Month: January 2017

Time for some Laffs… Pirate, rooster and parrot comedians.

Re logged from Smorgasbord

Andrew and Molly Part 5

JAMESTOWN. Female convicts transported from English prisons arriving in Jamestown, Virginia as indentured servants, although often becoming wives in mass weddings with the male settlers: colored engraving, 19th century.

JAMESTOWN.
Female convicts transported from English prisons arriving in Jamestown, Virginia as indentured servants, although often becoming wives in mass weddings with the male settlers: colored engraving, 19th century.

Immediately upon disembarking, Andrew and Molly along with others not already engaged were escorted to warehouse lodgings and given beer and a heartening stew of squash, beans, corn, yams, and meat, their first meat in seven weeks.  The men and women were separated and instructed to choose clothing from a pile of castoffs before bathing and delousing with some herbal concoction whose noxious odor was helpful in warding off mosquitoes. When the men were led off to be locked away for the night, Molly wept and clung to Andrew, fearing she’d never see him again.  She had no faith in the agent’s assurance that they’d be placed together.  Despite her grief, she slept hard in the deep hay that served as bedding for the exhausted women.  For the first night in months, she didn’t fear assault.

The next morning, the colonists gathered just after daybreak to choose among servants.  Molly, along with the other women, ate a hasty breakfast of beer and bread, made a hasty toilet, and prepared for selection, praying Providence would be kind. As the men turned out, Andrew hurried to Molly’s side.  As the selection began, the agent presented the bonded, praising their health, intelligence, and skills, real or concocted on the spot.  Some were labeled distillers, others as cabinet makers, or boat-builders.  True to his word, he proclaimed Andrew and Molly must go to the same master.  To their surprise, they heard the agent confide to Master Wharton that Andrew was a skilled blacksmith and that Molly could weave and spin.  The colonists were legally forbidden to forge their own tools and ironwork, so this would have to be a clandestine operation.  Like most forbidden practices, smithing was made more attractive.

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Encouraged to think he was engaging a blacksmith and a woman who could weave and spin, Master Wharton spoke directly to Andrew.  “You look right, enough.  My blacksmith will be soon work free, but might have long enough to teach you some.  Do you think you can pick it up fast?  I’ll not tolerate a slacker.  If you give me your pledge, I’ll take you and your wife.  Should you fail, I’ll sell your bond.”

“I’ll not fail if you take us both, that I swear.” Andrew asserted, looking him in the eye. “My wife never learned weaving nor spinning.  I’d not have you expect that.  She tended the dairy and is skilled at butter and cheese-making, nothing more.”

“I have no need of a weaver, just a housekeeper.  I’ll bond you.  You’ll get lodging, food, and a new suit of clothes now and once a year.  You will work dawn to dusk every day with Sunday for worship and rest. Give me value and we’ll have no trouble.”  Their new master strode off to tend his business, leaving them to wait together.

images downloaded from internet

Advertisements from long, long ago — femme fatale edition

Reblogged

Andrew and Molly Part 4

img_1742The site of Jamestown Colony was nothing like the home they’d left.  They’d felt pride in their natal farm though they’d belonged to it, not the other way around.  Born to its manicured meadows, neat hedgerows, and trim outbuildings, its upkeep had been a part of every day.  Born to thatched stone cottages in the shadow of the imposing barns and carriage house, they’d attended the chapel attached to the mossy, old manor house.  They felt pride of place by virtue of family tradition; it was their work and the work of their fathers before them that stretched behnd them.  They were often in need and sometimes Ill-treated, but they had a tie to the land.  Had not fate intervened, their children would have worked and lived as they had.

Jamestown of 1643 was not a welcoming site.  The vessel had tied to a crude wooden wharf.  At the site of the rough timber fence surrounding the town, they didn’t have to be warned not to rush to disembark.  A rutted, muddy trail led into the fort of nondescript houses.  Blazing sun beat down as men in tattered rags, both black and white, gathered to await their turn unloading cargo from below.  Mosquitoes buzzed around their heads and bore down, appreciative of the new blood.  The humid air was thick with the smell of newly-turned earth, smoke, and manure from the enclosed animals.

