Thursday, July 28, 2011
Would You Care For Pie? By D.M. McGowan
Mrs. Smith was usually alone in management of their little country store, since the rest of the family was involved in construction. She also operated a lunch counter on the premises which attracted many travelers who could not resist her home cooked meals, pies and pastries. It was a wearing, seven day a week task made more difficult in a land of dust and mud.
On occasion, however, she would arrange to have someone take over, allowing her a few hours respite from the constant grind and perhaps a trip to town, thirty five miles away. On one such occasion her husband, Garner Smith, heavy equipment operator, mechanic, rascal and tease, was left in charge of the establishment.
He was sitting at the counter reading a paper and drinking coffee when a lone traveler entered and took a seat a few stools away.
Gar looked up from his paper and asked,” What can I get you?" He rose and moved around behind the counter.
"Coffee and maybe a piece of pie," was the reply.
"What kind o' pie would you like?" Gar asked, looking through the offerings his wife had prepared.
"Well, you got any pumpkin?"
"No. No pumpkin, but we have lemon, raisin and apple."
"Apple, I guess."
A twinkle appeared in Gar's eye, but he quickly hid the smile. He served the slice of apple pie and the coffee, and then returned to his seat down the counter. Sipping his own coffee, he allowed the customer time to become involved in the pie and appreciate just how good it was.
"We had to quite makin' the pumpkin," he observed, taking another sip of coffee.
The customer stopped his fork half way to his mouth, an inquiring look directed at Gar.
Returning his cup to the counter, Gar nodded sagely, no hint of a smile. "Mice kept leavin' tracks in it."
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Another source for The Yearlings
For those of you who came here late and find you have no idea what "Historical mention in The Yearlings" means ,,, it's a short story I posted here in episodes. If you are interested in reading the whole thing, drop me a line at d.mcgowan99@gmail.com and I'll send you the whole thing.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Historical mentions in The Yearlings
As I mentioned, there are two historical mentions in “The Yearlings”. So why should you, or any one else, give a damn? Because what happened “back then” (when ever it was) helped create who we are and who our kids will be.
Fiction is entertainment, or at least good fiction should be. It doesn’t necessarily have to be literature, nor does it have to be a presentation of perfect English. If it is either of those things, that’s a great plus. If it is literature it will last. If it is understandable (in what ever language) it continues communication. First, it has to be entertaining so that someone will read it.
If it is entertaining as well as being informative, that’s even better because it gives the reader of any age an opportunity to grow.
I suspect everyone understands the first historical mention in “The Yearlings” is when Rolley says “there's a war gettin' under way over t' Europe,”. Of course, he is talking about the “War to End All Wars” or WWI. Many people, from all walks of life, all levels of society and in many countries thought the war would change politics and aggression throughout the world but would also be an opportunity for them to get rich. It proved to be an opportunity for hundreds of thousands to die.
It’s funny how people don’t learn from history. We have wars now, and somehow the folks back home are surprised when soldiers and civilians become casualties.
When Janet is thinking about the Yellowhead Trail and the new railroad that of course is the Canadian National. However, at the time it was the Grande Trunk Pacific Railway.
There were many supporting reasons for building the GTPR. The most important of those reasons, of course, was that customers of Canadian Pacific Railway needed another source for service. Partially to attain competitive pricing, but more important was a competitive attitude. The CPR thought they owned Canada and its citizens and could treat them any way they wanted.
There was an official ceremony at Fort William, Ontario (Thunder Bay) on September 11, 1905 and, after many delays the last spike was driven one mile east of Fort Frazer, BC on April 7, 1914. Most of the delays were due to a lack of funding, the same problems that had plagued the CPR during its construction more than 20 years earlier.
One of the great champions of the GTPR was its General Manger, Charles Melville Hayes. He made several trips to solicit funding for the venture and apparently was successful on his last trip. However Hayes’ returned passage was booked on RMS Titanic. The date of the world famous end of that voyage was April 15, 1912.
There are several firearms mentioned in the story. Janet leaves home with a rifle (which she forgets to load) for no one but an idiot would venture into a true wilderness without a weapon to protect themselves. The other weapons mentioned were a common thing in Canada's wilds ... at least until 1924.
