Posts Tagged With: #dogs

The Tale of Two Boarding Houses

This is the tale of two boarding houses in Raton, New Mexico. I had gone to this town in northeastern New Mexico to traverse the territory that Sally Porter lived in 1898. Who is Sally Porter, you may ask? She is the protagonist of my current work-in-progress (WIP).

While in Raton, I learned about two boarding houses that were in operation in the 1890s. The first is now a bed & breakfast called Heart’s Desire, where I stayed for several days. Situated near the heart of the town, it’s location was perfect. The historic district, quaint shops, a museum, and the library were all within walking distance.

The house, painted sweetheart pink, was built in 1895 by the first U.S. Marshall of Raton and served as a boarding house run by his wife. She not only fed the residents but also cooked the meals for the occupants of the jail. The footpath between the house and where the jail once stood is still visible. One story is that when the jailhouse was full, the sheriff would lock prisoners in the house’s carriage house.

 

The hostess, Barbara Riley, has restored the house and decorated each room with a delightful theme, showing off the place in Victorian splendor. Upon my arrival, she greeted me with a warm slice of apple pie and cup of tea. After the refreshments and conversation, I was shown my room, the Blue Willow Room. It had a lovely view over the town’s historic buildings and the fall foliage.

Each morning, I was treated to some of the best cooking I have ever had while traveling. Barbara put a lot of love into each breakfast she served. It fortified me as I headed out on my adventures for the day. On my return in the evening, I was greeted by the official welcome committee, Guinness, a sweet-tempered Yorkshire terrier. I would settle into one of the couches in the sitting room with a cup of tea and write up my notes for the day listening to Barbara play the piano.

I felt very spoiled.

I would recommend stopping for a night or two at the Heart’s Desire Bed & Breakfast. Barbara’s enthusiasm and knowledge of the area, the comfortable environment she created, and the location made this pleasant stay. It is also pet-friendly and has wi-fi.

Let me introduce you to proprietress of the second boarding house, Cathay Williams –slave, domestic worker, soldier, and businesswoman.

Cathay was born a slave in 1844. At the start the Civil War, she was on a plantation on the outskirts of Jefferson City, Missouri. When Union soldiers marched in she was considered “contraband,” and like many slaves, she was pressed into service as a cook and laundress. At one point, she was transferred to Washington D.C., where she served as a cook for General Philip Sheridan.

After the war, Cathay found herself unemployed, and with no money and few opportunities, the tall, lanky woman made a drastic decision. She posed as a man and joined the army, using the name William Cathay. She was assigned to the 38th Infantry Regiment, one of six all African-American regiments that would become known as the Buffalo Soldiers. She was hospitalized several times during the nearly two years she served and was never examined closely enough to discover her secret until she let it slip. She was given a medical discharge in 1868.

After her discharge, Cathay joined family members in Colorado, where her mother was a matron at the Lincoln Home for orphaned and abandoned black children. The one known photograph of her was taken during this time in Pueblo. Then she moved to Trinidad where she worked as a seamstress. While there a reporter from Saint Louis came to visit her, after hearing rumors of a black woman soldier. Her story was published in The St. Louis Daily Times in 1876. Shortly after her story was published, she became ill, suffering from neuralgia and complications from diabetes. In 1893, she applied for an army pension, as had Deborah Sampson, who served as a man during the American Revolutionary War. Her claim was denied, despite her having to walk with a crutch (her toes had been amputated.)

Many biographies of Cathay Williams report that she must have died shortly after her 1893 pension claim was denied as her absent from the Trinidad census rolls of 1900. But according to two sources I spoke with in Raton, this is not the case. Both the historian at the Raton Chamber of Commerce and the curator of The Raton  Museum reported that she moved from Trinidad to Raton, where she lived the last three decades of her life. According to them, she ran a boarding house. However, it’s location is not identified on any period maps. She offered room and board to the local railroad workers, and when General Sheridan’s son passed through the area, he stopped and stayed with her a few days.

Williams died in Raton in 1926 at the age of 82. Her body is thought to have been returned to Colorado to be buried with her family, in either Pueblo or Trinidad, but the location of the grave has been lost.