Instead of fields of grain butting up to hedgerows, unfamiliar plots of large-leaf tobacco stood in large patches outside the high walls.  Lesser squares of corn , beans, and squash clustered around nearby cabins built close enough that occupants could easily reach the enclosed settlement as needed.  Enormous forests of tall trees pushed up to the farms and fields.

img_1741As they surveyed all that lay before them, the forests were most impressive.  England’s  sparse woodlands could not compare. Though the settlement was raw and unfamiliar, they realized the intimidating forest held the future for those hardy enough to wrest it out.  All they had to do was serve out their next four years to claim their portion, not thinking those same forests were home to indigenous people who’d thrived there for millennia.

 

Images pulled from internet

 

 

 

https://atomic-temporary-73629786.wpcomstaging.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=12291&action=edit L

Introducing: Sunrise Editing Services…

Reblog

Chris The Story Reading Ape's avatarChris The Story Reading Ape's Blog

aj-author
My name is Andrew Joyce and I write books for a living. I’ve been lucky enough to have three of my books become best-sellers on Amazon, and two of them have won prestigious awards. I only tell you this because I want you to know that I am serious about my writing and will not publish a book until it is free of errors, and that means not until it has been edited many, many times.

I am also associated with another writer that you may have heard of, the famous (or infamous) Danny the Dog. He is also serious about his writing.

One thing both Danny and I agree on is that a writer cannot edit his or her own work.

Let me repeat that: YOU CANNOT EDIT YOUR OWN WORK!

Excuse me for yelling, but it is important that I get that thought through to you.

The number…

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Andrew and Molly Part 3

img_1740“What have we gotten into?”  moaned Andrew after three days locked in the hold.  “Why did we Ever do this?  I’ve got to figure a way out.”

“No!  We wouldn’t be here if we had any other choice.  We were starving and near to death.  Things will have to be better in the colony.  We’ll be on a farm again and free with land in four years.  It’s the only way.”  Molly’s optimism was wearing thin, but she held out hope.  “Listen!  We’re moving!”  Sure enough, the chains creaked as the anchor was lifted and they were obviously leaving the harbor.    An hour or so later, after they were too far to swim for shore, the doors to the hold were thrown open.  The incarcerated rushed for the door and stood on deck for a last, long look at England.  Many wailed as land slipped out of sight, knowing they’d never see home again nor maybe even the new country.

Time on deck made the long journey more bearable, except for the miserable days of rain and storms. though it didn’t improve the quality or quantity of the rations.  Fighting and attacks were common in the hold, though few had anything but weavilly biscuits to steal.  Coughing and moaning broke their guarded sleep.  Andrew never left Molly for a moment, knowing she’d be assaulted.  Almost every morning, a cold body or two was pulled from the hold.  The stench became more horrendous as the weeks passed.  Neither suffered from sea-sickness till mid crossing when a storm raged.  Both wretched miserably, not even attempting to make it to the bucket.  Many of the emancipated passed and were slid into the raging sea.  Andrew would have gladly sought death had it not been for Molly.

Finally, the weather cleared and they were able to go above board again, feeling hope for survival.  After seven weeks, a shout rang out. The Jamestown Colony was sighted!

Maybe they’d live after all!

Links to Parts 1 and 2

https://atomic-temporary-73629786.wpcomstaging.com/2017/01/04/andrew-and-molly-part-1/

https://atomic-temporary-73629786.wpcomstaging.com/2017/01/06/andrew-and-molly-part-2/

 

 

New World Every Day

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Road trips are always a thrill, more so when I travel without my hubby.  Born with no sense of direction whatsoever, fortunately I have a great sense of adventure and discovery.  Navigation devices help a little, but one does have to plug in all the right addresses and poor typing skills and dyslexia can make that a challenge.  Now that I think on it, I should get a medal whenever I arrive.

