly, orange, wildcat. She stood with her four paws in his fur and balanced gracefully as he swayed from side to side. She was not maned, but her pointed ears were echoed in little pointed feathers of fur at the sides of her mouth and long whiskers twitched there as well.

Walking at the bear's right side was a tall, slender girl who appeared whiter than milk. A spiky tuft of green rose from her forehead above a black, v shaped patch of skin descending from her brow to between her eyes and giving a heart shaped look to her face.

She was wearing a simple wrapped skirt and top of a glittering sequined blue cloth. Duffy had every reason to suspect that the beautiful wrapping was actually soft, supple leather made from fish skin with gleaming scales in place.

At one time Duffy had traveled with and befriended the girl. He had met the bear and wildcat before they helped him get home on his first time in Uhrlin, but the three of them looked so impressive that he froze, uncertain if he should bow or hug them, he did nothing.

The girl stopped and met his eyes and then laughed and twirled in place, skirt flaring wide as her arms swept in a circle that included everyone, “Oh, This is perfect! Duffy is here!” and she bounded toward him and hugged him quickly. As she dropped her arms and turned back to her companions, all Duffy could see was her obsidian black back and the green mane that reached down to between her shoulder blades.

Author Presentation Pays Off Big

 In my last post, I told you that I had been invited to do a presentation as an author to Pine Grove School.  My biggest message that I wanted to get across to these kids was't that they should buy my books, or be impressed with me, or even that they should want to be a writer.  I told them that they should look at me, someone who has dreamed of being a writer since I was their age, and know that if I could make that happen, that they could make their own dreams come true as well.  I admitted that following those dreams might need to be supplemented by something that gives them an income, but that, the thing that makes them most fully them, like writing does for me - should never be abandoned just because it is hard work for little financial gain.

 And after I talked to three groups of students, and ate at their wonderful banquet, I left and went back to work as a substitute teacher at another school.  But unknown to me, the kids were paying me for the message I had given them, and on the last day of school, I found my mailbox stuffed with the reward.

 Here are the Oohrah at the village off Oohline from my novels

 Dear Mrs. Goode, Thank you for teaching us about authoring and writing."

"Thank you for telling us to fallow our dremes"

"I'm writing my own book called, "The Mystery on Ridge Street", I'm on chapter 5, The Mist."

 "I want to be an author too.
sisirily,"


""I imagine it was hard making  book with waht evar you named yer book.
Sinserly,"

"My favorite book was your second book that you made for us to read."

 "Thank you for coming to Spring Arts Day. We learned a lot about writing a book. We would all love to buy your book."

"I think that you taught us a lot of tuff about how to make books. I have one of your books that you made."

"Thank you for telling my class and I about your books. In fact, one of my class mates bought your book."

"It is cool how you made your books and I would really want to read your books."

"I make better illustrations because I listened to you."

 "I think you did a good job on the book you read to us. It's so cool that I can know someone that wires books. It is just amazing how long they take to make."

"I really enjoy your novels, I am going to save up my alowance so I can buy your novels. The idea of a flying tiger is so creative. When I grow up maybe I can make a movie about your book if that's ok with you."

 "Thank you for telling us about your book you made. It also impressed my friend Kaleb. You told about some of it to us. I decided to buy one. I bought number one and two. They are really good so far. I enjoyed it when you were telling us part of it.  I told my little brother about yo and he wants to write books too."

"I would love to read your books and I want to be a singer."

 "Dear Mrs. Goode,
  Thank you for coming to Spring Arts Day.  I allways whonted to be an illustrator and now I know how hard it is to be a illustrator. "

 "Dear Mrs. Goode,

I think your the best substitute teacher in the world.! I mean, we're both writers so I love hearing about your books and reading them! Oh, and I have great news for you!  remember, "Duffy Barkley is not a Dog"?  Well, I'm writing a story with the same Oz/Narnia concept.  It's called "the Adventures of Nina and Lilly 1# Portal in the Mountain side"  It's basically about talking mountain lion named Nina, and her hymn best friendLilly going on all these adventures but something always goes wrong. Happy Book Making!"

and the one last, but not least from a student who made me smile


"Dear Mrs. Goode,

I had a majestic time with you. I've never herd any stories like yours'.  You're Oregon Trail Story is like fiction in descise, (disguise) You have a really good amagination.'