The horses cut up so, he knew something was out there. Whatever it was stayed at the edge of the woods. I made sure my windows were closed that night. We'll battle anything that tries to steal our bacon.
It is warm tonight, and the lamp draws candle flies and bugs, but I couldn't wait until morning to write. I try to be in the garden at daybreak while Charlie is still inside. Of course, my stooping is limited. I'm on my knees a lot, but that's where I feel I should be as I watch the first pink rays of morning light settle over everything. Gods Creation!
Send a check or money order for $23.00 to buy a signed copy of The Journey,
ISBN-13: 978-1589094543
Frances Bennett
1359 Hwy. 3121
Spearsville, Louisiana 71277 or:
http://www.bookstandpublishing/m/francesbennett.com
francesbennett7@gmail.com
To read reviews: http://www.Amazon.com (The Journey by Frances Bennett)
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Monday, January 14, 2008
Part of a letter in The Journey from Lona to her folks in North Carolina
April 12, 1902
Dear Mama,
I wanted to surprise you, so I haven't mentioned having a picture made, but here it is. This is the next best thing to being there with all of you. As you can see, I'm getting pretty big........I haven't seen any cougars lately, although I have heard wolves at night. They seem to be most active when there is a full moon. So far, we've been able to keep the hogs safe. Charlie slept in the barn one night........
Dear Mama,
I wanted to surprise you, so I haven't mentioned having a picture made, but here it is. This is the next best thing to being there with all of you. As you can see, I'm getting pretty big........I haven't seen any cougars lately, although I have heard wolves at night. They seem to be most active when there is a full moon. So far, we've been able to keep the hogs safe. Charlie slept in the barn one night........
Monday, December 31, 2007
Relax with a Historical Fiction Novel, The Journey, set in Union County, Arkansas
Life in the 1890's was quite different, especially when you traveled by wagon from North Carolina to Southern Arkansas to homestead and raise a family. Read about the adventures of my maternal grandparents as they fought to carve a home out of the wilderness of Union County, Arkansas. They lived in a log cabin on land where cougars roamed. Four years after they homesteaded, my pioneer grandmother finally received an old yellowed letter from Laura, her friend on the wagon train who had settled in Missouri. The letter is included on this blog. To order a signed copy of The Journey, send a check or money order in the amount of $23.00 to:
Frances Bennett
1359 Hwy. 3121
Spearsville, La 71277
Or buy online at: http://www.bookstandpublishing.com/m/francesbennett
francesbennett7@gmail.com
Frances Bennett
1359 Hwy. 3121
Spearsville, La 71277
Or buy online at: http://www.bookstandpublishing.com/m/francesbennett
francesbennett7@gmail.com
Friday, December 7, 2007
The rest of a letter from Laura to Lona in "The Journey"
Jeff travels for miles to haul lumber for our cabin that he has underway. I try to let the baby get as much fresh air as possible. It's continually damp in the soddy. Jeff works from daylight to dark. If anything happened to him, I don't know if I could make it out of here.
A traveling doctor delivered our baby. When he heard about my first pregnancy, he came two weeks before my due date and stayed. It was warm weather, so he slept outside. He told Jeff of a surveyor's job that was open. Jeff applied and got it. That was a blessing from God. As Jeff works, sometimes he's close enough to the station where freight wagons unload to pick up supplies.
We have a good well of water, and I'm grateful to Jeff's half brothers for their help. The digging went on for months, with Jeff hauling water for our use from a creek that was miles away. That's one reason we're this late getting a cabin started.
Lona, I've wished so many times that we had settled Arkansas. I guess we're here to stay. I realize it will be years before this country is settled. Everybody's not as crazy as we were, but every now and then, wanderlust gets in a man's blood, and here comes someone else.
Write and tell me all about your life in Arkansas. Somehow, some way, I know we'll see each other again.
