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Shannon Taylor Vannatter: The Dipper & Giveaway

2/26/2012

34 Comments

 

This week we welcome Shannon Taylor Vannatter to Author Memories

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Shannon Taylor Vannatter is a stay-at-home mom and pastor’s wife. When not writing, she runs circles in the care and feeding of her husband, their ten-year-old son, and church congregation.
Home is a central Arkansas zoo with two charcoal gray cats, a chocolate lab, and three dachshunds in weenie dog heaven. If given the chance to clean house or write, she’d rather write. Her goal is to hire Alice from the Brady Bunch.


The Dipper
by Shannon Taylor Vannatter

Pieces of my grandparents’ lives cluttered my aunt’s back porch. Grandma had been gone three years, while only twelve months had passed since we lost Grandpa.

On this sweltering July day in rural Arkansas, a somber uneasiness filled the sticky air, as my mother and her siblings gathered to sort through sixty-years-worth of possessions. Mostly kitchen items, I didn’t want anything or feel entitled to the belongings. Yet, I hovered close to offer my mother moral support.

Unwilling to end up never speaking again, because so-and-so got this or didn’t get that, a caring hesitation settled over the siblings.

One of my aunts picked up a pie pan. “Does anyone want this?”

No one jumped on the offer.

“Didn’t you get that for Mom,” Mama said. “You should have it.”

The others agreed in unison.

“What about this?” My uncle pointed to a large platter.

A few moments of silence followed.

“If no one else wants it, I’d like to have it,” my uncle said.

“You can have it,” sibling voices blended.

“How about these old dippers?” My uncle held up two oversized dusty ladles.

I didn’t want anything, but at the sight of the stained, dented aluminum utensils, memories flooded my soul. Unaware I wanted anything, suddenly I wanted that dipper with every fiber of my being. Wanted it so bad, my heart hurt. Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them away, determined to be strong for my mother.

“If no one else wants it, I’d like to have one,” my aunt said.

A hush hung in the air and my chest felt as if it would explode. I waited for what seemed like an eternity for someone else to speak. No one did.

With effort, I cleared the lump from my throat. “If no one else wants the other one, I’d like to have it.”

My uncle handed me the dipper. Tears blurred my vision.

“What are they anyway?” one of my younger cousins asked.

I pulled myself together. “At the old farm house, Grandma and Grandpa had a well. When we’d come for summer visits, Grandpa would fill a big black and white speckled bowl with water and put it in the sink with a dipper in it. Everyone drank from it all day long.”

“Eww.” My cousin made a disgusted face. “From the same dipper?”

 “And we never got sick. It was the purest, coldest water.” At that moment, I could almost taste it trickling down my throat. “We’d go home to Georgia and I’d make Mama put a bowl of tap water and a soup ladle in the sink. It wasn’t cold enough and never was the same.”

“Why was Grandma and Grandpas’ water so cold?” my cousin asked.

Out of my area of expertise, I shrugged.

“Well water comes from deep in the ground, so it stays cold,” my uncle said.

Made perfect sense.

The day continued, with numerous other items offered and claimed, and no one mad or greedy.

That night, I stared at my new treasure and tried to explain to my husband the feelings the sight of the banged up dipper had evoked.

“I don’t know why I wanted it so bad or what I’ll do with it.”

He shrugged. “Clean it up, put some flowers in it, and hang it on the wall.”
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Wash it? Coated in dust from my grandparents’ house, I love it as is. For months, the dipper sat on the counter before finding a sentimental home. It now decorates the top of my refrigerator with a sugar bowl missing a handle, and a chipped creamer dish my parents received as wedding gifts.

I've never washed it. Now my own dust encases that of my grandparents and every time I notice it, warm memories wash over me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
GIVEAWAY!
Leave a comment with a valid email address by midnight, Mar 4th
to be entered in a draw for a copy of 
Shannon Taylor Vannatter's
Rodeo Dust
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rodeo Dust, Barbour Books, Available now

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Ad exec, Rayna Landers meets bull rider, Clay Warren at the State Fair of Texas. While Rayna thinks she’s content solo, Clay longs for marriage and family. Though poised to win his third world championship, his ranch is in a slump. Clay convinces his publicist to hire her advertising firm in a last-ditch effort to keep his employees and lasso her heart. 