Cathay Williams’ story is a tale of resilience. She rose from being a slave to a businesswoman. It is also a story of racism. As evidenced in the medical care African-American soldiers received. It must have been minimal as she was “examined” multiple times and the doctors didn’t realize she was a woman. Also when she applied for her pension, she wasn’t a white woman represented by John Adams like Deborah, but a poor black woman with a lawyer who did little to push her claim through. In spite of these, she left her mark. In 2016, Richard Allen Cultural Center and Museum in Leavenworth, Kansas dedicated a bust of Cathay Williams (AKA Private William Cathay), recognizing her place in history as the first African-American female soldier.

 

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Cathay Williams (AKA Private William Cathay)  Willam Allan Cultural Center & Museum, Leavenworth, Kansas

This veteran salutes you, Private Williams.

 

In the late 1800’s, Raton was a bustling railroad town with many boarding houses and hotels. These were just two them.

Until next time, remember . . .

The door is always open, and the Kettle is always on.

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Sunny Days & Backyard Friends

ny Sunshine, beautiful, glorious sunshine! This weekend we’re getting a break from the storms, and it’s wonderful outside. It’s nice to be able, even in winter, to sit on the back patio with a cup of tea (Earl Grey today.) and work on my final touches to my WIP progress. It feels so good to be warm.

For the past week, we’ve had cold, clouds, and rain. The rain came in mists, splatters, and downpours. In many ways, the rain is a blessing. We have been in a drought in California going on five years now. Here even in the desert in good years, rain is generally a rare thing.

The drought has left my home showing the effects of little rain. I have ten stressed mulberry trees dropping small branches and bark. We’ve watered them as much as we dare but the rain will help.

The rain though welcomed, has also brought its problems too. For the community, the saturated ground can’t hold any more water so streets are flooding and higher areas have mudslides. At home, we discovered a leak caused by wind damage to the roof. (Ah, the joys of home ownership, but that’s another topic.)

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As I sit on my patio and take in the warmth of the sun, I can see over my neighbor’s rooflines the snow-covered peaks of the San Antonio mountain range. At the birdbath, sparrows splash. House finches and lesser goldfinches are at the feeders happily chirping. Hummingbirds are buzzing around me asking for their feeder to be filled.

On days like today, backyard bird watching is full of surprises. All winter long there are the usual variety of sparrows, finches, and doves. I have had western tanagers, Bullock’s orioles, and robins passing through. Once a lazuli buntings passed through, rare here in the desert, the pair stopped in my yard to rest while migrating.

Yesterday, as I sat on the patio editing my novel it suddenly got quiet, too quiet. No splashing. No cooing. No chirping. I looked up, and ten feet from me at the birdbath was a sharp-shinned hawk. He looked at me and then went back to drinking.

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Sharp-Shinned Hawk

The peace was broken, when Rowdy Girl spotted the hawk. She thinks nothing of chasing down Rock Doves, Ravens, and Crows who dare to come into her domain. Off like a shot, she bounded toward the offending bird. The hawk gracefully went up on a tree branch, studied the barking dog for a moment and flew off.

When he had gone, the chorus of birdsong resumed and Rowdy Girl resumed her nap.

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Rowdy Girl

Wild birds bring joy with their beauty, grace, and song. They have even attracted the attention of my characters as they enjoy a lovely winter picnic.

From my WIP: The Princess of Sweetwater

 As they approached the sheltered mountain pond, Hiram said, “Close your eyes.”

Victoria squeezed them tight.

He brought the wagon to a stop and put his hand on her arm. “You can open them    now.”

She opened her eyes.  The sun glinting off the snow and ice made everything sparkle like diamonds. “It’s beautiful. It reminds me of the mountains near my home.”

They ate their lunch enjoying the antics of scrub jays and sparrows pecking at the frozen berries on the overhanging branches.

“Let’s go for a walk.” Hiram closed the picnic basket. He took Victoria by the hand and led her down the narrow trail.

Once in an open area, Victoria broke away from Hiram running ahead of him. She scooped up some snow and landed a snowball on his shoulder. In return, he sent one which knocked off her hat. On her next throw, she lost her balance and slid down the slope. Hiram ran after her catching her before a snowdrift engulfed her.

“Are you okay?” He laughed, gasping for air.

“Wet.” She took a handful of snow and tossed it in his direction.