Fiction is entertainment, or at least good fiction should be. It doesn’t necessarily have to be literature, nor does it have to be a presentation of perfect English. If it is either of those things, that’s a great plus. If it is literature it will last. If it is understandable (in what ever language) it continues communication. First, it has to be entertaining so that someone will read it.
If it is entertaining as well as being informative, that’s even better because it gives the reader of any age an opportunity to grow.
I suspect everyone understands the first historical mention in “The Yearlings” is when Rolley says “there's a war gettin' under way over t' Europe,”. Of course, he is talking about the “War to End All Wars” or WWI. Many people, from all walks of life, all levels of society and in many countries thought the war would change politics and aggression throughout the world but would also be an opportunity for them to get rich. It proved to be an opportunity for hundreds of thousands to die.
It’s funny how people don’t learn from history. We have wars now, and somehow the folks back home are surprised when soldiers and civilians become casualties.
When Janet is thinking about the Yellowhead Trail and the new railroad that of course is the Canadian National. However, at the time it was the Grande Trunk Pacific Railway.
There were many supporting reasons for building the GTPR. The most important of those reasons, of course, was that customers of Canadian Pacific Railway needed another source for service. Partially to attain competitive pricing, but more important was a competitive attitude. The CPR thought they owned Canada and its citizens and could treat them any way they wanted.
There was an official ceremony at Fort William, Ontario (Thunder Bay) on September 11, 1905 and, after many delays the last spike was driven one mile east of Fort Frazer, BC on April 7, 1914. Most of the delays were due to a lack of funding, the same problems that had plagued the CPR during its construction more than 20 years earlier.
One of the great champions of the GTPR was its General Manger, Charles Melville Hayes. He made several trips to solicit funding for the venture and apparently was successful on his last trip. However Hayes’ returned passage was booked on RMS Titanic. The date of the world famous end of that voyage was April 15, 1912.
There are several firearms mentioned in the story. Janet leaves home with a rifle (which she forgets to load) for no one but an idiot would venture into a true wilderness without a weapon to protect themselves. The other weapons mentioned were a common thing in Canada's wilds ... at least until 1924.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
There's history in ... well, someplace.
The story “The Yearlings” is purely a product of my weird imagination. However, within the story are two historical mentions. Did you pick them out? More about that on my next post.
Janet's cattle returned with extra treasure for her trouble
4
A half-hour later she stopped to fit the saddle to her shorter legs. The steers showed no inclination to veer from the trail home. As she shortened the stirrup leathers she noticed her heart rate and breathing had begun to slow their frantic pace.
"Now I'll have to listen to Mother go on and on about how I left her alone for a whole two days," she said to the horse as she pulled the lacing free. "Then she'll make Matt feel awful by telling him it's his fault that I was almost murdered over a few filthy animals." She finished on one stirrup and moved around to the other. "Then Matt won't ever want to leave the place again."
She was finishing up before she continued. "Which might not be all bad, at least I wouldn't have to listen to Mother's drivel all by myself."
She remounted and continued, liking the feel of what she was already coming to think of as her saddle. It was also a fine, smooth-gaited horse.
"That's not really fair," she continued. "It's not fair to make Matt have to put up with any of Mother's prattle when I can protect him from it. It's not fair to expect that she would be hard on him over this. She probably won't say a thing about it to him, thereby making me feel guilty because he doesn't know how much danger I was in, and because I have kept something from him."
The steers were beginning to tire and wander, looking to fill their stomachs with the old grass that was showing now in more places than were covered by snow. She drew her mount in a little and began pushing the yearlings along the trail.
"Yes, that would be more like Mother. Then she would think she had a new power and control over me."
She had also lost Ben, Matt's one remaining tie to his childhood. She knew that the sight of Ben had brought back many pleasant memories for her husband.
"And I don't want Matt to feel he's tied to us. He should be able to leave, but want to stay.
"Besides, for the next few years at least, we need that trapping money. Otherwise we'll never have our own life."