Soon the city girl is on the ride of her life, until the rodeo unearths buried memories from her past. Clay sees her through the trauma, but an injury and his stubborn determination to get back in the hypothetical saddle threatens their budding relationship. Can they rely on God to find their common ground or will they draw a line in the rodeo dust that neither will cross?

Read the first chapter

Rodeo Dust is the first in a series of three Texas rodeo books. All are set in Aubrey, Dallas, & Fort Worth Texas. Characters participate in rodeos at the Historic Fort Worth Stockyard’s Cowtown Coliseum.

Rodeo Dust is available in paperback and e-book at http://www.barbourbooks.com Rodeo Hero releases in March 2012
Rodeo Ashes releases in August 2012

Shannon's debut novel, White Roses won the 2011 Inspirational Readers Choice Award in the short contemporary category. The 18th Annual Heartsong Awards named Vannatter 3rd Favorite New Author, and White Roses #1 and White Doves #8 in the contemporary category. The Arkansas Democrat Three Rivers Edition voted Vannatter one of 20 to Watch in 2011.
Shannon's books are available at:
Barbour Books,
Kathy's Book Nook in Heber Springs, AR,
The Bible House in Searcy, AR, Amazon,
and christianbook.com.

Learn more about Shannon and her books at http://shannonvannatter.com 
and check out her real life romance blog at http://shannonvannatter.com/blog/

Connect with her on Facebook: facebook.com/shannontaylorvannatter  
and Twitter: @stvauthor

34 Comments

Christa Allan: Camellia Manor: Back to the 1840s & Giveaway

2/19/2012

57 Comments

 

This week we welcome Christa Allan to Author Memories.

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Christa Allan teaches high school English in Louisiana and received her National Board Certification in 2007.  She's the mother of five, and Grammy of two precious (of course!) grandgirls.  She and her husband recently moved to an 1840s home in the historic Bywater District in New Orleans.  Christa and Ken are happily anticipating retirement, chasing their three neurotic cats, and sometimes dodging hurricanes.
Christa writes not-your-usual Christian fiction, stories that focus on redemption for the broken.

Camellia Manor: Back to the 1840s
by Christa Allan

In ways so unexpected I could have never predicted them, my life has come full circle. Born in New Orleans, I am now, over fifty years later, living once again in the city, in a home built almost 175 years ago. And with this recent move, the memories of my grandmother resonate with each discovery I make in my new-old home.

When my parents moved to the suburbs after my brother was born, my grandmother came with us. But during the first four years of my life, we lived on Ursuline Street in New Orleans, in my grandmother’s house. My own memories of that home are fuzzy, most of them made sharper by Gram’s recollections. It was a shotgun home, like most built during its time. Gram always said they were called “shotgun” homes because a gun could be fired from the front door and exit the back door without ever hitting a wall.

This is a picture of the house as it looks today. We lived on the left side, and when we lived there the house was painted white, with green shutters.
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Gram's old house in New Orleans
Gram and I used to walk to the bakery on the corner, and we’d always get lagniappe (a little something extra) with our purchases. On the other corner was Chris’ Steak House, which would eventually become the first of the Ruth’s Chris Steakhouses (another long and colorful story!). I remember the wallpaper in my bedroom, the one Gram and I shared, the large cabbage rose design that sometimes seemed to dance when I woke up in the middle of the night. During the day, I’d entertain myself trying on my father’s and mother’s hats, since I could easily see myself in the mirrors of the tall armoirs, which served as closets. Houses in New Orleans were taxed according to the number of rooms, so eliminating a closet meant the room wouldn’t be taxed.
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Gram and Christa in 1953
We didn’t have cats because Gram never recovered from being scratched by one. She said that after the picture below was taken, the cat on her lap jumped up and clawed both sides of her face.
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Gram c1890
I longed to live in an old home in the city again, but it took moving from Metaire to Kenner to Liberty, TX to Houston, TX to Metaire to Abita Springs for it to happen again.