“Let’s get you home, and you can put on something dry.”

On the ride back to town, Victoria sat nestled in Hiram’s arms. She had never felt so safe or so happy in her life.

We have nine weeks left of winter, time to enjoy the snow, the winter visitors in my backyard, but especially curling up on the couch in a blanket with a good book and a cup of tea.

Until next time remember –

The door is always open, and kettle is on.

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Two Ways Dogs Can Make You A Better Writer

 

Yes, dogs can improve your writing. Actually adding any animal to a story can improve it significantly, but I am a dog parent, I live with two dogs, so I’m going to use dogs.

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Argos and Rowdy Girl, my fur-babies.

We’ve all noticed there are people to whom dogs are naturally attracted or just the opposite, they avoid them as if they were the dog-catcher. Dogs are good judges of character. We can also judge a person’s character by how they treat dogs.

This is the first way adding a dog into your story can improve it. We want to let our readers know if this is a “good guy” or a “bad guy,” right? Having them interact with a dog is a way of showing, rather than telling, that the person is gentle or harsh. For example, your main protagonist is eating a hot dog, in walks stay dog (or his girlfriend’s dog), and he ignores the big brown eyes. In fact, he turns his back on the animal. What do we know now? He’s not such a softy after all. Or what if your main antagonist can’t resist taking home every stray dog she finds? Maybe there are some redeeming qualities there after all. What if a character is growled at every time the dog is present? That might be someone who is not trustworthy.

In the above example, the dog is primarily a prop, no different than a gun or umbrella. But a second way to include an animal is as a full-fledged character. There are lots of examples of this. Lassie and Big Red, of course, comes to mind. As does, Buck in Call of the Wild. These are main characters, but they can also be supporting characters. Think of Fang in the Harry Potter and the Sorcerer Stone, Nana in Peter Pan, and Pilot in Jane Eyre. These dogs are not primary characters, but without them, the story would be diminished.

Here are some examples from The Princess of Sweetwater using the dog to tell the reader something:

After dinner, Victoria sat on a stool in front of the big fireplace reading one of the textbooks, while Ox rested his massive head on her lap.

“I have never seen that dog take to someone the way he’s taken to you.” Hiram stretched out in his chair. “Did you have dogs at home?”

“Not as pets. My father keeps deerhounds and wolfhounds, but they’re hunting dogs.”

“Maybe he misses a woman’s attention. Marta spoiled him, and Maria won’t have anything to do with him.”

“You’re always welcome to join me by the fire, big boy.” She buried her face in his thick fur.

Ox is the ranch dog, and he likes Victoria, maybe he’s telling Hiram, she should stick around

And here’s Ox again:

At five o’clock, the boys washed up for supper. They ate in silence. Victoria saw a mix of worry and fatigue in the older boy’s eyes.

As Maria began to clear the table, a dog’s bark mixed with the clinking of the dishes.

“That’s Ox,” said Harvey, shoving away from the table.

He ran to let the dog in, the wind rushed through the open door blew out most of the lamps.

Ox continued to bark and ran back to the barn. Halfway there he stopped and looked back.

“I guess he wants us to follow him,” said Harvey running after the dog.

Victoria and the other boys followed.

On the barn floor, they found Hiram wet, muddy and bloody.

What happened to Hiram? You’re going to have to wait until the book release in March 2017.

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Ox, an English Mastiff, 150 lbs of slobbering love.

And here’s a cute little beagle named Dudley:

Kate came out of the kitchen when she heard voices in the inn’s main room. The dog bounded after her.  She found two men in suits going through the cabinets and drawers. “Can I help you, gentlemen?”

“We’re from the Pinkerton Agency,” said one of the men. Both pulled out their badges.

Dudley growled at the men. They took a step back.

Maybe Kate shouldn’t trust those Pinkerton agents.

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Dudley,  a Beagle pup

And here’s a bonus on how dogs can make you a better writer – owning a dog will get up and moving. You can’t sit at your desk and stare at the computer screen all day. You need a break. Take the dog for a walk, go play in the yard, or visit the pet supply store. While you’re taking that much need break, your brain will still be churning, and when you come back, there will be fresh ideas waiting for you.

Until next time, remember the door is always open, and the kettle is always on.

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