Lots of love from your friend,
Laura Spalding
A traveling doctor delivered our baby. When he heard about my first pregnancy, he came two weeks before my due date and stayed. It was warm weather, so he slept outside. He told Jeff of a surveyor's job that was open. Jeff applied and got it. That was a blessing from God. As Jeff works, sometimes he's close enough to the station where freight wagons unload to pick up supplies.
We have a good well of water, and I'm grateful to Jeff's half brothers for their help. The digging went on for months, with Jeff hauling water for our use from a creek that was miles away. That's one reason we're this late getting a cabin started.
Lona, I've wished so many times that we had settled Arkansas. I guess we're here to stay. I realize it will be years before this country is settled. Everybody's not as crazy as we were, but every now and then, wanderlust gets in a man's blood, and here comes someone else.
Write and tell me all about your life in Arkansas. Somehow, some way, I know we'll see each other again.
Lots of love from your friend,
Laura Spalding
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
A portion of a letter from Lona's friend Laura in "The Journey."
Lona placed a pillow behind her back as the wagon creaked along. She had been waiting for some word from Laura since they went separate ways from the wagon train. She eagerly opened the letter and read, and read.
Our home is a soddy, so during the warm months, Jeff and I sat outside a lot at night under a full moon. We talked and planned, but Jeff didn’t know my thoughts were never far from Rosetta and that tiny little grave in a North Carolina mountain side. It was slowly eating away at my soul, and I knew I couldn’t go on this way, grieving and at the same time, trying to make my peace with this harsh land. I gradually overcame the grief, and when I found out I was pregnant, even though we lived in a soddy, I was finally at rest as much as is possible out here.
The prairie winds howl most of the time. The grass is tall and rich, and what few cows we have are mud fat. You have to like yourself pretty well to live here. It’s rare to see another person. Some trappers occasionally travel through, and usually say they were attracted by smoke coming from the cook stove pipe that sticks above ground. I’m only too glad to feed them, just to be able to talk with another human being.
Our home is a soddy, so during the warm months, Jeff and I sat outside a lot at night under a full moon. We talked and planned, but Jeff didn’t know my thoughts were never far from Rosetta and that tiny little grave in a North Carolina mountain side. It was slowly eating away at my soul, and I knew I couldn’t go on this way, grieving and at the same time, trying to make my peace with this harsh land. I gradually overcame the grief, and when I found out I was pregnant, even though we lived in a soddy, I was finally at rest as much as is possible out here.
The prairie winds howl most of the time. The grass is tall and rich, and what few cows we have are mud fat. You have to like yourself pretty well to live here. It’s rare to see another person. Some trappers occasionally travel through, and usually say they were attracted by smoke coming from the cook stove pipe that sticks above ground. I’m only too glad to feed them, just to be able to talk with another human being.
Friday, November 9, 2007
Final Post For Childhood Memories That Evolved Into 'The Journey'
We stayed on that winter, and sat in front of a fireplace as my grandmother talked. I
was mesmerized by the things she told concerning her childhood and early years of
marriage. I knew from the expression on Mother’s face that she had not heard this either. My older sister was twelve, and usually was in a world of her own as she sat at a corner table and read by a coal oil lamp. Mammaw rocked and talked as firelight shadows danced on the walls. I could have listened to her all night. “When me and Papa came out on that wagon train from North Carolina,…..” She told of families burying their dead along the
way, and how frightened the women and children were when some Indian braves visited the wagon train. It seemed to comfort her to tell of her and Granddaddy’s experiences.
I knew she missed him terribly, and this was her way of preparing herself for the day when she would have to leave her home. She told a lot that winter. I tucked it away in my heart, and then I went to bed and relived it all before I fell asleep.
We made it through the winter, and one day we looked up and wildflowers were everywhere. Green grass was plentiful, and it seemed to be defying Mammaw’s decision to leave the farm. But we all knew what it would be like for hungry animals, and Mammaw wanted no part of that. As weeks passed, ripe muscadines hung in clusters from the arbor, and I ate until my lips were sore.