My husband needed to be closer to work, and through what could only be called a God-incidence, we found the perfect home, in the Bywater District of New Orleans. Built in the 1840s and expanded there-after by a series of owners, the house sits on three lots on the corner. Called Camellia Manor by the former owners (her father planted unusual and beautiful camellias on the property), the home used to be a bed and breakfast. Downstairs and up, the ceilings are 13 feet, and separating some of the rooms are the original cypress pocket doors. One of the owners said she had occasion to visit with mother and daughter ghosts, but she asked them to leave the home. Of course, my husband and I smiled, thinking it made for an interesting story, perfect for the quirky artsy community in which we now lived.

But then. . .

Since we’ve moved in, the fan in the upstairs hall often turns on, to full speed by itself. The light on the fan also turns on and off of its own accord. On more than one occasion, I’ve arrived home from work to find lights on that had been turned off when we left that morning.

Our bedroom fan also has a mind of its own. During the night, my husband will turn it on, then minutes later it’s off again. Or, he’ll turn it off, and it turns on sometime after that.
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Camellia Manor
Separating our bedroom from my office is a tall, wood-paneled door (original to the house, with its original door knob). Our headboard actually backs against the door leaving only a few inches opening. We close the door and come home only to find it open again. One evening, while sitting in my wing back chair by the door, grading papers, the knob turned and the door opened. Seriously. It was a distinct unlatching, and I tossed the papers on the floor and sped down the stairs. Fortunately, my brother and his partner were home (they live downstairs), so I had some human company until I could unwind!

I tramped upstairs sometime later, announcing, “I’m coming up!” At first, I hesitated even sharing this with people for fear I’d come off like a total wingnut. But people who know me well, are aware that I’m not one to give credence to the whole notion of ghosts. But I suppose when you live in the voodoo capital of the country, there’s bound to be a few loose creatures running around.

Lately, I’ve joked that I’d welcome any sort of kindly spirits as long as they participated in cleaning, cooking, laundry…If some of that would happen mysteriously, then I’d truly believe! But, alas, it hasn’t.

And while I’m not totally convinced someone or two else may be living rent-free in our house, I’m not totally convinced they aren’t. I’ve not spent a night alone, so I don’t want to boast that I’ve conquered the creepy feelings. I’m still experiencing a wee bit of hair-on-my-neck tingling when I walk up the staircase at night. I continue to sit in my wingback chair, but I’ve not closed the bedroom/office door since it opened that night.

Of course, the writer in me is stirring this around and brewing a gumbo of a story! During the summer, I plan to visit the archives in New Orleans to unearth as much information about the house as possible. There’s also a former slave cottage on the property. It’s uninhabitable, but I’m sure it has a history all its own.

I don’t know if the mom and her daughter are still hanging out. If they are, I think my grandmother might be joining them because I know she would be thrilled to find her granddaughter back in the city she loved.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
GIVEAWAY!
Leave a comment with a valid email address by midnight, Feb 26th
to be entered in a draw for a copy of  Christa Allan's first Historical,
Love Finds You in New Orleans, Louisiana.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Love Finds You In New Orleans, Louisiana, Summerside Press, Available now

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Raised by her grandparents in 19th-century New Orleans, Charlotte knows little about her long-lost parents.

Now facing an arranged marriage to a suitor she dreads, she finds herself attracted to somebody else: a young Creole man named Gabriel Girod.

Meanwhile, her grandparents harbor a family secret.

Will the truth set everybody free—especially Charlotte?


Where you can find Christa:

Christa Allan, Author Website
Facebook
Twitter
LinkedIn

Blogs I contribute to:


Inspire a Fire
Choose WOW Ministries: Educating Teens
Girlfriends Book Club
57 Comments

Anita Mae Draper: Mamma's Memoirs & Giveaway

2/12/2012

36 Comments

 
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Surprise! I'm Anita Mae Draper and I'm the story behind this blog. I've re-scheduled this week's author, so you're stuck with me. I'm not published yet, but I am the author of several manuscripts, I have a memory to share, and I have a giveaway. So, I hope you'll stay and visit while I share my heritage with you.
Let me know what you think of this post. If there's interest in memoirs or letters of bygone days, it will be an option for guest authors.