She looked at her mount and rigging with a critical eye. True, she had lost one of the light team but she now had an excellent saddle horse. She also had a fine saddle and bridle, an extra rifle and a pistol.
Holding her own rifle and the reins in one hand she slid Rolley's rifle from the scabbard far enough to identify it. It appeared to be similar to her Winchester '73, though both the lever and breech looked slightly different. It also had a saddle ring and appeared - though she didn't remove it all the way - to be shorter. She did remove it far enough to see the 44WCF stamped into the round barrel, making it the same caliber as her own octagonal barreled '73.
Next she removed the pistol from her pocket and studied it. The barrel was perhaps three inches long and, though the stamping was worn, she could make out "S & W" along the left side. She fiddled with what appeared to be a catch ahead of the hammer and finally tipped the barrel and cylinder down to reveal the bases of five cartridges all stamped ".32 S & W."
Closing the pistol again she placed it back in her pocket. "Well, I suppose, if we don't have the trapping money I could always rob somebody. I'm certainly armed to the teeth and well mounted."
After she had turned the steers back into their pasture and ensured the gate was shut, Janet rode toward the barn. On the other side of the house she could see another rider trailing a pack horse piled high with fur. Matt was home.
She met him by the house and they swung down together. As they embraced, Mark and Margaret came running from the house.
When the greetings had been completed, Matt turned back to his wife, holding his son in his arms and a twinkle in his eye. "You bin makin' a habit out o' feedin' the cows with a rifle. Must be hard to get the hay down the barrel."
Janet looked down at the Winchester in her hands then back to her husband. His eyes had gone beyond her to the strange horse and saddle and the twinkle had turned to puzzlement.
Janet stepped closer and put one hand on his shoulder. "Matt, I have some bad news. Ben died."
Later that summer, Joshua Casey's brother, Gabriel, rode up to a group in central Montana as they branded the latest batch of calves.
Joshua was busy with a knife when the horse came up, but it wasn't long before he realized someone was sitting a horse and not roping, or doing anything else to help with the work. Finished his latest cutting, he swung his attention around to the rider and saw his brother. The hair was very long and ten years had put some creases in the face, but it was definitely his brother.
He stood, the pocket knife down at his side, and nodded. "Afternoon, Gabe."
Gabe nodded in return. "Josh." He removed his hat and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. "Looks like you picked a hot one." He swung from the saddle.
"That we did," Josh acknowledged.
"Well, I'm not much with a rope, but I'm a crackerjack with a knife and a branding iron."
"We could use the help," Josh responded, turned the knife around and passed it to his brother. "You gonna be home for awhile?"
Gabe nodded, and then gazed off to the north. "Reckon I'll stay if you'll have me. I get out there I run the risk of gettin' into somethin' I won't be proud of."
After roundup that fall, Matt Kingsley went hunting for a few days. He trailed a moose back up into a draw where he shot it in a small clearing. In that same clearing he found what was left of a skeleton lying next to the remains of an old fire. There was a small, round hole, perhaps from a bullet on the right side of the skull and much of the left side was missing. The remains of what might have been a shirt and pants were also there. There was no sign of boots, belt, coat or hat.
With only an axe to work with it was difficult, but he managed to cover the bones and cloth in a shallow grave. During the fifty-eight years they were together, until her death in 1969, he never told Janet what he had found.
A half-hour later she stopped to fit the saddle to her shorter legs. The steers showed no inclination to veer from the trail home. As she shortened the stirrup leathers she noticed her heart rate and breathing had begun to slow their frantic pace.
"Now I'll have to listen to Mother go on and on about how I left her alone for a whole two days," she said to the horse as she pulled the lacing free. "Then she'll make Matt feel awful by telling him it's his fault that I was almost murdered over a few filthy animals." She finished on one stirrup and moved around to the other. "Then Matt won't ever want to leave the place again."
She was finishing up before she continued. "Which might not be all bad, at least I wouldn't have to listen to Mother's drivel all by myself."
She remounted and continued, liking the feel of what she was already coming to think of as her saddle. It was also a fine, smooth-gaited horse.