This past week, we ventured far afield.  While we visited relatives in Kansas, I took an afternoon off to visit an acquaintance.  Bud didn’t really want me to go off alone, but what can happen in twenty-five miles in rural Kansas.  Just so he’d be shamed, I drove straight to my destination and sent him a smug text.  I had a lovely visit and sent him a text to let him know I’d be arriving back in forty minutes.  A quasar must have hit the GPS.  While the trip over had been mostly via interstate, only one wrong turn confused the GPS.  You’d think they’d have gotten the bugs out of those things by now.  After a few turns and considerable dirt-road sight-seeing, I decided to check my progress.  Thinking maybe the devices was defective, I decided to try to put the address in again, forgetting the house number.   That didn’t worry me too much.  Surely there couldn’t be too man Lone Star Roads.  I drove and drove.  Finally, Bud fired a text at me, wanting to know when I’d get back.  “It shouldn’t be too long.  I am on Lonestar Road and just saw a sign saying I am back in Linn County.”

He whacked out.  “You dingbat!  Linn County is forty miles from here.  You are an hour in the wrong direction.  Pull over at the next crossroads and call back and tell me where you are.  By the way, how much gas do you have?”

“Uh oh.  The orange light is on and it says I have a range of forty miles.  Why did you let the truck get so low?”

“You had a half-a-tank when you left!  Where the Hell have you been?”

“I told you I was on Lone Star Road for a long time!”  I didn’t mention all the other places.  I hate to worry him about stuff like that.  He gets excited.

“Pull over and park!  Pull over and park and call me back.  I’ll come find you!”

“Okay, but maybe you should bring some gas!”  Now I was worried.

A few country miles later, I parked in front of the Cadmus Grange Building.  They were having a meeting at six-thirty, so I might make some new friends if he didn’t get there in a couple of hours, but hoped I wouldn’t have to wait that long.  It’s amazing how cold fourteen degrees can be, even if it’s a sunny day.  I decided to take some pictures.  I am glad I did since I may never get lost again.

Bud conferred with his relatives and as fate would have it, one of them had to pass that way on the way to visit us at Aunt Beulah’s.  He was kind enough to bring a can of gas and guide me there.  True enough, I was forty miles from my goal.  Who would have thought Lone Star Road extended across two or three counties?

Stay Humble(our time is short)

Reblogged from Just Angela. Well worth a read.

angelamyers23's avatarJust Angela

(I apologize if this is long winded but I felt a strong need to write this)
I am a Home Health and Hospice nurse. I have worked in the hospital for years and have seen plenty of sadness but something feels different and slightly difficult to put into words, but I’m going to give it my best shot…
I was more humbled than I have ever been in my nursing career. I was out to see patients on a breezy summer day. Nothing out of the norm. I have been doing this for awhile and find great fulfillment in my work especially in regards to the hospice side of my job.  I drove to a home that was a quaint little farm house.  I rushed out there as not to be late, pulled in the gravel drive and casually noted the average looking house with a single tractor in the big red barn that most…

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Chapter 1- Monsters are for the Birds

angelamyers23's avatarJust Angela

School years suck but it’s just one of those times when you just have to pull up your big girls pants and do it. I was never what you would call, fond of it. The old, green chalkboards and wooden cubbies. The musty library and old nursing office. The “Presidential Physical Education Certificates” and the silly cake walks at the barely funded school carnivals. I mean, let’s be honest, who really cared about the odd looking chocolate cake that Billy’s mom insisted that she slaved over to “make from scratch” when well all knew it was the generic ole’ Betty Crocker box mix from aisle four at the local grocery store. I tended to slide by doing the bare minimum of what it took to get me to the next grade level. So far I was three for three. Yeah for me! I found the math homework annoying, the social…

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