Mamma's Memoirs
by Anita Mae Draper

If you mention Finland in my vicinity, I'll get a dreamy, faraway look on my face. No, I've never been to that Scandinavian country, but my early life centered around it because that's where my maternal grandparents originated. 

Mamma left a small book of memoirs behind when she went to heaven in 2003, so instead of me telling you about her life, I'll let her do it herself. One note though, Mamma's 1st language was Finnish and she carried a heavy Finn accent throughout her life. If you find grammatical and spelling mistakes (as you will) in the following account, please excuse them. I'm presenting Mamma's memoirs the way she  wrote them... mistakes and all.
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Grandma Henrekson (Kakkonen)  Memoirs--in English
other books are in Finn language--

I'm not good in English--Never went to school--
only learn a little at home from my children--
Thank you Children
(1992)

I have lots to write about my own life.  But this book first goes to my parents.  They worked hard all their life  and--kept poor all the time--Why was this?

First my dad born when his mother died--

Grandfather had a good house and lots of land. 

But  when his first baby was born and mother died, he have to take a new wife and they had lots of children.  So they told my dad to make his own house, so he did push land top of a hill --
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There was a lake down below but very deep steps down so he start to make well.  Borrowed money for paid helper ticking well...

No water in 3 of them ...

It took many years, could not pay back the money.  There were already 7 children.  Mother worked hard.
 

I was born on February 16, 1908, in the village of Kiteenlahti, Selateenmaki, Kitee, North Karelia.  The city of Joensuu is the centre of the North Karelia region. There in my father's house I had a happy life until springtime, 1917.   I was 9 years old, when everything was sold in Auction Sale.  

My father was not home.  This was the time of the First World War.  My father went behind Lake Laatokka to work as a carpenter in order to be able to pay his debts.  He had Eino, his older son with him.  Then the war started and they couldn't come home.
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Back row L to R: Tyyne (Mamma), Antti Vasarainen (Mamma's father), Eino (Mamma's brother), 2 younger bros. Front row L to R: Wihelmina nee Parkkonen (Mamma's mother). Hilma (Eino's wife), Hilman (Hilma's mother). Taken at Kitee, Finland.
We Lost Our Home:

So the man to whom my father owed money, sold everything from us--the land, cattle, house.  But no one wanted the children!  I was nine years old.  We looked out the window, when three men walked all cows away.  Mother cried.  We had no place to go.  The men put locks on doors, after we were outside of our home, so we could not get in again.  Our neighbor let us live in a cool storage building. 

My younger brother was only 3 months old, my brother Armas was three years.  Between Armas and me there had been Jenny.  She went to look at the cattle by the fence, and a cow picked her up with her horns and she died.  I missed Jenny, but I know she didn't suffer all this time.

Hard Life:

My mother worked on the fields, and I took care of the baby.  My sister Aino was 12 years old.  She was taken as a baby sitter for another family.  She was also good at weaving the loom.  When my father and Eino got back, Eino went to look for work in Viipuri, but my father looked around all summer for a place where we could stay for the winter.  He found a very small house for sale at the village of Ruppovaara.

We moved there just before the school started at the Fall.  I had to walk 4 Km morning and night to school and back.  So I was able to finish my schooling and god a Diploma, when I was 14. 
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Mamma's school in Finland
Picture
Back of Mamma's school photograph.
All summers were wonderful.  I worked for farmers.  They had good food!  In September we picked berries and for two weeks we picked potatoes before the school started in October.

In our little house the two boys and I slept in the only bed.  There was no room for another bed, so my parents slept on the floor.  Spring time my mother started to do weaving.  Father made a small weaving  loom to fit in the corner of the room.  Now my parents had to sleep right in the front of the door.  The bed clothes had to be taken outside for the day.  Father was digging wells winter time, but summer time he made roofs.  I helped him summer time running on the roof!

My First Real Job:

When I was fifteen I had a really hard job with another family.  I had to milk cows and wash clothes. 

In that year I went to Church School  It helped me alot.  I forgot to tell that when I was twelve years old, there were Mission girls (ladies) in my village.  I loved to go to their meetings.  There are all kind of obstacles, when I didn't know, what to do, I prayed to God to forgive me all my sins, and He helped me all these years.  I gave God my life, and wanted to please Him in every way.  I became a Christian, born-again Christian.