"That's not really fair," she continued. "It's not fair to make Matt have to put up with any of Mother's prattle when I can protect him from it. It's not fair to expect that she would be hard on him over this. She probably won't say a thing about it to him, thereby making me feel guilty because he doesn't know how much danger I was in, and because I have kept something from him."
The steers were beginning to tire and wander, looking to fill their stomachs with the old grass that was showing now in more places than were covered by snow. She drew her mount in a little and began pushing the yearlings along the trail.
"Yes, that would be more like Mother. Then she would think she had a new power and control over me."
She had also lost Ben, Matt's one remaining tie to his childhood. She knew that the sight of Ben had brought back many pleasant memories for her husband.
"And I don't want Matt to feel he's tied to us. He should be able to leave, but want to stay.
"Besides, for the next few years at least, we need that trapping money. Otherwise we'll never have our own life."
She looked at her mount and rigging with a critical eye. True, she had lost one of the light team but she now had an excellent saddle horse. She also had a fine saddle and bridle, an extra rifle and a pistol.
Holding her own rifle and the reins in one hand she slid Rolley's rifle from the scabbard far enough to identify it. It appeared to be similar to her Winchester '73, though both the lever and breech looked slightly different. It also had a saddle ring and appeared - though she didn't remove it all the way - to be shorter. She did remove it far enough to see the 44WCF stamped into the round barrel, making it the same caliber as her own octagonal barreled '73.
Next she removed the pistol from her pocket and studied it. The barrel was perhaps three inches long and, though the stamping was worn, she could make out "S & W" along the left side. She fiddled with what appeared to be a catch ahead of the hammer and finally tipped the barrel and cylinder down to reveal the bases of five cartridges all stamped ".32 S & W."
Closing the pistol again she placed it back in her pocket. "Well, I suppose, if we don't have the trapping money I could always rob somebody. I'm certainly armed to the teeth and well mounted."
After she had turned the steers back into their pasture and ensured the gate was shut, Janet rode toward the barn. On the other side of the house she could see another rider trailing a pack horse piled high with fur. Matt was home.
She met him by the house and they swung down together. As they embraced, Mark and Margaret came running from the house.
When the greetings had been completed, Matt turned back to his wife, holding his son in his arms and a twinkle in his eye. "You bin makin' a habit out o' feedin' the cows with a rifle. Must be hard to get the hay down the barrel."
Janet looked down at the Winchester in her hands then back to her husband. His eyes had gone beyond her to the strange horse and saddle and the twinkle had turned to puzzlement.
Janet stepped closer and put one hand on his shoulder. "Matt, I have some bad news. Ben died."
Later that summer, Joshua Casey's brother, Gabriel, rode up to a group in central Montana as they branded the latest batch of calves.
Joshua was busy with a knife when the horse came up, but it wasn't long before he realized someone was sitting a horse and not roping, or doing anything else to help with the work. Finished his latest cutting, he swung his attention around to the rider and saw his brother. The hair was very long and ten years had put some creases in the face, but it was definitely his brother.
He stood, the pocket knife down at his side, and nodded. "Afternoon, Gabe."
Gabe nodded in return. "Josh." He removed his hat and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. "Looks like you picked a hot one." He swung from the saddle.
"That we did," Josh acknowledged.
"Well, I'm not much with a rope, but I'm a crackerjack with a knife and a branding iron."
"We could use the help," Josh responded, turned the knife around and passed it to his brother. "You gonna be home for awhile?"
Gabe nodded, and then gazed off to the north. "Reckon I'll stay if you'll have me. I get out there I run the risk of gettin' into somethin' I won't be proud of."
After roundup that fall, Matt Kingsley went hunting for a few days. He trailed a moose back up into a draw where he shot it in a small clearing. In that same clearing he found what was left of a skeleton lying next to the remains of an old fire. There was a small, round hole, perhaps from a bullet on the right side of the skull and much of the left side was missing. The remains of what might have been a shirt and pants were also there. There was no sign of boots, belt, coat or hat.
With only an axe to work with it was difficult, but he managed to cover the bones and cloth in a shallow grave. During the fifty-eight years they were together, until her death in 1969, he never told Janet what he had found.
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