Summer eased into fall, and we knew it was time. Mammaw stood on her front porch with moist eyes as the last of her livestock was carried away. I heard her mutter to herself, “Lona Stegall, you just get a grip. If you can give birth to nine babies in a wilderness, you surely can make this change.” It broke my heart as I watched her struggle. I hid underneath the front porch and sobbed as the bawling of cattle gradually faded in the distance.
My grandmother lived among her children for a while. When she boarded a plane to visit three of her daughters in California, someone asked her if she was afraid to fly and she answered, “No, I figure if it gets there, I will too.”
Mother had one brother, and later on, he built Mammaw a house close to his family. By now, she was ready to settle in one place. After I married and had children, she visited in my home, mostly during gospel meetings. She lived to be ninety-nine. With her spirit, she was a firm believer that life is what you make it.
Memories from my childhood that I've posted is an article I wrote and titled, A Pioneer Spirit. It was published in the January 2007 issue of Good Old Days magazine.
was mesmerized by the things she told concerning her childhood and early years of
marriage. I knew from the expression on Mother’s face that she had not heard this either. My older sister was twelve, and usually was in a world of her own as she sat at a corner table and read by a coal oil lamp. Mammaw rocked and talked as firelight shadows danced on the walls. I could have listened to her all night. “When me and Papa came out on that wagon train from North Carolina,…..” She told of families burying their dead along the
way, and how frightened the women and children were when some Indian braves visited the wagon train. It seemed to comfort her to tell of her and Granddaddy’s experiences.
I knew she missed him terribly, and this was her way of preparing herself for the day when she would have to leave her home. She told a lot that winter. I tucked it away in my heart, and then I went to bed and relived it all before I fell asleep.
We made it through the winter, and one day we looked up and wildflowers were everywhere. Green grass was plentiful, and it seemed to be defying Mammaw’s decision to leave the farm. But we all knew what it would be like for hungry animals, and Mammaw wanted no part of that. As weeks passed, ripe muscadines hung in clusters from the arbor, and I ate until my lips were sore.
Summer eased into fall, and we knew it was time. Mammaw stood on her front porch with moist eyes as the last of her livestock was carried away. I heard her mutter to herself, “Lona Stegall, you just get a grip. If you can give birth to nine babies in a wilderness, you surely can make this change.” It broke my heart as I watched her struggle. I hid underneath the front porch and sobbed as the bawling of cattle gradually faded in the distance.
My grandmother lived among her children for a while. When she boarded a plane to visit three of her daughters in California, someone asked her if she was afraid to fly and she answered, “No, I figure if it gets there, I will too.”
Mother had one brother, and later on, he built Mammaw a house close to his family. By now, she was ready to settle in one place. After I married and had children, she visited in my home, mostly during gospel meetings. She lived to be ninety-nine. With her spirit, she was a firm believer that life is what you make it.
Memories from my childhood that I've posted is an article I wrote and titled, A Pioneer Spirit. It was published in the January 2007 issue of Good Old Days magazine.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Childhood Memories That Evolved Into "The Journey"
Mother and Mammaw struggled each day to keep things going. Mammaw had already sold her hogs, and come late summer, after the hay and dried corn were used up through the winter, and the fresh grazing was gone, the rest of the livestock had to be sold. I heard them talking quietly, and I knew Mammaw couldn’t stay on the farm. As they talked, I crept to the kitchen safe where the cornbread, cakes and pies were kept. I got a big piece of cornbread and wrapped it in a rag. I had my own jar of buttermilk that sat on a back porch shelf during cold weather. I carried my food to the corn crib, and after making sure a chicken snake wasn’t looking for a warm place out of the wind, I settled back among the dried ears of corn and for a nine year old, I did some serious thinking. I felt guilty about wanting to leave the farm. I guess somehow, I associated this with Mammaw having to leave next fall.
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