At The Saastamoinens'

When I was sixteen I went to Wartaila.  There I worked first for the Saastamoinens'.

Mr. Saasta-moinen was in charge of the railroad.  They had three girls who were in school  They also had a son, David, who was fifteen years old.  He had a white horse.  Every Friday he went with his horse to the railroad station and gave a ride to the men, who came by train to sel their goods at the Market Place.  I took care of the three cows they had.  I milked the cows, separated the milk and made butter.  Mrs. Sastamoinen baked and cooked for us all.

At The Waananens':


For the summer the cows were taken to the pasture for from the Saastamooinens'.  There was a woman nearby who did the milking and made butter, so they didn't need me anymore. 

Now I got a job at another Christian work place at the Waananen Bakery.  There were three girls.  One girl was needed in the barn in the morning.   Mr.  Waananen himself usually did baking, but those days were no machines.  Five o'clock in the morning we two girls did the mixing of dough with four hands.  Then we let it rise.  Next we worked the dough on the table and made rings on it.  They were allowd to rise again and then boiled quickly and put in the oven.  When the rings had baked to light brown color they were taken out of the oven and dropped into a large basket.  After everything was baked we started stringing the rings. 

 18 rings were stringed together, that was one kilogram. I carried them to the storage room, where they were kept until the storekeeper got them out to the store to be sold.

Water Baptism At Lehmo:

I wanted to go to Church Conference to be baptized.  The Waananens' let me go in September to Lehmo.  When I cam back, they had hired a male baker and two older girls so they didn't need me any more.  I decided to go home.  My Sister Aino asked me to go with her to visit our auntie's place.

So we went...

.....And I found a man there.
to be continued...


Notes
1 kilogram = 2.2 pounds
1 kilometre = 0.6 miles
4 kilometres = 2.5 miles
Mamma says:
"ticking well" = digging well
"18 rings were stringed together, that was one kilogram" = pretzels or bagels? I'll have to ask.
- Mamma pronounced any words ending in 'ed' as a separate syllable so that walked became walk-ed, etc. In the same fashion, we pronounced her name with a deep emphasis on the word 'mum' then carrying the 'm' for a beat before completing the 'ma' and cutting the 'a' off sharply. Mummmm-ma

Since there's only one copy of Mamma's Memoirs and I don't have it, I'd like to thank my cousin, Nancy Lou Roy for posted much of this information on family genealogy sites.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
GIVEAWAY!
Leave a comment with a valid email address by midnight, Feb 19th
to be entered in a draw for
 a 4-book set of Great Lake Romances by Donna Winters.

Why am I giving away this set? Because Mamma and Pappa eventually settle within a couple hours drive of Lake Superior. But that's for another day. :)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Great Lakes Romances by Donna Winters

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Rosalie of Grand Traverse Bay, brings Rosalie Foxe north from her southern home to encounter undeserved legal entanglements and the romantic advances of Kenton McKune.  Characters from the Lighthouse trilogy abound in this turn-of-the-20th-century Traverse City story. 

Sweet Clover, A Romance of the White City brings readers the excitement and wonder of Chicago's World’s Columbian Exposition of 1893, written by an author who attended the event.

Elizabeth of Saginaw Bay takes readers to the Saginaw Valley, 1837, where newlywed Elizabeth Morgan confronts the challenges of a pioneer settlement.  Will she ever find true happiness in this untamed wilderness?

Isabelle’s Inning features a turn-of-the-20th-century heroine and her very troubling affliction that challenges her happiness and her future.

 Thank you for visiting Author Memories. Next week we have
 a fascinating post by
Christa Allen about an 1840s Manor.
Christa's giveaway will be a copy of her novel,
 
Love Finds You in New Orleans.
36 Comments

Linda Ford: A Larger Than Life Hero & Giveaway

2/5/2012

39 Comments

 

This week we welcome Linda Ford to Author Memories.

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Linda Ford is a multi-published author who lives on a ranch in Alberta, Canada. She thinks growing up on the prairie and learning to notice the small details it hides gave her an appreciation for watching God at work in His creation. Her upbringing also included being taught to trust God in everything and through everything—a theme that resonates in her stories.  Threads of another part of her life are found in her stories—her concern for children and their future. She and her husband raised 14 children — 4 homemade, 10 adopted. She currently shares her home and life with her husband, a grown son, a live-in paraplegic client and a continual (and welcome) stream of kids, kids-in-law, grandkids and assorted friends and relatives.

A Larger Than Life Hero
by Linda Ford

My Father-in-law was a legend.

He was the seventh son of the seventh son which was proof enough that he was destined for great things.
Picture
Pop is the younger boy on the lower right

All of the children were handsome and smart. He is the younger boy on the lower right. He was born and raised in Ontario, Canada and married a woman from down there.

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Pop and 2 women, early 1900's

But during WW l he wanted to sign up and defend his country. His mother absolutely forbid it so to contribute to the war effort, he and a brother moved west to the prairies. They would farm and raise food for the troops. Trouble was, my f-i-l was more of an inventor than a farmer. Which wasn’t always a bad thing. Known to his family as Pop, he came up with a number of innovative ways to make the work easier and bragged he could fix anything with a piece of No. 9 wire and some gum.
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Picture
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These pictures illustrated some of his attempts to make haying easier.

His wife died of pneumonia leaving him with 7 youngsters, the youngest not yet out of diapers. Somehow he managed. I’ve lost the picture of him scrubbing diapers in a copper boiler using a scrub board but he did.
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Pop and one of many babies, probably circa 1921
He remarried and had 5 more children.

He lived through the Depression. They barely survived on the farm but for the price of driving the school bus to pay off back taxes, he became the owner of a bit of land with a big house on it. They grew a big garden, picked wild berries, bagged game in and out of season, and received bundles of clothing from family members back East. But life wasn’t easy. There was seldom enough food and the children wore whatever they had.

The family lexicon abounds with stories of his exploits.

He told a favorite one to illustrate that when he said jump, his boys jumped. He was moving an old granary one day and using a long pole to lever it about. He needed something to wedge it in place and called for one of the boys to run and get something. Unfortunately he didn’t name a boy, simply said, “one of you”. There were 4 or 5 prying on the lever with him and all of them let go and ran to get the object. Pop didn’t weigh enough to keep it pried down and went flying in the air. He broke an arm when he landed.

He learned to overcome insurmountable obstacles in raising a family in hard times. He conquered mechanical challenges. He taught his children to be honorable.

One of my favorite memories of him is when he was much older. My husband and I had taken over the farm and the in-laws had moved to a house in town. They visited often and Pop would always go up to the junk pile that was a graveyard for old trucks, tractors and various other pieces of worn out farm equipment. He’d poke through it by the hour. Sometimes he lamented that someone had thrown the machinery out when he could have fixed it. Other times I think he simply liked to remember the past.

A man who was bigger than life and a legend in his time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
GIVEAWAY!
Leave a comment with a valid email address by midnight, Feb 12th
to be entered in a draw for a copy of  Linda's newest Love Inspired Historical,
The Cowboy Father
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 
The Cowboy Father, Love Inspired Historical, Feb 2012
Book 2 - Three Brides for Three Cowboys series

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With Alberta in the grip of the Depression, Louisa Morgan is desperate to bolster her family's finances. But how can she tutor bedridden Ellie Hamilton? The little tomboy is more interested in making mischief than studying sums. And the girl's bond with her handsome papa is another reminder to Louisa of the children she'll never have.

For Emmet Hamilton, strength means shouldering burdens alone. He never thought he'd let himself share his child, or his heart, ever again. But before long, Louisa's kindness and optimism start to change the cowboy's mind. Maybe he can gain the courage to trust again—in Louisa, in God's grace, and in this new family...

Read Excerpt


Three Brides for Three Cowboys 
Three sisters cope during the Great Depression:

Book 1 - The Cowboy Tutor, Jan 2012
Book 2 - The Cowboy Father, Feb 2012
Book 3 - The Cowboy Comes Home, Mar 2012

Check out Linda's website and blog at  www.lindaford.org 

Note: Linda's Feb 5, 2012 blogpost shows her Jan and Feb book covers side-by-side
for a humorous look at what can happen in the publishing industry.

Linda invites you to friend her on Facebook
39 Comments
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